Calvin, however, was saddened by what he saw. It might be possible to come to some arrangement with the papacy, which would in appearance make some concessions; but he had no doubt that if Protestantism were once caught in Rome’s net, it was lost. It was this which appears to have taken up his attention in the last days of the year, when mournful thoughts are wont to cast a gloom over the mind. But he did not stop there. He knew that Christ did conquer and will conquer the world. ‘When we are well-nigh overwhelmed in ourselves,’ he said, ‘if we but look at that glory to which Christ our head has been raised, we shall be bold to look with contempt on all the evils which impend over us.’[43] One circumstance might contribute also to remind him of the victories which Christ gives. On the first day of the year 1541 he was at Worms. Here it was that, twenty years before, Luther had appeared before the emperor and the diet, and by his faith had won a glorious victory. Calvin doubtless remembered this. ‘Moreover,’ says Conrad Badius, an eye-witness, who was admitted to the lodgings of the Protestant doctors, ‘the pope’s adherents were so astounded and distracted by the mere presence of the servants of Jesus Christ, that they did not dare to lift up their heads to utter a word.’[44] [Sidenote: Calvin’s ‘Song Of Victory.’] Deeply affected by the formidable struggle which had been going on for nearly a quarter of a century, and persuaded that Christ would put all his enemies under his feet, Calvin gave utterance to this thought in a _Song of Victory_ (_Epinicion_). It is the only poem of his that we possess, and it contains some fine lines. ‘Yes,’ sang Calvin, ‘the victory will be Christ’s, and the year which announces to us the day of triumph is now beginning. Let pious tongues break the thankless silence and cause their joy to burst forth. His enemies will say, What madness is this? Are they triumphing over a nation which is not yet subdued, are they seizing the crown before they have routed the army? True, impiety sits haughtily on a lofty throne. There still exists one who by a nod bends to his will the most powerful monarchs, his mouth vomiting deadly poison and his hands stained with innocent blood. But for Christ death is life and the cross a victory. The breath of his mouth is the weapon with which he fights, and already for five _lustra_ he has brandished his sword with a vigorous hand, not without smiting. The pope, leader of the sacrilegious army, wounded at last, groans under the unlooked-for plagues which have just fallen upon him, and the profane multitude is trembling for terror. If it be a great thing to conquer one’s enemies by force, what must it be to overthrow them by a mere sign? Christ casts them down without breaking his own repose: he scatters them while he keeps silence. We are a pitiful band, few in number, without apparel, without arms, sheep in the presence of ravening wolves. But the victory