CHAPTER II

Young Ulric at Wesen—At Bâle—At Berne—The Dominican Convent—Jetzer—The Apparitions—The Passion of the Lay Brother—The Imposture—Discovery and Punishment—Zuinglius at Vienna—At Bâle—Music at Bâle—Wittembach teaches the Gospel—Leon Juda—The Curate of Glaris. The good amman was delighted with the happy presages in his son. He perceived that Ulric would be able to do something else than herd his cows on Mount Sentis, singing the shepherd’s song. One day he took him by the hand and proceeded with him towards Wesen. He traversed the verdant ridges of the Ammon, avoiding the wild and precipitous rocks which border the lake of Wallenstadt. On arriving at the town, he called upon his brother the dean, to whom he intrusted the young mountaineer, in order that he might ascertain what his talents were. The leading feature in his character was an innate horror at falsehood and a great love of truth. He himself relates that one day, when he was beginning to reflect, the thought struck him that falsehood should be punished more severely than even theft; “for,” adds he, “veracity is the parent of all the virtues.” The dean soon loved his nephew as if he had been his son; delighted with his sprightliness, he entrusted his education to a schoolmaster who in a short time taught him all that he knew himself. Young Ulric, when ten years of age, having given indications of a high order of intellect,² his father and his uncle resolved on sending him to Bâle. When the child of the Tockenburg arrived in this celebrated city, with an integrity and purity of heart which he seemed to have inhaled from the pure air of his mountains, but which came from a higher source, a new world opened before him. The celebrity of the famous council of Bâle; the university which Pius II had founded in 1460; the printing presses, which revived the masterpieces of antiquity, and circulated over the world the first fruits of the revival of letters; the residence of distinguished men; the Wessels, the Wittembachs, and, in particular, that prince of scholars and luminary of the schools, Erasmus, rendered Bâle, at the period of the Reformation, one of the great foci of light in the west.

Ulric entered the school of St. Theodore, which was taught by Gregory Binzli, a man of an affectionate and gentle temper, at this period rare among teachers. Young Zuinglius made rapid progress. The learned disputes which were then fashionable among the doctors of universities had even descended to the youth in schools. Ulric took part in them. He exercised his growing strength against the children of other schools, and was always victorious in those struggles which formed a kind of prelude to those by which the papacy was to be overthrown in Switzerland. His success excited the jealousy of rivals older than himself. The school of Bâle was soon outstripped by him as that of Wesen had been.

Lupulus, a distinguished scholar, had just opened at Berne the first learned school that was founded in Switzerland. The bailiff of Wildhaus and the curate of Wesen resolved to send their child thither, and Zuinglius, in 1497, quitting the smiling plains of Bâle, again drew near to the high Alps, where he had spent his childhood, and whose snowy tops, gilded with the rays of the sun, he could see from Berne. Lupulus, a distinguished poet, introduced his pupil to the sanctuary of classic literature, a sanctuary then unknown, only a few of the initiated having passed the threshold. The young neophyte ardently breathed an atmosphere rich in the perfumes of antiquity. His intellect was developed and his style formed. He became a poet.

