monument at Geneva, upon his verdant, solitary island.
After I had combated for a couple of hours with Calvin's flint-like logic and his contradictions in this absurd doctrine, I grew weary and melancholy, and went out to breathe the soft, fresh, vernal air, and God's goodness in it. To what frightful absurdities does not the blind worshiping of the letter of the Scriptures lead! The letter killeth, but the spirit maketh alive; was said by the Lord.
Calvin's letters, lately published by the young Professor, J. Bonnet, are equally indispensable for the right understanding of Calvin's character. They have, to a certain extent, reconciled me with him. One sees in them a soul actually possessed by one only thought and one object—the honor of God.[1] This gave to him the same calm, assured bearing in the presence of kings and queens, as before the meanest of the people. He acknowledged merely one worthiness in all, namely, that of being worthy to serve in God's work which was, in Calvin's estimation, the progress of the reformation. All were reprimanded and admonished accordingly. The Prince of Condè was gravely rebuked, “because he made himself agreeable to the ladies, whereby he became ridiculous, and in consequence thereof, injured the interests of God.” The noble and pious Duchess René of Ferrara, was obliged to hear, that she “must now suffer for the
- ↑ One proof of this is also Calvin's express prohibition, that any other monument should he raised to him after his death, excepting a stone upon his grave. It is no longer known in Geneva what spot of ground contains his dust.—Author's Note.
