One of the darkest epochs in the history of Christianity is that period which commenced with the annihilation of the Saracen power in Europe and the establishment of the Inquisition by Pope Innocent IV. in 1243, and continued until about the end of the fifteenth century. The ghastly horrors perpetrated by the Christian Church at this time against unoffending people are too well known to need any reproduction here, and may be found fully detailed in Rule’s “History of the Inquisition,” Draper’s “Conflict,” and other similar works. My purpose just now is not to follow in detail these wicked and cruel abominations connected with the Christian superstition, but to study carefully the various circumstances surrounding the sudden appearance, in the early part of the fifteenth century, of so many MSS. purporting to have been written by the ancients. Among these manuscripts were the so-called “Annals of Tacitus,” which have since become so celebrated on account of the reference made by the author in his fifteenth book to the persecution of the early Christians by Nero. It has long been suspected by learned scholars that these “Annals,” and in particular the passage relating to Nero’s persecution of Christians, were never written by Tacitus; but, owing to the danger usually incurred in giving expression to opinions so detrimental to the interests of the Church, no one ventured until quite lately publicly to state his doubts as to the genuineness of these celebrated writings. It is now, however, pretty generally admitted among such scholars as do not make their honour subservient to their interests that the author of the “History” and the author of the “Annals” were not the same person, and that the latter, moreover, were not written until many centuries after the death of Tacitus.

To find out who was the real author of these “Annals,” and how they became associated with the name of Tacitus, it will be necessary to glance at the condition of the Christian Church during the period referred to above; and in doing so none but authors of the highest repute will be consulted.

For some time after the establishment of the Inquisition in 1243 the Church had been able to suppress, to a very large extent, the growing tendency of the age towards the acquirement of knowledge: by the rack, the stake, and the gibbet, by torture, by fire, and by the knife, she had relentlessly pursued her horrid and diabolical career, hoping by these means to preserve the faith and silence her enemies. To a large extent it is admitted she was successful; but in remote places the spirit of inquiry lived and grew in spite of her: Abelard, the first Freethinker, had well sown his seeds in France; Arnold of Brescia had left to his brethren in Italy a scheme of reform which was destined to take practical shape in the autumn of 1870; and Wicliffe had preached from his chair at Oxford doctrines which could not fail ere long to have their effect upon the intellect of England. This bold Yorkshireman did not scruple to publicly declare that the mendicant friars who were commissioned by the Pope to travel over England and grant absolution and indulgences to the people were a pack of thieves and sensualists, that the clergy were indulging in open wickedness, that the indulgences of the Pope were a manifest blasphemy, and that the priesthood had no right to deprive the people of the right to search the Bible. He even went so far as to speak of the Pope as “Antichrist, the proud worldly priest of Rome, and the most cursed of clippers and purse-kervers.” From the pulpit of his little church at Lutterworth he openly preached against the authority of the Pope in England, and declared that Christ had given no temporal lordship to the popes and no supremacy over kings. The Pope and the Sacred College very naturally resented this behaviour, and ordered copies of Wicliffe’s works to be sent forthwith to Rome for inspection, the result being that three bulls were drafted on May 22nd, 1377, and despatched to England, one being addressed to Simon Sudbury, Archbishop of Canterbury, and William Courtenay, Bishop of London, another being addressed to the King, and the third to the University of Oxford. These bulls expressed the surprise of his Holiness that such a fearful heresy had not been at once suppressed, and commanded that immediate steps should be taken for silencing the author of it. He was to be apprehended and shut up in prison until the further orders of the Pope arrived; and all proofs and evidence of his heresy were to be sent by special messenger to Rome without delay. These bulls, however, arrived too late to be of much use. Already Wicliffe had been brought to trial before the Bishop of London and his court at St. Paul’s, with a result not at all to the liking of his Holiness or any of his pious followers, as he very soon discovered.

