At this time, between 1530 and 1540, a great theological controversy was being carried on in the university of Alcala. One of the champions was Matthew Pascual, a doctor distinguished for his acquirements in learning—he was master of Hebrew, Greek, and Latin—for his love of letters, of the Holy Scriptures, and of a doctrine more pure than that of the monks. The discussion had become animated; and the opponent of Pascual, in the heat of the conflict, exclaimed—'If the case be as Doctor Matthew maintains, it would follow that there would be no purgatory!' Pascual had probably said with St. John that the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin. He replied simply—'What then? (Quid tum?)' The monks were all agitated at these words. 'He said Quid tum! He denies purgatory.' He was forthwith committed to the prison of the holy fathers,[34] from which he was not liberated till long afterwards, and then with the loss of all his property. He then left Spain. Two monosyllables had cost him dear.
PETER DE LERMA.
There was resident at Alcala at this time a man who far surpassed the Vergaras and the Pascuals, and whose judgments were universally accepted in Spain as oracles.[35] This was Peter de Lerma, abbot of Alcala, canon, professor of theology, and chancellor of the university, skilled in the oriental languages, which he had studied in Paris, and well versed in Scholastic theology. He was highly esteemed throughout the whole Peninsula. He was consulted on the greatest affairs of state; and many had recourse to him as to a touch-stone which at once indicated to them what was good and what was evil. As he was wealthy and belonged to a noble family of Burgos, he had great influence. From an early age he gave himself up to the reading of the Holy Scriptures, convinced that without them it was impossible to attain any real knowledge of holy things. At an advanced age he read the works of Erasmus. His mind was enlightened by them; and he acknowledged that the studies pursued at the universities served only for vain display. A new form was given to his activity, and his words were henceforth remarkable for their freedom, their simplicity, and their vigor. 'Draw,' said he, 'from the oldest sources; do not take up opinions upon the sole authority of any masters, however solid they may be.' Words like these were altogether new in the Catholic churches. Peter de Lerma was a kindly old man, now aged about seventy. The monks, regardless of his age, his attainments, or the authority which he enjoyed, had him cast into prison by their agents. His opponents attacked him in private conferences. But the aged doctor, finding that the best reasons were of no avail with his enemies, that they refused to listen to the truth, and had no regard for innocence, declared that he would hold no more discussion with Spaniards, and required them to summon learned men of other lands, capable of understanding the evidence laid before them. To the inquisitors this seemed to be horrible blasphemy. 'Would it not be said,' they exclaimed, 'that the holy fathers of the Inquisition may be in error, and that they are unable to comprehend a hundred others better than you?' They assailed him with insults, they plagued him in the prison, they threatened him with torture. The poor old man at last, enfeebled by age and by persecution, and not yet sufficiently established in the faith, as was usually the case with the converts of Erasmus, complied with the demands of his persecutors. He then withdrew to Burgos, his native place. Melancholy weighed him down. The energies of his soul were crushed. His hopes for the future of his people had vanished. He bowed down his head and suffered. Informed ere long that it was intended to arrest him, he fled to Flanders; then went to Paris, where he died dean of the Sorbonne, and professor of theology in that university.
The preaching of the old man was not fruitless in Spain. Like John d'Avila and others, he was one of those Spanish evangelicals who did not make use of Luther's name, but asserted that they preached simply the primitive doctrines of the Apostles. This came to much the same thing. The tint was only a little softened and less powerful.
ARREST OF JOHN D'AVILA.
Louis of Cadena, one of his nephews, had succeeded him as chancellor of the university of Alcala. By his elegant Latinity, and his acquaintance with Hebrew, Arabic, and Greek, he acquired great reputation among men of letters. Convinced that if Spain were ever to become great, it was necessary to give her an impulse towards light and liberty, he undertook, notwithstanding the fate of his uncle, to bring to an end the reign of Scholasticism. Information was laid against him, as one suspected of Lutheranism, before the Inquisition at Toledo; and he was compelled to fly in order to escape the dungeons of the holy office. The Inquisition in those days lost no opportunity of putting an extinguisher over any light divinely kindled in Spain, of suppressing thought and checking its progress.[36] Louis betook himself likewise to Paris, where, like his uncle, he restrained his zeal to avoid exposure to fresh persecutions.[37]
John d'Avila himself, the apostle of Andalusia, whose only thought was the conversion of souls, and who did not meddle with controversies, found that the monks, enraged and provoked by his refusal to engage in disputation, denounced him to the Inquisition as a Lutheran or alumbrado. In 1534, an inauspicious year for evangelical Spain, this humble pastor was arrested at Seville, and cast into the prisons of the holy office. But his enemies, impelled by blind hatred, had not even informed the archbishop of Seville, Don Alfonso de Manrique, who was at this time Grand Inquisitor. The prelate, who cherished the highest esteem for John d'Avila, was affected on hearing what his subordinates had just done. He pointed out that this man was no Lutheran, but was only seeking to do good to the souls of men. D'Avila was consequently acquitted, and he continued quietly to preach the Gospel till his death. The inquisitors, by fastening the name 'Lutheran' on every thing pious, rendered indirect homage to Lutheranism.[38]
ALFONSO VIRVES.
