DEFEAT OF THE ROMISH PARTY IN PARIS AND MOMENTARY
TRIUMPH OF THE GOSPEL.
(1533.)
[Sidenote: FRANCIS PUNISHES BOTH PARTIES.]
Margaret and her husband, with the Bishop du Bellay, alarmed at the
storm, resolved to lay their complaints before Francis I. The kingly
authority was threatened; these hot-headed 'wallet-bearers' were the
predecessors of those who instigated the murders of Henry III. and Henry
IV. The King of Navarre on the one hand, and the Bishop of Paris on the
other, laid before their sovereign an alarming picture of the state of
the capital. 'The blood of Berquin does not satisfy these fanatics,'
they said; 'they are calling for fresh acts of cruelty.... And who will
be their victims now?... They are planning a crime, a revolt!'[307] But
while Francis was listening to his sister's denunciations with one ear,
he was receiving those of the Sorbonne in the other. 'Sedition!' said
one party. 'Heresy!' cried the other. 'Sire,' repeated the theologians
incessantly, 'shut the pulpits against Roussel and his colleagues.'[308]
Thus pulled in different directions, the king, puzzled which to believe,
resolved to punish both parties alike. 'I will confine them all to their
houses,' he said; 'Beda with his orators on one side, and Gerard Roussel
with his preachers on the other. We shall then have some peace and be
able at our leisure to examine these contradictory accusations.'[309]
Thus, at the same moment, Beda, Maillard, Ballue, and Bouchigny of the
church party, and Roussel, Courault, and Berthaud of the evangelical
party, received orders not to leave their houses. The schoolmaster thus
punished the quarrelsome boys by putting them in opposite corners.
Preparations were made for investigating the two cases, but the matter
was not so easy as the king had imagined. The theologians were indignant
at finding themselves placed in the same rank with the Lutherans. Far
from submitting to be prosecuted for sedition, they claimed to prosecute
the others for heresy. They would not be the accused or even the
accusers; they took their stand as inquisitors of the faith and as
judges.[310]
[Sidenote: BEDA BREAKS LOOSE.]
The terrible Beda, shut up in the college of Montaigu,[311] and not
daring to go out, found himself condemned, considering his restless
temper, to the severest penance. At first he was content to keep his
agents at work, who were ready at any moment to bear his orders. But
when he learnt that his right to judge was disputed, and that he was to
be put in the same rank with Roussel, the turbulent doctor could
restrain himself no longer. His room was too narrow to contain his
anger. He made light of the king's commands, and, disobeying his orders,
mounted his mule and rode into the city. From time to time he stopped.
The catholic tribune, the defender of the pope, was soon recognised; a
crowd gathered round him; he addressed the people from his mule, and did
his best to arouse their fanatical passions. While the catholics flocked
round him, some evangelicals were watching the orator and his audience
from a distance. 'I saw him riding on his mule,' says Siderander.[312]
Beda thought himself stronger than the king, and in some respects he
was; he reigned over the savage appetites of an ignorant and fanatical
populace. Such was the power in the sixteenth century by which the pope
triumphed more than once in the capital of France and elsewhere.
Beda was vigorously supported by all his subalterns: Le Picard
especially, who had not been put under arrest, expressed his indignation
in his fanatical discourses that the king should desire to hold the
balance even between the Church and heresy; and advocated a resort to
force to insure the triumph of the oppressed papacy. A riot seemed about
to break out. The friends of learning and of the king were alarmed.
Might not the Roman party take advantage of Francis's absence to
establish another power than his in Paris, and to treat this monarch as
the Seize in after years treated his grandson Henry III.?
The King of Navarre and the Bishop of Paris hastened to Meaux, where
Francis was staying with his court, and informed him that Beda, Le
Picard, and their colleagues had thrown aside all reserve, and that,
unless energetic measures were taken, the public tranquillity and
perhaps his crown might be endangered. The king gave way to a paroxysm
of anger. Beda's freak of parading the streets of Paris on his mule,
notwithstanding the prohibition, was one of those insults that Francis
felt very keenly. He ordered Cardinal Duprat and the Bishop of Senlis to
make all haste to Paris, and stop the intrigues of the Sorbonne and the
promenades of Beda, and also arrest Le Picard. 'As for the inquiry about
heresy,' said the king, 'I reserve that for myself.'[313] Heresy was
treated with more tenderness than the first catholic faculty of
christendom. Francis began to find the Lutherans gentle as lambs in
comparison with the hot-headed papists. Certain personages, whose
arrival was soon to be announced by the officers of his court, confirmed
him in this opinion.