On February 19th, 1377, Courtenay sat in Our Lady’s Chapel in St. Paul’s, surrounded by Church dignitaries, to hear the accusation against the reformer, a large and excited crowd, favourably disposed towards Wicliffe, howling outside the doors. Suddenly a disturbance took place inside the chapel, caused by Lord Percy and John of Gaunt forcing their way towards the reformer; the Bishop and his court were scandalised, and immediately called upon the intruders to withdraw; but, instead of doing so, Percy quietly turned to Wicliffe and politely requested him to be seated, whereupon Courtenay became furious and yelled out: “He must and shall stand; it is unreasonable that one on his trial before his ordinary should sit.” High words followed; the mob outside was in a state of fury, and the bishops and clergy were terrified. The end soon came, for John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, stepping in front of the Bishop, shouted: “As for you, who are growing so arrogant and proud, I will bring down the pride, not of you alone, but that of all the prelacy in England,” and then declared that in a few moments he would drag him out of the court by the hair of his head. This brought matters to a climax; the mob burst into the chapel, the Bishop and clergy fled, and the reformer was set free. The greatest consternation prevailed among the clergy upon the news of this outrage being carried through the country, and for several weeks secret deliberations were carried on for the purpose of devising some good plan for restoring the visibly decreasing prestige of the clerical party.

At last the three bulls arrived from Rome, but were, as we have seen, too late in the field; for not only had the trial of Wicliffe turned out a failure, but the King had in the meantime died, and the Oxford doctors had almost all sided with the reformer. Still, the Church determined to punish Wicliffe, who was summoned to appear before Sudbury, Archbishop of Canterbury, in Lambeth Chapel, to answer charges of heresy and insubordination; but this trial proved as unfortunate for the clergy as the former one, for another angry mob besieged the chapel and demanded the release of the reformer, in addition to which Sir Lewis Clifford arrived in haste from the Queen to forbid the bishops passing any sentence upon Wicliffe. This was indeed a surprise for their reverences, who precipitately left the chapel and reached their homes in the best way they could. All this had a great effect upon the minds of the people both in England and on the Continent; for the Pope and his satellites had not only been attacked, but, what was more amazing, they had suffered an unparalleled defeat; and the probability was that the discontented of France and Italy would follow the example of the English reformer and attempt to put into practice the theories of Arnold and Abelard. The times certainly looked black for the Church; but an event happened shortly afterwards which added still more to the general dismay of the clericals, and was near being the end of the Papacy.

Pope Gregory XI. died on March 27th, 1378, at the Vatican, where he had arrived shortly before from his beautiful residence at Avignon; and the Italian clergy, fearing that the next pope would also take up his residence in France, determined to exert every effort to place upon the vacant chair of St. Peter an Italian who would be likely to remain at the Vatican. At this time the sacred college consisted of twenty-two cardinals, twelve of whom were French, so that it would have been an easy matter for the French majority to elect a French pope; but the clamour, not only of the clergy, but of the laity of Rome, was so great that the majority did not avail themselves of their opportunity, and allowed the Archbishop of Bari, a Neapolitan, to be nominated and unanimously elected to the vacant see, under the title of Urban VI. Not many weeks passed away before the French majority began to repent their haste, and ended by publicly excommunicating Pope Urban VI., calling him apostate and antichrist, and electing in his stead, on September 21st, Robert of Geneva, under the title of Clement VII. The Italian bishops and clergy stood by the Pope of their choice, who resided at the Vatican, while the French bishops and clergy bowed allegiance only to their Pope, who took up his residence at the old papal palace at Avignon; and thus it happened that for the first time in the history of the Church there were two popes at the same time, each pouring forth his anathemas at the other, and each declaring himself to be the divinely-ordained vicar of Christ on earth. Owing to this schism, Wicliffe was allowed to preach his heresy without let or hindrance, for the whole of Europe was in a constant ferment, and the bishops could ill bestow time upon such an insignificant person when two such lofty individuals were attracting the attention of both clergy and laity.