Manrique was not alone in occasional opposition to the fanaticism of the inquisitors. Charles the Fifth himself, although strongly opposed to every thing which appeared to him heresy, seems to have had some relish for solid preaching. His fine understanding preferred it to the fables of the monks. He had for his chaplain a Dominican monk named Alfonso Virves, an accomplished orientalist and a good theologian. Charles took him with him when he travelled in Germany; and he not only liked to hear him preach, but also associated with him in his numerous journeyings with a certain degree of intimacy. After his return to Spain, the emperor would hear no other preacher. Certain monks who coveted the privilege of preaching before the emperor were filled with envy and hatred. They inveighed against Virves. In vain he contended, according to the dictates of his conscience, for what he believed to be true piety; these wretches uttered shameless calumnies against him, and obvious falsehoods, and resorted to malicious intrigues. This was their usual method.[39] Virves esteemed the fine genius of Erasmus, but censured him for his too great freedom. He asserted that his wish was to secure Spain against Lutheranism. But he had seen in Germany the leading reformers, had enjoyed friendly intercourse with them, and declared that he renounced the attempt to recall them from their errors.[40] This was ground enough for a prosecution; and without any regard to the wish of the emperor, the inquisitors arrested his chaplain, threw him into the prison of the Holy Office at Seville, and in eager haste prepared to sacrifice him. The news of their proceedings reaching Charles the Fifth, he was astonished and indignant. He was better acquainted with Virves than the inquisitors were. He determined by energetic action to foil the conspiracies of the monks. He felt confident that Virves was the victim of an intrigue. He even banished Manrique, the inquisitor-general, who was compelled to retire to his diocese, and died there. Charles did more than this. He addressed to the Holy Office, July 18, 1534, an ordinance prohibiting the arrest of a monk before laying the evidence before the council and awaiting its orders. But the emperor, all-powerful as he was, was not powerful enough to snatch a victim from the Inquisition. Virves, whose only crime was that of being a pious and moderate Catholic, had to undergo for four years all the horrors of a secret prison. He says himself that they hardly gave him leave to breathe. The inquisitors overwhelmed him with accusations, with interdictions, with libels and with words, he says, which one can not hear without being terrified. He adds that he was charged with errors, heresies, blasphemies, anathemas, schism, and other similar monstrosities. To convince them, he undertook labors which might be likened to those of Hercules. He exhibited the points which he had drawn up by way of preparation for an attack on Melanchthon before the diet of Ratisbon. But all was useless. The tribunal condemned him in 1537 to abjure all heresies, among others those of Luther, to be confined in a monastery for two years, and to abstain from preaching for two years after his liberation. The poor man had to appear in the cathedral of Seville, and to retract, among other propositions, the following:—'A life of action is more meritorious than a life of contemplation.—A larger number of Christians are saved in the married state than in all other states.' Charles the Fifth, determined at all cost to rescue his chaplain from imprisonment, applied to the pope, who by a brief of May 29, 1538, ordered that Virves should be set at liberty, and be again allowed to preach. Charles now nominated him bishop of the Canary Islands. After some hesitation, the pope consented to the appointment, and in 1540, the heretic was invested with the episcopal mitre. In the following year he published at Antwerp his Philippicæ Disputationes, in which his objections to the doctrines of Luther are set forth. In the same book, however, he asserted that heretics ought not to be ill-used, but persuaded, and this especially by setting before them the testimonies of Holy Scripture; because all Scripture given by inspiration of God is profitable, says St. Paul, for doctrine, for reproof, for correction. Alfonso Virves was one of those Spaniards whom the Inquisition prevented from becoming evangelical, but could not succeed in making papistical and ultramontane.[41]
Virves was not the only Spaniard who imbibed in Germany views which nearly approached to those of the Reformation. Several learnt more than he did in the land of Luther, and exerted an influence on the Peninsula. Curiosity was awakened, and people wanted to know what that reformation was of which so much was said. Spain, rigid and antique, began to be astir. Meetings were held in the country and secret associations were formed. The Inquisition, astonished, turned in all directions its searching eyes. In vain were learned theologians sent to Germany and other lands for the purpose of bringing back to the church of Rome those who were leaving it. The doctors themselves returned to Spain, conquered by the truth against which they were to fight.[42] Many of them became victims to their faith after their return to their native land; others became martyrs in foreign lands.