[Sidenote: SORBONNE THREATENS FRANCIS.]
Scarcely had the two prelates left Meaux, when a deputation from the
Sorbonne arrived. When Francis received them, he was evidently in a bad
humour, but he did not address them sharply, as the courtiers had
expected. The theologians approached him with all the required
formalities; they desired, if possible, to win him by meekness. But by
degrees they raised their tone; they beset him with their accusations,
and irritated him with their pretensions, repeating again and again that
it was the prerogative of the Sorbonne, and not of the prince, to give
their opinion in a matter of heresy. There was some truth in this, but
the truth did not please Francis, who claimed to be master in
everything. Still he contained himself, until the doctors, coming to
threats of revolt, and shouting their loudest, reminded him of the
possibility of a deposition of kings by the popes.[314] These
recollections of the middle ages, with which they menaced the haughty
monarch, who claimed to begin a new era, and who desired that the
Reformation should serve at least to abate the pretensions of Rome, and
emancipate princes from its yoke, made the king shudder, and aroused a
terrible fit of anger. His face grew red, his eyes flashed fire, and
putting aside his usual courtesy, he drove the reverend fathers from his
presence, calling them beasts, and saying: 'Get about your business, you
donkeys!'[315] At this moment Francis inaugurated modern times—though
certainly in a fashion rather cavalier.
However, Cardinal Duprat was on the road. What would he do, this vile
courtier of the popes, who at their demand had destroyed the bulwark of
the Gallican liberties, and who hated the Reformation? The Sorbonne
placed their hope in him. But Duprat served his master before all
things, and he could not hide from himself that the hot-headed catholics
were threatening the king's crown. He resolved to strike heavily. As
soon as he reached Paris, he had Le Picard arrested, as being the most
compromised. He confined him in his own palace, seized his books and
papers, and had him interrogated by the advocate-general. The seditious
bachelor raved in his prison, and protested aloud against the indignity
of such treatment; but all his storming was of no use. He was condemned
to be shut up in the abbey of St. Magloire, and forbidden to teach.[316]
Nor did Duprat stop here. He was shocked that paltry priests should dare
speak against that royal majesty of Francis I. for which he, a cardinal
and chancellor, had nothing but humble flatteries. He never ceased to be
the mortal enemy of the Gospel, and originated many a measure of
persecution against the reformed; but his chief quality was a slavish
devotion to the wishes of his master. To the mendicant monks sent out by
the Sorbonne he opposed 'inquirers'—the name he gave to the spies who
were in every parish, and who skilfully interrogated men and women,
nobles and sacristans, to find out whether the preachers or the friars
had attacked the king's government in their hearing. Many of the
townspeople were unwilling to say anything; yet the clever and dreaded
minister attained his ends, and having discovered the most refractory
priests, he summoned them before him. This summons from a cardinal of
the holy Church, from the most powerful person in the kingdom, alarmed
these violent clerics; on a sudden their courage collapsed, and they
appeared before his eminence with downcast eyes, trembling limbs, and
confused manner. 'Who permitted or who authorised you to insult the king
and to excite the people?' asked the haughty Duprat.[317] The priests
were too much terrified to conceal anything: 'It was with the consent
and the good pleasure of our reverend masters,' they replied.[318]
The theologians of the Sorbonne were now summoned in their turn. They
were quite as much alarmed as their creatures, and, seeing the danger,
denied everything.[319] They managed to take shelter behind certain
clever reservations: they had _hinted_ the insult, but they had not
_commanded_ it. At heart both chiefs and followers were all equally
fanatical, and not one of them needed any stimulus to do his duty in
this holy war. These reverend gentlemen, having thus screened themselves
under denials, withdrew, fully convinced that no one would dare lay
hands upon them. But a hundred Bedas would not have stopped the terrible
cardinal. In the affair of the concordat, had he taken any notice of the
fierce opposition of the sovereign courts, of the universities, or even
of the clergy of France? Duprat smiled at his own unpopularity, and
found a secret pleasure in attracting the general hatred upon himself.
