Even in the darkest period of the middle ages, God had not left Himself without witnesses of the Truth among the Alps. It was in the year 1370 that these pure-minded people, finding themselves straitened for room, sent emissaries into Italy in quest of a convenient settlement. These deputies travelled as far south as Calabria, where they treated with the proprietors of the soil for a waste, uncultivated district. Thither emigrated a chosen body of the Vaudois, under whose industrious hands the desert soon blossomed as the rose, the thorn and the thistle gave place to clustering vines and waving corn; and the blessing of God evidently rested on a praying people, who fed on His unadulterated word, and addressed Him without superstition.

This little light in a dark place could not shine unobserved. The prosperity of the new settlers excited the envy of the neighbouring villagers, who, seeing that they neither came to their churches nor observed their ceremonies, got up the cry of heresy against them. The land-proprietors, however, protected their valuable tenants; and the priests, finding the increasing amount of their regularly paid tithes, winked at their non-conformity. Thus, the little band continued to flourish and increase till the dawn of the short-lived Italian reformation.

From a Calabrian monk of this district, Petrarch acquired a knowledge of the then totally neglected Greek language; and Boccaccio learnt it of this monk's disciple. These two distinguished Italians, of whom it is poor praise to say that they would still have been great men, though the one had never written sonnets, nor the other novels, gave an impulse to the benighted minds of their countrymen which eventually led to the glorious restoration of learning. The light went on shining more and more unto the perfect day, till Greek became the one thing needful; and Greek was the casket which enshrined the New Testament.

It is sorrowful to know, however, that a love of letters does not imply a love of religion, and too often accompanies a total disrelish of it. Lorenzo the Magnificent lavished all his patronage on the disciples of pagan Greece, and Leo the Tenth reserved preferment for the exponents of a refined heathenism. Erasmus heard a sermon preached before Julius the Second, in which the Saviour was likened to Phocion and Epaminondas. Of Cardinal Bembo, the apostolical secretary, it was thought the highest praise to say that he rivalled Cicero and Virgil.

A doubtful convert from Judaism, detesting the brethren who now regarded him as a renegade, obtained a decree from the Imperial chamber that all Hebrew books but the Old Testament should be destroyed. Reuchlin, the restorer of Hebrew literature among Christians, rose up to prevent the execution of this barbarous decree, which would, indeed, have got rid of the Mishna and Gemara,[11] but at the expense (perhaps not too great) of annihilating many a profound and valuable work.

Reuchlin's successful opposition aroused the anger of the clergy, and a hot controversy ensued, in which Luther and Erasmus warmly took part. Thereby many a chink was made in the strong prison-walls that shut in the undying lamp of Truth; and through these crannies the pure light streamed forth.

The works of Luther and Erasmus, Zwingle and Melancthon, were eagerly read in Italy, but speedily suppressed. Some of them, under feigned names, even found their way into the Vatican.

"We have had a most laughable business before us to-day," wrote the elder Scaliger. "The Commonplaces of Philip Melancthon were printed at Venice with this title, 'Per Messer Ippofilo da Terra Negra.' Being sent to Rome they were speedily bought up and read with great applause, so that an order was sent to Venice for a fresh supply. Meantime, a Franciscan friar, who possessed a copy of the original edition, discovered the trick, and denounced the book as a Lutheran production of Melancthon's. It was proposed, at first, to punish the poor printer, who probably had not read a word of the original; but, on second thoughts, it was decided to burn the copies and hush up the whole affair."

Almost as bad as Elizabeth Barrett Browning's having her Greek books bound like novels from the Minerva press!

It is one thing, however, to perceive the scandals and abuses of the Romish church, and another to appreciate the spirituality of the Saviour's pure doctrine. But there were Italians who could do this.

"It is now fourteen years," wrote Egidio da Porta, "since I, under the impulse of a certain religious feeling, but not according to knowledge, forsook my parents and assumed the black cowl. If I did not become learned and devout, at any rate I appeared so, and for seven years was a preacher of God's word, though, alas, in deep ignorance. I ascribed nothing to faith, all to works. But God would not permit His servant to perish for ever. He brought me to the dust. I was made to cry 'Lord! what wilt thou have me to do?' And then the delightful answer was borne in upon my heart, 'Arise, and go to Zwingle,' and he will tell thee what thou must do!'"

