Now, by whom, think you, had the bold discoverer the intention of proclaiming and making known the name of Jesus Christ in the New World? Was it by the Methodist and Quaker missionaries? or by those apostolic men who, docile to the word of the Roman pontiff, and like him "fishers of men," went forth to announce the Gospel to every creature and to "cast the net of the word" amidst all nations? It is mere idle fancy, then, to connect with Luther and Calvin that wonderful movement, made up of theoretical science and of boldness, of learned calculations and of enthusiastic intuitions, which set out to open to the adventurous genius of the race of Japheth the vast field of enterprise presented by the continents of America and the Archipelagoes of Oceanica. Chronology, moreover, suffices to give the lie very explicitly to this iniquitous claim. Christopher Columbus discovered America in 1492, and died in 1506: the same year in which Martin Luther entered as a novice the Augustinian convent of Erfurt, and when no one looked to see him become one day an adversary of the Papacy.
The Papacy! Far rather with its remembrance should be associated that grand epoch of modern Europe, that new crusadal enterprise, not to recover the tomb of Christ, but to plant the cross, to propagate the Gospel, and to accomplish the prophecies respecting the universality of the church. It was, in fact, a pope, and that pope an Alexander VI.—the same that proved how much the grandeur of that institution is independent of the worth of individuals—it was Borgia, so severely judged by history, who promulgated the famous bull of 1493, designed to draw the line of demarcation between the discoveries of the Portuguese and those of the Spaniards. From that bull, and from the names of the peoples who bore away the palm from all the rest of Europe in the career of great discoveries, it follows that the Protestant Reformation had nothing to show or pretend to in that splendid episode of the history of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. All those intrepid navigators were Catholics; and the only power which intervened to regulate and pacify the feverish movement that bore them onward was the Church of Rome—the Papacy!
It may be said, perhaps, that the Spaniards, in discovering America, put to shame the Catholic religion by their sharp cupidity and the disgraceful severity of their conduct toward the natives. We have not the slightest intention of transforming the soldiers of Cortez and of Pizarro into peaceful missionaries. If the ferocity of those men disgraced the Gospel, so much the worse for them. But as to the church, if it be insisted on that she shall be mixed up with the question, she has nothing to lose; for it was she herself, and she alone, who intervened to moderate the cupidity of the conquerors, and to defend against it the cause of the conquered. To her alone belongs the name, ever to be venerated, of Bartholomew Las Casas, the eloquent pleader in behalf of Catholicity and of its beneficent action upon society. As to the great Italian artists of the sixteenth century, and particularly as to Michael Angelo and Raphael, it is still more arbitrary, if possible, to have enrolled them in the army of the innovators. What could be more entirely Catholic than the inspirations and great works of these men of genius? Not to speak in detail of the inimitable Madonnas of Raphael, nor of the gigantic frescoes of Michael Angelo in the Sistine chapel, nor the many other marvellous works with which they have for ever enriched Italy and Europe; but of the church of St. Peter, upon which both had the glory of working, is it not, as it were, the very personification, at once ideal and plastic, of the entire Catholic Church? It is the grand church of the popes; it is there that repose, by the side of the illustrious chiefs St. Peter and St. Paul, the remains of so many sovereign pontiffs. It is under its dome that is celebrated, on the grand solemnities of the year and by the very hands of the vicar of Jesus Christ, the sacrifice of the Mass. It is from its balcony that is given, on those same solemnities, that pontifical benediction, preceded by that absolution and those indulgences, against which for three hundred years Protestantism never loses an occasion of casting its anathemas or its sarcasms; save perhaps when one of its children, assisting on Easter-Day at that wonderful solemnity, and hearing the sonorous and affecting voice of Pius IX., at the moment of imparting benediction to the world, mingling itself with the roll of drums, the discharge of cannon, and the chimes of the thousand bells of Rome, falls upon his knees in spite of himself, subdued by I know not what mysterious power, and rises up again with the confession that the inspirations of Catholicism are far differently fitted to charm the soul and seize hold upon the heart than the chilling ceremonial of a Calvinistic Lord's Supper under the arches of St. Paul's in London. In a word, everything of that grand basilica of the Eternal City, from its corner-stone to the cross which surmounts its dome, all has been inspired by Catholic thought; and it may be affirmed with assurance that all the grand artists who worked upon it could say as Raphael replied to Leo X.: "I love so much the Church of St. Peter!" [Footnote 15]
[Footnote 15: Reply of Raphael to the brief of Leo X., naming him superintendent of the work of the church. See, further, the will of Raphael, (cited in Audin's Leo X. t. ii. p. 347.)]
Moreover, independently of all individual names, can it not be said in a general manner that it is going quite counter to historic truth to attempt to connect the art-movement of the sixteenth century with the influence of Luther and Calvin? It is well enough known, in truth, what was the attitude of the Reformation, especially of the Calvinistic part of it, toward the beautiful and the divine in the arts. Many of our old cathedrals in France still bear, after three hundred years, the marks of the iconoclastic fury of the Huguenots. The literal interpretation—literal even to barbarousness—of the text in Exodus, "Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven images," it translated, especially in its beginnings, into a relentless proscription; and the statues, pictures, and wonderful great church-windows, where the middle ages had expended so much of faith and often so much of genius, disappeared under the blows of a most savage vandalism.
They are ours, then, altogether ours, those divine men, as the Greeks would have called them, who have written in the history of art the immortal pages stamped with the names of Perugino, Leonardo da Vinci, Brunelleschi, Bramante, Michael Angelo, and Raphael. It is not around Luther and Calvin that they should be grouped, but around those Roman pontiffs who gave such a vigorous impulse to literature and the arts, and who caused all those beautiful poems of painting or of stone to serve for the glorification of the Catholic Church. On that point, moreover, public sentiment has passed judgment for all future time. The history of the arts does not know the era of Luther; it knows and will always know the era of Leo X.
III.
If it had been given to one of those masters of art of the sixteenth century to make a synoptical picture of that grand epoch, he would have singularly modified the perspectives and enlarged the horizons. In regard to that rebellious monk who holds up the Bible as a standard of revolt; in regard to those men who surround him, and among whom are found at the same time the co-workers and the adversaries of his work; a Melanchthon, who had been his disciple, and a Zwingle who had been his rival—strange council, where there is no unanimity except to attack and deny, and where there is division when the matter to be treated of is that of affirming and establishing—in this respect, one would have seen, majestically grouped upon the steps of a temple based, sixteen hundred years previously, upon immovable foundations, the Fathers of the Council of Trent, who, during a term of nearly twenty years, had brought together, classified, and fixed, in wonderful conformity with the whole current of tradition, the divers points of the doctrine and the discipline of the Christian church.