For forty years these rival popes and their successors carried on a perpetual warfare, both with the sword and the pen, Pope Urban being succeeded in turn by Pope Boniface IX., Pope Innocent VII., and Pope Gregory XII., and Pope Clement by Pope Benedict XIII. During this time there were not wanting men who were bold enough to turn to account this papal schism in the interest of reform. Wicliffe was working silently but steadily in England, and actually had the audacity to render the Bible in the vulgar tongue, so that the people could read it in the churches, the thing of all others that the popes and the cardinals dreaded, for they well knew that, as soon as the Bible was read and understood, the authority of the Church would gradually wane, and eventually cease to exist at all. In vain did the popes thunder forth their curses upon Wicliffe’s venerable head, for was not the whole of Europe at that very time discussing more or less fiercely the very question as to which of the two holy ones was really Pope? Of what use was it that he of Avignon denounced Wicliffe, when half of Christendom denied his right to the papal chair? He of Rome was in precisely the same position, so that the high-sounding anathemas fell but lightly on the old reformer; but it was far otherwise with the heretical teachings which called forth the papal curses; for they were carried into the most remote corners of Europe, causing quite a sensation among the hitherto loyal servants of the Church. Jerome of Prague, in the year 1400, just sixteen years after Wicliffe’s death, carried across the channel a large assortment of Wicliffe’s writings, and immediately commenced to carry on the work of the great reformer in Europe, challenging the doctors of Paris and Vienna on his way home. Uniting with John Huss, a Professor of Prague University, he attacked with great violence the Papacy, declaring that the very fact of the head of the Church being split into two was sufficient to destroy for ever the notion of papal infallibility. Things had now arrived at such a pass that the doctors of the Sorbonne in Paris made a desperate attempt to settle the difficulty. For fifteen years past they had been urging the two popes to resign simultaneously, so that one successor to both could be unanimously elected, and the dispute thus settled; but neither party would yield an inch. At last, in 1409, driven to desperation by the effect produced by Wicliffe’s writings, and by the bold preaching of Huss and Jerome, the Council of Pisa deposed both popes, and elected a third—viz., Balthazar Corsa, who assumed the title of Pope John XXIII. and took up his residence at Bologna. The two deposed pontiffs, however, refused to recognise the decree of the Council, the consequence being that, instead of there being two popes, there were three. This strengthened the position of Huss and Jerome, who said: “If we must obey, to whom is our obedience to be paid? If all three are infallible, why does not their testimony agree? And if only one of them is the most Holy Father, why is it that we cannot distinguish him from the rest?” The Bolognan Pope declared the Roman Pope to be a heretic, a demon, and antichrist; the Roman Pope entertained similar views about his holy brother of Bologna; and both stigmatised the Avignon Pope as an impostor and schismatic; while his Holiness of Avignon had as much affection for his two holy brethren as they had for him.

Another Council was held at Constance in 1418, at which all three Holinesses were deposed, excellent precautions being at the same time taken to ensure the proper carrying out of the sentences. Otho Colonna was then elected to the chair of St. Peter, as Martin V., and the schism at last put an end to. But at what a cost had this schism been kept up for forty years! People had begun to seriously question the right of the popes to claim infallibility; many were now in the habit of daily reading the Bible, and some had even dared to search ancient authors for fuller information respecting the establishment of Christianity. Unless these three ulcers were immediately cauterised and effectively effaced, the Church must fall from its high position, as the holy ones at the Vatican well knew. Accordingly, the Inquisition was brought into service of the Pope, to put a stop to the insolence of those who dared to assail the dogma of infallibility, and who had been guilty of the blasphemy of reading the Bible. Huss and Jerome had already been burnt at the stake. In addition to this, large sums of money were offered for freshly-discovered MSS. of the ancients, in order that all the evidence it was possible to collect together might be available in case of emergency. These means were very effectual; for troublesome people, who had inquiring minds or who had learnt to read and write, were quickly despatched to a happier land by the agents of the Inquisition, while the money offered for newly-discovered MSS. acted like magic in causing old musty writings to turn up in every direction.