The Jews contributed their share towards the intelligent study of Biblical literature. Already the world owed to them that prodigious effort of patient industry, the Masora—a verification of every jot and tittle of the Hebrew Scriptures, for the purpose of giving a full and exact text of the Holy Word. The newly invented art of printing now gave it extension and perpetuity. In 1477, the Hebrew Psalter, and various books of the Old Testament, issued from the press; and in 1488, a Jewish family at Soncino, in the Cremonese, brought out a complete Hebrew Bible. For thirty years afterwards, this department of typography was almost entirely engrossed by the Jews; and I have already mentioned how Giulia Gonzaga's nephew, Vespasiano Colonna, subsequently allowed the Jews to establish a printing-press in his duchy of Sabbionetta.

Erasmus published his Greek edition of the New Testament in 1516. In 1527, Pagnini of Lucca published his Latin translation of the whole Bible. Thus, the minds of the learned were attracted to the Scriptures as literary curiosities; and happily there were some among them who thereby became wise unto salvation. While, however, the Old and New Testament were still confined to the dead languages, they were only accessible to scholars. But, as early as in 1471, an Italian translation of the Bible was printed at Venice, and it went through many editions. A better translation, by Brucioli, was published in 1530.

Travelling and letter-writing contributed to enlarge the minds of the Italians and spread the reformed doctrines. There were also many Reformers in the service of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, who freely broached their opinions while in Italy. Thus, like fire set to the dry prairie grass, the flame ran across the country, soon dying out where it found no combustible matter; in other quarters, smouldering unseen, when it seemed trodden out. The Pope reproached the Emperor; the Emperor recriminated, and bade the Pope reform his clergy. The sack of Rome under the Constable de Bourbon was looked on by many of the Italians as a judgment on the Pope for his impiety, and the names of heretic and Lutheran were no longer heard with horror. Sermons were delivered in private houses against the abuses of Romanism; and the number of evangelical Christians increased every day.

About this time, there might be seen, pacing along the high-roads of Italy, a venerable man of most charming aspect. His beard was white as snow, and descended to his girdle: his profile was finely cut, his skin transparent and pale even to delicacy; his large, lustrous, dark brown eyes were deep set beneath overhanging brows whose shadow gave them wonderful intensity of expression. He carried a staff, but his figure was erect and vigorous, his tread firm. When he came to the palace of a prince or bishop, he was always received with the honours due to one of superior rank: when he departed, it was with the same distinction. The lead in conversation was by common consent yielded to him; people, whether rich or poor, hung on his words, and tried to remember them. He ate of such things as were set before him, but sparingly, and as if he did not care what he ate. He drank water from the spring, or wine tempered with water.

This was Bernardino Ochino, the Capuchin friar. He was a native of Sienna, and of obscure parentage. Impelled by religious motives, he had early in life joined the Franciscan Observantines, but he afterwards became a member of the Capuchin brotherhood, and adopted the most rigid ascetic practices. These altogether failed to give him the peace of mind which he sought. At his wit's end, he exclaimed:—

"Lord, if I am not saved now, I know not what else I can do!"

At length he found the very guide he wanted in the Bible, by the attentive perusal of which he became convinced that Christ by his death had made a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice for the sins of the whole world,—that religious vows of human invention were not only useless but wicked,—and that the Romish church, with all her appeals to the senses, was unscriptural and abominable in the sight of God.

Ochino's natural powers of oratory, improved as they were by cultivation, led to his being chosen for one of the Lent preachers in the principal cities of Italy. He drew crowds to hear him. The Emperor, when in Italy, attended his sermons. For the time, at any rate, he effected in his hearers a change of heart and life—made them give largely of their abundance to the poor, and reconciled their differences. His adoption of the reformed doctrines was not discovered; he seemed aiming at a reformation within the church, while Luther and Calvin were effecting one out of it. The lower orders were becoming imbued with new principles. An Observantine monk, preaching one day at Imola, told his congregation that they must purchase heaven by their good works. A young boy who was present exclaimed:—

"That's blasphemy! for the Bible tells us that Christ purchased heaven for us by his sufferings and death, and bestows it freely on us by his mercy!"

"Get you gone, you young rascal," retorted the monk, "you are but just come from the cradle; and do you take upon you to understand sacred things which even the learned cannot explain?"

"Did you never read these words," then rejoined the boy—"'Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast ordained praise?'"

On this, the monk, furious with anger, quitted the pulpit, and delivered the poor boy over to the secular arm, by which he was marched off to jail; an awful warning to youngsters of his age and degree.

When Giulia Gonzaga arrived at Naples, it was already beginning to ferment with the leaven of the new opinions, without having yet drawn on itself the displeasure of the Sacred College. She established herself in a good house in the Borgo delle Vergini, (sleeping every night in the nunnery of Santa Clara,) and immediately sought the society of Vittoria Colonna, whose extraordinary interest in the reformed doctrines she was at first quite at a loss to comprehend.