sixteenth century, from the Battle of Pavia in 1525 to the renew project of Spires in 1573. But, as a rule, the Christian princes were as parochial in their hatred of the East in their yet bitterer hatred of Christian heresy. The Catholic hated the Turk and the Huguenot—the Huguenot the Catholic and the Turk. It was the merit of Francis to rise above sectarian considerations, to propose a great political alliance between the Protestant North, and Catholic Venice, and Catholic France, and Mahommedan Turkey. Such an alliance would have been the last word, the greatest masterpiece of the Renaissance. Humanity, tolerance, freedom of judgment, would have been naturalized thereby in Europe, and the dreadful history of the 17th century might have had a different record. But the thing was difficult beyond belief, for each State suspected the other, and all alike suspected Soliman. He was reckoned, as in their State-papers England and Spain and Germany alike conspire to name him, "the Turk, the Common Enemy." Francis would find it no easy task to make the most enlightened kingdoms of Europe accept his alliance.
For great and deep spread the horror of the Turk. Venice was too wise, England too far to share it, save in a nominal and intermittent fashion; but in Germany the dread of Soliman was as natural and fierce as superstition. Nor was this wholly an unreasonable fear. Selim was dead and gone, and in these later days the Ottomans themselves were admirably well and merciful. In 1526 two hundred thousand Turks traversed the Empire; they marched along the roads, avoiding the fields lest they should ruin the harvest. Not a village was burned, not a hamlet plundered. Any soldier caught in the