While the Council of Constance was being held for the purpose of electing one pope, and one only, to sit in the chair of St. Peter, Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, second son of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, happened to pass through the town, and took advantage of the opportunity thus offered him to attend the sittings, where he made the acquaintance of many, among whom was Boggio Bracciolini, one of the Papal Secretaries. A friendship soon sprang up between the two, which resulted in Bracciolini returning to England with Bishop—afterwards Cardinal—Beaufort, in the autumn of 1418. After a year or two spent with Beaufort, the late Secretary became dissatisfied with his lot, complaining bitterly in his letters to his friend, Niccolo Niccoli, of the many unfulfilled promises of the Cardinal. At last he was offered, and duly accepted, a small living of 120 florins a year, which he soon afterwards exchanged for one worth £40 a year, and having fewer duties attached to it, which gave him more leisure time for study, and, consequently, made him considerably happier, for his passion for studying ancient authors was as intense as his knowledge of the classic languages was profound.

In a very short time, however, he became again dissatisfied with his lot, and begged the Cardinal to supply him with an honorary canonry, so that he might visit Italy and prosecute his studies, at the same time that he drew a snug little salary from England. He was not successful, for the Cardinal probably had many such applications, and found more suitable objects upon which to bestow his favours.

Just at this time the rage for finding old MSS. increased enormously, owing to the large sums of money given by the Vatican to the lucky finders, who, as a rule, were simply villains of the monk type and the most impudent forgers. Bracciolini, whose passion for money was even greater than his passion for knowledge, bitterly bewailed his fate, and longed for an opportunity to turn his wits to account, and thus secure some of the fine prizes which were being so lavishly bestowed by his Holiness upon indigent Italian and Hungarian monks. While he was despairing of any such good fortune turning up he unexpectedly received from Piero Lamberteschi of Florence, agent to Cosmo de Medici, an offer which greatly gratified him, and which he could plainly see emanated in the first instance from his old friend Niccoli. The nature of this offer was, for obvious reasons, kept strictly secret; but, from a perusal of some of the letters which passed between Bracciolini and Niccoli, no doubt now exists that it was really a proposal that Bracciolini should enter into retirement and forge an introduction to the “History” of Tacitus, for which work he would be paid 500 gold sequins, equivalent to upwards of £10,000. Niccoli strongly urged his friend to accept the offer, and Bracciolini, in reply, “thinks he will follow his advice;” but the venture was such a daring one that 500 sequins appeared to him insufficient; so he wrote again to Niccoli about this “suggestion” and “offer” made by Lamberteschi, who, he states, “will endeavour to procure for me in three years 500 gold sequins. If he will make it 600, I will at once close with his proposal. He holds forth sanguine hopes about several future profitable contingencies, which, I am inclined to believe, may probably be realised; yet it is more prudent to covenant for something certain than to depend on hope alone.... I like the occupation to which he has invited me, and hope I shall be able to produce something worth reading; but for this purpose, as I tell him in my letters, I require the retirement and leisure that are necessary for literary work.” An arrangement was eventually arrived at, and it was definitely settled that Bracciolini should leave England and go to Hungary, in which country it was popularly believed were to be found lost literary treasures. Still, Bracciolini had his doubts about the due payment of the money, and, as he was about to give up a living in England, he was anxious to have some security for the money promised by Lamberteschi, for we find him writing to Niccoli as follows: “You know well how I prefer liberty and literary leisure to the other things which the vast majority hold in the highest estimation and make the objects of their ambition.... If I were to see that I should get that which our friend Piero expects, I would go not only to the end of Europe, but as far as the wilds of Tartary, especially as I should have the opportunity of paying attention to Greek literature, which it is my desire to devour with avidity, were it but to avoid those wretched translations, which so torment me that there is more pain in reading than pleasure in acquiring knowledge.” He then wrote: “If I undertake a journey to Hungary, it will be unknown to everybody but a few, and down the throats of these I shall cram all sorts of speeches, since I will pretend I have come from here [England].”