Among the convents of Berne, that of the Dominicans held a distinguished place. These monks were engaged in a serious quarrel with the Franciscans. The latter maintained the immaculate conception of the virgin, while the former denied it. In every step the Dominicans took—before the rich altars which decorated their church, and between the twelve pillars on which its arches were supported—they thought only of humbling their rivals. They had observed the fine voice of Zuinglius, and heard of his precocious intellect, and thinking that he might throw lustre on their order, strove to gain him. With this view they invited him to remain in their convent till he should make his noviciate. The whole prospects of Zuinglius were threatened. The amman of Wildhaus having been informed of the bait to which the Dominicans had had recourse, trembled for the innocence of his son, and ordered him forthwith to quit Berne. Zuinglius thus escaped those monastic enclosures into which Luther rushed voluntarily. What happened afterwards may enable us to comprehend the imminent danger to which Zuinglius had been exposed. In 1507 great excitement prevailed in the town of Berne. A young man of Zurzach, named John Jetzer, having one day presented himself at this same Dominican convent, had been repulsed. The poor youth in despair had returned to the charge, holding in his hand fifty-three florins and some pieces of silk. “It is all I possess,” said he, “take it, and receive me into your order.” He was admitted on the 6th January among the lay brothers. But the very first night a strange noise in his cell filled him with terror. He fled to the Carthusian convent, but was again sent back to that of the Dominicans. On the following night, being the eve of the feast of St. Matthew, he was awoke by deep sighs, and perceived at his bedside a tall phantom in white. “I am,” said a sepulchral voice, “a soul escaped from the fire of purgatory.” The lay brother trembling, replied, “God save you; for me, I can do nothing.” Then the spirit advanced towards the poor friar and, seizing him by the throat, indignantly upbraided him with his refusal. Jetzer in terror exclaimed, “What then can I do to save you?” “Flagellate yourself for eight days till the blood comes, and lie prostrate on the pavement of the chapel of St. John.” So answered the spirit, and disappeared. The lay brother gave information of the apparition to his confessor, a preacher of the convent, and by his advice submitted to the discipline required. The rumour soon spread throughout the town that a soul had applied to the Dominicans to be delivered from purgatory. The Franciscans were deserted, and every one ran to the church to see the holy man lying prostrate on the ground. The soul from purgatory had intimated that he would reappear in eight days. On the night appointed it in fact did appear, accompanied by two other spirits that were tormenting it and howling horribly. “Scotus,” said the spirit, “Scotus, the inventor of the Franciscan doctrine of the immaculate conception of the Virgin, is among those who like me are suffering these fierce pains.” At this news, which soon spread over Berne, the partisans of the Franciscans were still more alarmed. The spirit on disappearing had announced a visit from the Virgin herself. In fact, on the day appointed, the astonished friar saw Mary herself appear in his cell. He could not believe his eyes. She approached him kindly, gave him three of our Saviour’s tears, three drops of his blood, a crucifix, and a letter addressed to Pope Julius II, “who,” said she, “was the individual chosen by God to abolish the festival of her pretended immaculate conception.” Then coming still closer to the bed on which the friar lay, she announced, in a solemn tone, that a great grace was to be conferred on him, and drove a nail into his hand. The lay brother uttered a loud shrick, but Mary wrapt up his hand in a piece of linen which her Son, she said, had worn after his flight into Egypt. This wound was not sufficient to make the glory of the Dominicans equal to that of the Franciscans. Jetzer must have the five wounds of Christ and of St. Francis in his hands, feet, and side. The four others were inflicted, and then, after giving him a draught, he was placed in a hall hung with pictures representing our Saviour’s passion. Here having spent whole days fasting, his imagination soon became heated. The doors of the hall were then thrown open from time to time to the public who came in crowds to contemplate with devout astonishment the friar with his five wounds, stretching out his arms, bending his head, and by his positions and gestures imitating the crucifixion of our Lord. Sometimes, out of his wits, he foamed, and seemed about to breathe his last. The whisper went round, “He is enduring the cross of Christ.” The multitude, eager for miracles, continually thronged the convent. Men worthy of high esteem, among others Lupulus himself, the master of Zuinglius, were overawed, and the Dominicans, from the height of the pulpit extolled the glory which God was bestowing on their order. This order had for some years felt the necessity of humbling the Franciscans, and of augmenting the respect and liberality of the people by means of miracles. Berne, “a simple, rustic, and ignorant town,” as the sub-prior of Berne described it to the Chapter held at Wimpfen on the Necker, had been selected as the theatre of their operations. The prior, sub-prior, preacher, and purveyor of the convent, had undertaken to perform the leading characters, but they wanted the talent necessary to perform them to the end. A new apparition of Mary having taken place, Jetzer thought he recognised the voice of his confessor, and having said so aloud, Mary disappeared. She soon made her appearance again, to censure the incredulous friar. “This time it is the prior,” exclaimed Jetzer, rushing forward with a knife in his hand. The saintess threw a pewter plate at the poor friar’s head, and likewise disappeared. In consternation at the discovery which Jetzer had thus made, the Dominicans tried to disencumber themselves of him by means of poison. He perceived it; and, having taken flight, disclosed the imposition. They put on a good countenance, and sent deputies to Rome. The pope committed the decision to his legate in Switzerland, and the bishops of Lausanne and Sion. The four Dominicans being convicted, were condemned to be burnt alive; and on the 1st May, 1509, were consumed by the flames, in presence of more than thirty thousand spectators. The affair made a noise throughout Europe, and by unveiling one of the worst sores of the Church, prepared the Reformation.

