CHAPTER I

Character of Maximilian—The Competitors for the Empire—Charles—Francis I—Inclination of the Germans—The Crown offered to Frederick—Charles is Elected. A new character was going to appear upon the stage. God saw meet to place the monk of Wittemberg in presence of the most powerful monarch who had appeared in Christendom since Charlemagne. He chose a prince, in the fervid vigour of youth, to whom every thing presaged a reign of long duration—a prince whose sceptre extended over a considerable portion both of the old and the new world; so that, according to a celebrated expression, the sun never set on his vast dominions—and opposed him to this humble Reformation, which began with the anguish and sighs of a poor monk, in the obscure cell of a convent at Erfurt. The history of this monarch and his reign seems to have been destined to give a great lesson to the world. It was to show the nothingness of all “the power of man,” when it presumes to contend with “the weakness of God.” Had a prince, friendly to Luther, been called to the empire, the success of the Reformation would have been attributed to his protection. Had even an emperor opposed to the new doctrine, but feeble, occupied the throne, the triumphant success of the work would have been accounted for by the feebleness of the monarch. But it was the proud conqueror of Pavia who behoved to humble his pride before the power of the Divine Word, that all the world might see how he, who had found it easy to drag Francis I a captive to Madrid, was compelled to lower his sword before the son of a poor miner. The Emperor Maximilian was dead, and the electors had met at Frankfort to give him a successor. In the circumstances in which Europe was placed, this election was of vast importance, and was regarded with deep interest by all Christendom. Maximilian had not been a great prince; but his memory was dear to the people, who took a pleasure in remembering his presence of mind and good-humoured affability. Luther often talked of him to his friends, and one day related the following anecdote. A beggar had kept running after him asking charity, and addressing him as his brother; “for,” said he, “we are both descended from the same father, Adam. I am poor,” continued he, “but you are rich, and it is your duty to assist me.” At these words the emperor turned round and said to him—“Hold, there’s a penny: go to your other brothers, and if each gives you as much, you will soon be richer than I am.” The person about to be called to the empire was not a good-natured Maximilian. Times were to undergo a change; ambitious potentates were competing for the imperial throne of the West; the reins of the empire were to be seized by an energetic hand; profound peace was to be succeeded by long and bloody wars. At the assembly of Frankfort, three kings aspired to the crown of the Cæsars. A youthful prince, grandson of the last emperor, born at the opening of the century, and consequently nineteen years of age, first presented himself. He was named Charles, and was born at Ghent. His paternal grandmother, Mary, daughter of Charles the Bold, had left him Flanders and the rich States of Burgundy. His mother, Joan, daughter of Ferdinand of Arragon and Isabella of Castile, and wife of Philip, son of the Emperor Maximilian, had transmitted to him the united kingdoms of Spain, Naples, and Sicily, to which Christopher Columbus had added a new world, while the recent death of his grandfather put him in possession of the hereditary States of Austria. This young prince, who was endowed with great talents. To a turn for military exercises (in which the dukes of Burgundy had long been distinguished)—to the finesse and penetration of the Italians—to the reverence for existing institutions which still characterises the house of Austria, and promised the papacy a firm defender, he joined a thorough knowledge of public affairs, acquired under the direction of Chièvres, having from fifteen years of age taken part in all the deliberations of his cabinet. These diversified qualities were, in a manner, shrouded under Spanish reserve and taciturnity. In personal appearance he was tall in stature, and had somewhat of a melancholy air. “He is pious and tranquil,” said Luther, “and I believe does not speak as much in a year as I do in a day.”³ Had the character of Charles been formed under the influence of freedom and Christianity, he would perhaps have been one of the most admirable princes on record; but politics engrossed his life, and stifled his great and good qualities. Not contented with all the sceptres which he grasped in his hand, young Charles aspired to the imperial dignity. “It is like a sunbeam, which throws lustre on the house which it illumines,” said several, “but put forth the hand to lay hold of it and you will find nothing.” Charles, on the contrary, saw in it the pinnacle of all earthly grandeur, and a means of acquiring a magic influence over the spirit of the nations.

Francis I was the second of the competitors. The young paladins of the court of this chivalric king were incessantly representing to him that he was entitled, like Charlemagne, to be the emperor of all the West, and reviving the exploits of the ancient knights, to attack the crescent which was menacing the empire, discomfit the infidels, and recover the holy sepulchre.

“It is necessary,” said the ambassadors of Francis to the electors, “it is necessary to prove to the Dukes of Austria, that the imperial crown is not hereditary. Besides, in existing circumstances, Germany has need not of a young man of nineteen, but of a prince who, to an experienced judgment, joins talents which have already been recognised. Francis will unite the arms of Franco and Lombardy to those of Germany, and make war on the Mussulmans. Sovereign of the duchy of Milan, he is already a member of the imperial body.” These arguments, the French ambassadors supported by four hundred thousand crowns, which they distributed in purchasing votes and in festivities, by which they endeavoured to gain over their guests. The third competitor was Henry VIII, who, jealous of the influence which the choice of the electors might give to Francis or Charles, also entered the lists, but soon left his powerful rivals sole disputants for the crown. The electors were not disposed to favour either. Their subjects thought they would have in Francis a foreign master, and a master who might deprive the electors themselves of their independence, as he had lately deprived the nobles of his own dominions. As to Charles, it was an ancient rule with the electors not to choose a prince who was already playing an important part in the empire. The pope shared in these fears. He wished neither the king of Naples, who was his neighbour, nor the king of France, whose enterprising spirit filled him with alarm; “Choose rather some one from amongst yourselves,” was his message to the electors. The elector of Trèves proposed Frederick of Saxony, and the imperial crown was laid at the feet of Luther’s friend. This choice would have obtained the approbation of all Germany. Frederick’s wisdom, and affection for his people, were well known. During the revolt of Erfurt, he had been urged to take the town by assault, and refused, in order to spare blood. “But it will not cost five men.” “A single man would be too many,” replied the prince. The triumph of the Reformation seemed on the eve of being secured by the election of its protector. Ought not Frederick to have regarded the offer of the electors as a call from God himself? Who could have presided better over the destinies of the empire than a prince of so much wisdom? Who could have been stronger to oppose the Turks than an emperor strong in faith? The refusal of the Elector of Saxony, so much lauded by historians, was perhaps a fault. For the contests which afterwards tore Germany to pieces he is perhaps partly to blame. But it is difficult to say whether Frederick deserves censure for his want of faith or honour for his humility. He thought that even the safety of the empire made it his duty to refuse the crown.² “To save Germany,” said this modest and disinterested prince, “an emperor more powerful than I is requisite.” The legate of Rome seeing that the choice would fall upon Charles, intimated that the pope withdrew his objections; and on the 28th of June, the grandson of Maximilian was elected. “God,” said Frederick afterwards, “gave him to us in mercy and in anger.” The Spanish envoys sent a present of thirty thousand gold florins to the Elector of Saxony, as a mark of their master’s gratitude; but the prince refused it, and charged his ministers not to accept of any present. At the same time he secured the German liberties by an engagement, to which the envoys of Charles took an oath in his name. The circumstances in which the latter prince encircled his head with the imperial crown seemed still better fitted than the oath to secure the Germanic liberties, and the success of the Reformation. The young prince was jealous of the laurels which his rival, Francis I, had gained at Marignan. The struggle was to be continued in Italy, and in the meantime the Reformation would doubtless be made secure. Charles left Spain in May, 1520, and was crowned on the 22nd of October, at Aix-la-Chapelle.