Apparently matters were soon satisfactorily arranged; for, from this time, Bracciolini commenced to prepare for his forgery. He made good use of the library of Cardinal Beaufort, and searched everywhere for old writers from whom he could gather information respecting the old Roman empire; and, finally, made arrangements for quitting England. In a letter to Niccoli, dated London, July 17th, 1420, he says that he has “skimmed over Aristotle during the spring of the year, not for the purpose of studying him then, but reading and seeing what there was in each of his works.” He had found that sort of “perusal not wholly unprofitable, as he had learnt something every day, superficially though it might be, from understanding Aristotle in his own language, where he found him in the words of translators either incomprehensible or nonsensical.” It was arranged between the three friends that Bracciolini should repair at once to Italy, where consultations could be held frequently, “to deliberate fully what was best to be done;” so, after vainly attempting to dispose of his living, Bracciolini finally departed for France, en route for Italy. Before doing so, however, he wrote to Niccoli, expressing his fear that the forgery he had undertaken was too great a toil for him, but declaring his intention to proceed at all hazards. He says: “I want you to have no distrust; give me the leisure and the time for writing that history, and I will do something you will approve. My heart is in the work, though I question my powers ... I have not for four years devoted any attention to literature, nor read a single book that can be considered well written—as you may judge from these letters of mine, which are not what they used to be; but I shall soon get back into my old manner. When I reflect on the merits of the ancient writers of history, I recoil with fear from the undertaking, though, when I consider what are writers of the present day, I recover some confidence in the hope that, if I strive with all my might, I shall be inferior to few of them.” A few days afterwards he wrote his last letter from England to Niccoli on June 25th, 1422, still expressing fear about the ultimate result, and especially the payment: “If Lamberteschi would only place something certain before us, which we could adopt or approve,” he wrote; and “How heartily I hope that Lamberteschi will do what would be agreeable to us both.”

Arrived in Rome, Bracciolini was offered and accepted the post of Principal Secretary to the Pope, and, consequently, did not go, as previously arranged, to Hungary, but set himself to work instead, examining the old MSS. in the Vatican Library, for which he had ample time, as his new post was almost a sinecure. He also wrote to his friend Niccoli on May 15th, 1423, asking him to forward to him without the least delay all his notes and extracts from the various books which he had read; after receiving which he commenced in earnest his labour. He had not worked long, however, before he discovered what an arduous task he had undertaken, and again fear overcame him lest he should find himself unequal to the effort; but, pulling himself together again, he determined once more to keep up his courage and persevere to the end, the gold sequins probably acting as a stimulus to him.

Writing to his friend Niccoli on October 8th, 1423, he says that “ beginnings of any kind are arduous and difficult;” and continues: “What the ancients did pleasantly, quickly, and easily, is to me troublesome, tedious, and burdensome.” In another letter to Niccoli, dated Rome, November 6th, 1423, he begs his friend to make every effort to procure for him some map of Ptolemy’s “Geography,” and not to forget Suetonius and the other historians, above all Plutarch’s “Lives of Illustrious Men.”

