FullReads

Where thinkers are, there is thought. Thinkers think anywhere, in country, village, town–in prison. Wittenberg was obscure, more than half of the students were charity boys, the professors were thin, dyseptic and glum, or fat and opinionated–all repeated the things they had been taught, save Martin Luther alone.

And on the thirty-first day of October, Fifteen Hundred Seventeen, Luther tacked upon the church-door his ninety-five theses, and offered to debate them ‘gainst all the Church Fathers that could be mustered.

Trite, indeed, are the propositions now. Rome has really accepted them all, even to that one which hints that we, too, are divine in degree, just like our Elder Brother. Challenges on the church-doors of colleges were common, but coming from a semi-silenced priest, and directed at the Pope’s emissary, ah! that was different. Even at that, the whole affair would have been lost in local oblivion, had not the few zealous boys who loved Luther started their two printing-presses in the cellar of the church, and worked night and day pulling proofs. The printing-presses did it! Without the typesetter, the make-ready man, and the sturdy lads who pulled the lever, Luther’s voice would not have reached across the campus.

But lo! Luther was talking to the world, not to sleepy Wittenberg! Luther was requested to appear at the Vatican–more properly, the Castle Angelo. He ignored the invitation. Another summons followed. Luther went into hiding. He was arrested, tried and condemned, and sentence suspended. He was again tried, this time by the Emperor and the Electors, and again condemned. The formal sentence of death only awaited, and then for him the fagots would flare and the flames crackle.

His friends captured him, they of the printing-presses, helped by others, and bore him away to a prison where his enemies could not follow. Many a man has been thrown into prison by his enemies, but who besides Luther was so treated by his friends! Public sentiment was with him–Germany stood by him–but best of all the printers pulled the proofs, and four-page folders edited by Martin Luther went fluttering all over the world, protesting man’s right to think.

So he lived out his days, did Martin Luther, on parole, under sentence of death, working, thinking, writing, printing. And over in France a serious, sober young man, keen, mentally hungry, translated one of Luther’s pamphlets into French, and printed it for his school-fellows. Having printed it, he had to explain it, and next to defend it–and also his action in having printed it. The young man’s name was Jean Chauvain. He spelled it “Caulvain” or “Calvain.” The world knows him as John Calvin.

* * * * *

John Calvin was a Frenchman, but it is well to remember that the typical Frenchman, like the typical Irishman and his brother the Jew, exists only in the comic papers, and on the vaudeville stage. The frivolous and the mercurial were not in Calvin’s make-up.

The parents of Calvin were of that same sturdy, seafaring type which produced Millet, Auguste Rodin, Jules Breton, and other simple, earnest and great souls who have done great deeds. Calvin was the true Huguenot type.

Peasant ancestry and a nearness to the soil are necessary conditions in the formation of characters who are to re-map continents, artistic or theological. The Puritan is a necessary product of his time.

However, Calvin had the advantage of one remove from actual hardship, and this evidently refined his intellect, and relieved him of world stage-fright. His father was a notary or steward in the employ of the De Mommor family. Very naturally, the boy mixed with the scions of royalty on an equal footing, for pom-pom-pull-away knows no caste, and a boy’s a boy for a’ that. At twelve years of age, he felt himself quite as noble as those of noble blood, and so expressed himself to his playmates. Probably they found it convenient to agree with him. Their nickname for him was, “The Accusative.”