Such were the men into whose hands Ulric Zuinglius had nearly fallen. He had studied literature at Berne; he behoved now to devote himself to philosophy, and with this view repaired to Vienna. A youth from St. Gall, named Joachim Vadian, whose genius gave promise to Switzerland of a distinguished scholar and a statesman; Henri Loreti, of the canton of Glaris, commonly called Glarean, and apparently destined to shine among poets; John Heigerlin, son of a forgemaster, and hence surnamed Faber, of a versatile temper, fond of honour and glory, possessing all the qualities indicative of a courtier—such were Ulric’s fellow-students and companions in the capital of Austria.

Zuinglius returned to Wildhaus in 1502; but on revisiting his mountains he felt that he had drunk of the cup of science, and could no longer live amid the songs of his brothers and the bleating of their flocks. He was eighteen years of age, and repaired to Bâle, to engage again in literary pursuits, and thus at once master and pupil he taught at the school of St. Martin, and studied at the university; from this time he was able to dispense with assistance from his father. Shortly after, he took the degree of master of arts. An Alsatian, named Capito, nine years older than he, was one of his best friends.

Zuinglius devoted himself to the study of scholastic theology; for, being called one day to combat its sophisms, he behoved to explore its obscure labyrinth. But the light hearted student of the mountains of Sentis was often seen suddenly to shake off the dust of the school, and, substituting amusement for his philosophic toils, seize the lute, or the harp, or the violin, or the flute, or the tympanon, or the cornet, or the hunting horn, extract joyous sounds from these instruments as in the prairies of Lisighaus, and make his lodgings, or the dwellings of his friends, re-echo with the airs of his country, accompanying them with his voice. In regard to music, he was a true child of the Tockenburg, superior to all. In addition to the instruments we have already named, he played several others. An enthusiast in the art he diffused a taste for it in the university, not from any desire of dissipation, but because he loved thus to relax his mind when fatigued by serious study, and fit himself for returning with greater zeal to difficult labours.⁴ None had a gayer humour, a more amiable disposition, or more engaging conversation. He was a vigorous Alpine tree which developed itself in all its gracefulness and strength, and which, never having been pruned, threw out strong branches in all directions. The time was coming when these branches would turn vigorously in the direction of heaven.

After he had forced an entrance into scholastic theology he left its arid tracts fatigued and disgusted, having found nothing in it but confused ideas, vain babbling, vain glory, barbarism, and not one sound idea of doctrine. “It is only a loss of time,” said he, and waited for something better. At this time, (November, 1505,) arrived at Bâle Thomas Wittembach, son of a burgomaster of Bienne. Wittembach had till then taught at Tubingen, side by side with Reuchlin. He was in the vigour of life, sincere, pious, skilled in the liberal arts, and mathematics, and well acquainted with the Holy Scriptures. Zuinglius and all the academic youth immediately flocked around him. A spirit hitherto unknown animated his lectures, and prophetic words escaped from his lips: “The time is not distant,” said he, “when scholastic theology will be abolished and the ancient doctrine of the Church restored.” “The death of Christ,” added he, “is the only ransom of our souls.”³ The heart of Zuinglius eagerly received these seeds of life. At this period classical studies began every where to supplant the scholastics of the middle age. Zuinglius, like his preceptors and friends, threw himself into this new course.

Among the students who followed the lessons of the new teacher with the greatest enthusiasm was a young man of twenty-three, of small stature, and a feeble sickly appearance, but whose eye bespoke at once gentleness and intrepidity. This was Leo Juda, son of an Alsatian curate, and whose uncle had fallen at Rhodes, fighting in defence of Christendom, under the standard of the Teutonic knights. Leo and Ulric were on intimate terms. Leo played the tympanon, and had a very fine voice. The joyous melodies of the young friends of the arts were often heard in his lodgings. Leo Juda, at a later period, became the colleague of Zuinglius, and even death could not destroy their sacred friendship. At this time the office of pastor of Glaris having become vacant, Henry Goldli, a young courtier of the pope, and groom of the stable to his holiness, obtained the appointment from his master, and hastened with it to Glaris. But the Glarian shepherds, proud of the antiquity of their race, and of their battles for freedom, were not disposed to bow implicitly to a piece of parchment from Rome. Wildhaus is not far from Glaris; and Wesen, where Zuinglius uncle was curate, is the place where the market of the district is held. The reputation of the young master of arts of Bâle had penetrated even into these mountains; and the Glarians, wishing to have him for their priest, gave him a call in 1506. Zuinglius having been ordained at Constance by the bishop, preached his first sermon at Rapperswil, read his first mass at Wildhaus on St. Michael’s day, in presence of all his relations and the friends of his family, and towards the close of the year arrived at Glaris.