For upwards of three years after this period Bracciolini shut himself up with his papers, extracts, maps, etc., and worked steadily and laboriously at his task, and, at the end of that time, had completed the first instalment of his forgery. The next part of the process was to find a suitable place in which the forged MS. could be discovered; consequently, Bracciolini and Niccoli put their heads together in consultation, finally settling upon Hirschfeldt, a small Saxon town on the borders of Bohemia, which was celebrated for an old abbey of the Benedictine monks. Bracciolini had accidentally met with one of the monks from this place in Rome, and had managed to place this man under an obligation to him; so, finding that he was needy, ignorant, and stupid, he determined to make use of him for producing his MS. to the public. Speaking of this monk in one of his letters to Niccoli, he says: “The good fellow, who has not our attainments, thought that we were equally ignorant of what he found he did not know himself.” To this ignorant fellow he gave a long list of books that he wished him to hunt up in the Abbey library, including a copy of Tacitus, telling him to send a full description of each as soon as found. The object of this was to find out whether the Abbey possessed a copy of Tacitus in the oldest writing possible, which could be used as a guide to the transcriber of the forgery; and the reason of giving such a long list was to throw the monk off the scent.

With all their precautions, however, their scheme was all but discovered in the summer of 1427, for we find Bracciolini, on September 25th of that year, writing to Niccoli that, “when Tacitus came, he would keep it a secret; that he knew all the tittle-tattle that was going on—whence it came, through whom, and how it was got up; but that he need have no fear, for that not a syllable should escape him.... I hear nothing of the Tacitus that is in Germany. I am expecting an answer from the monk.” From this it would appear that the monk had not yet supplied the information about the books; but, in the following October, Niccoli had forwarded to Bracciolini an old copy of Tacitus that he had become possessed of. Bracciolini, however, returned it at once, saying that it was so badly damaged as to be illegible to an ordinary transcriber, and continuing: “Take care, therefore, that I have another, if it can be done; but you can do it, if you will strive your utmost.... You have sent me the book without the parchment. I know not the state of mind you were in when you did this, except that you were as mad as a March hare. For what book can be transcribed if there be not the parchment? Have a care to it, then, and also to a second manuscript; but, above all, keep in mind the vellum.” After a while the parchment arrived, together with an old copy of Tacitus that could be easily read by a transcriber; and then all was silence again for about a year. During this period the old monk was busily engaged transcribing the forged writings into very ancient characters, using the old copy of Tacitus supplied by Niccoli as an example of style, the forgery being intended as an introduction to the “History.”

On September 11th, 1428, Bracciolini was evidently becoming impatient with the work, for he wrote to Niccoli as follows: “Not a word of Cornelius Tacitus from Germany; nor have I heard thence any further news of his work.” Then, again, he writes February 26th, 1429: “The Hirschfeldt monk has come without the book, and I gave him a sound rating for it. He has given me his assurance that he will be back again soon, for he is carrying on a suit about his abbey in the law courts, and will bring the book. He made heavy demands upon me; but I told him I would do nothing for him until I have the book; I am, therefore, in hopes that I shall have it, as he is in need of my good offices.” The book at length arrived, and Bracciolini wrote to Niccoli that, so far as he was himself concerned, everything was “now complete with respect to the Little Work, concerning which he would, on some future opportunity, write to him; and, at the same time, send it to him to read, in order to get his opinion of it.”

So the forgery was complete, and there can be no doubt that Bracciolini from this date was a rich man, living in his own villa at Valdarno in Tuscany. The forged writings were handed over to Cosmo de Medici in return for 500 gold sequins, according to arrangement, and remained in the Library at Florence ever after. It was not, however, published before 1468, when Johannes de Spire produced what are now known as the last six books of the “Annals” of Tacitus, which he declared had been copied from an (imaginary) original in St. Mark’s, Venice, but which we now know were really copied from the forgery of Bracciolini, in possession of the Medicis at Florence.

What are now known as the first six books of the “Annals” did not make their appearance until 1514, and most probably had also been forged by Bracciolini immediately after he had finished the last six books. The delight of the clergy at the sudden and unexpected discovery of these hitherto altogether unknown writings knew no bounds; for they now possessed the most precious heathen testimony to the sufferings of the early Christians on account of their religion, which would form a valuable addition to the evidence in course of collection by pious monks intended to show forth clearly and indisputably the divine origin of Christianity. The wily Pope knew well enough the enormous value of such a record as this; for it was quite evident that a vein of scepticism was permeating every class of society, in spite of the vigilance of the Inquisitioners.

The reformers who succeeded Wicliffe, Jerome, and Huss had been waxing bolder day by day, and had even repulsed a large army sent against them by his Holiness and led by Cardinal Cesarini and a host of German princes, since which they had boldly and openly preached against the papal supremacy, and were in many districts publicly distributing copies of the writings of Aristotle and Averroes. The Church and the Papacy were thus in real and imminent danger, for hitherto the people had believed whatever the priests had told them, whereas now they appeared determined to investigate the whole matter themselves and to dispense with the services of the priestly mediator. At such a time the discovery of the “Annals” came as a windfall to the Church; every one apparently accepting them as having been originally written by Tacitus; and every author, from this time forward, quoted them repeatedly. The strangest thing about the affair is that no one even thought of questioning the genuineness of the writings, especially when it must have been well known that not one historian or writer, from the time of Tacitus, who lived in the first century, down to the end of the fifteenth century, when the “Annals” (so-called for the first time by Beatus Rhenanus in 1533) were discovered, had ever once quoted or even referred to them; not even Christian writers had as much as once noticed them, which they could not have failed to do had such valuable evidence of the sufferings of their brethren really existed. Besides the “Annals” other MSS. were produced by pious monks and passed off as ancient writings, until at length the Vatican and other papal libraries were literally swarming with them; but all these writings paled into insignificance before such a record as the “Annals,” which was destined henceforth to be the chief evidence in support of Christianity. Together with the passages in the writings of Josephus, which were forged beyond doubt by Eusebius, Bishop of CÆsarea, and the doubtful letter of the younger Pliny to the Emperor Trajan, which time most assuredly will prove to be as great a forgery as the other two, the Church had now heathen testimony in abundance to prove that the religion was divinely instituted and that many suffered death in defence of it. Neither Averroism nor Arianism could shake this testimony, which would be a powerful prop to the religion for centuries to come. It remained for Dr. Lardner and others, in the commencement of last century, to expose the forgery in Josephus; to the present century has been reserved the honour of unveiling the real authorship of the forged “Annals” of Tacitus; and to future searchers after truth is left the duty of discovering the real perpetrator of the forged letter which has hitherto been known as from Pliny to Trajan.

If any one should still doubt that Bracciolini forged the “Annals,” let me recommend him to carefully read a work entitled “Tacitus and Bracciolini,” and published by Messrs. Diprose & Bateman, of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London, in which will be found the most convincing proofs that Bracciolini, and no other than he, was the real author of the work. In that able indictment, from which I have drawn extensively for this essay, the writings and peculiarities of both Tacitus and Bracciolini have been most carefully detailed, with the result that no one can help arriving at the conclusion that one person could not have written both the “History” and the “Annals;” that Tacitus could not possibly have written the “Annals,” owing to chronological difficulties; and that suspicion points so forcibly to Bracciolini as the author that it almost amounts to positive proof.

What I have endeavoured to show is (1) that, owing to the teachings of Abelard, Arnold, Wicliffe, Jerome, Huss, and other fifteenth-century reformers, the authority of the Church and the very existence of Christianity were seriously menaced; (2) that, on account of the failure of the Inquisition to stem the current of scepticism, large sums of money were offered for the discovery of ancient writings which would bear testimony to the divine authority of the Church and the divine establishment of Christianity; (3) that, in consequence of this bribe, shoals of writings were forged by needy monks and scholars, and attributed to ancient authors; and (4) that among these forgeries were the “Annals” of Tacitus, which were composed by Bracciolini and re-written by the Hirschfeldt monk in a style as nearly as possible like a very old copy of the “History” of Tacitus, which was supplied to him as a guide.