Catholics and evangelicals—he will brave and crush them all. He went to
the bottom of the matter, and having discovered who were the Æoluses
that had raised these sacerdotal tempests, he informed the king of the
result.
[Sidenote: FRANCIS ACTS VIGOROUSLY.]
Francis had never been so angry with the catholics. He had met with men
who dared resist him!... It was his pride, his despotism, and not his
love of truth, that was touched. Besides, was he not the ally of
Henry VIII., and was he not seeking to form a league with the
protestants of Germany? Severe measures against the ultramontane bigots
would convince his allies of the sincerity of his words. He had another
motive still: Francis highly valued the title 'patron of letters,' and
he looked upon the friars as their enemy. He put himself forward as the
champion of the learning of the age, and not of the Gospel; but for a
moment it was possible to believe in the triumph of the Reformation
under the patronage of the Renaissance.
[Sidenote: CONDEMNATION OF BEDA.]
On the 16th of May, 1533, the indefatigable Beda, the fiery Le Picard,
and the zealous friar Mathurin, the three most intrepid supporters of
the papacy in France, appeared before the parliament. An event so
extraordinary filled both university and city with surprise and emotion.
Devout men raised their eyes to heaven; devout women redoubled their
prayers to Mary; but Beda and his two colleagues, proud of their Romish
orthodoxy, appeared before the court, and compared themselves with the
confessors of Christ standing before the proconsuls of Rome. No one
could believe in a condemnation; was not the King of France the eldest
son of the Church? But the disciples of the pope did not know the
monarch who then reigned over France. If they wanted to show what a
priest was like, the sovereign wanted to show what a king was like. When
signing the letters-royal in which Francis had suggested the arrest to
parliament, he exclaimed: 'As for Beda, on my word, he shall never
return to Paris!'[320] The king's ordinance had been duly registered;
the court was complete; and not a sound could be heard, when the
president, turning to the three doctors, said: 'Reverend gentlemen, you
are banished from Paris, and will henceforward live thirty leagues from
this capital; you are at liberty, however, to select what residences you
please, provided they be at a distance from each other. You will leave
the city in twenty-four hours. If you break your ban, you will incur the
penalty of death. You will neither preach, give lessons, nor hold any
kind of meeting, and you will keep up no communication with one another,
until the king has ordered otherwise.'
Beda, Le Picard, Mathurin, and their friends, were all terrified.
Francis had, however, reserved for the last a decision which must have
abated their courage still more. As if he wished to show the triumph of
evangelical ideas, he cancelled the injunction against Roussel; and
Margaret's almoner was able once more to preach the Gospel in the
capital. 'If you have any complaint against him,' said the king to the
Sorbonne, 'you can bring him before the lawful tribunals.'[321]
This decree of the parliament fell like a thunderbolt in the midst of
the Sorbonne. Stunned and stupefied, unable to say or do anything, the
doctors shook off their stupor only to be seized with a fit of terror.
They visited each other, conversed together, and whispered their alarms.
Had the fatal moment really come which they had feared so long? Was
Francis about to follow the example of Frederick of Saxony and Henry of
England? Would the cause of the holy Roman Church perish under the
attacks of its enemies? Would France join the triumphal procession of
the Reformation?... The old men, pretty numerous at the Sorbonne, were
overwhelmed. One of them, a broken-down, feeble hypochondriac, was so
terribly disturbed by the decree, that he fairly lost his senses. He
suffered a perpetual nightmare. He fancied he saw the king and the
parliament, with all France, destroying the Sorbonne, and trampling on
the necks of the doctors while their palace was burning. The poor man
expired in the midst of these terrible phantoms.[322] Yet the blow which
stunned some, aroused others. The more intrepid doctors met and
conferred together, and strove to encourage their partisans and to
enlist new ones: they took no rest night or day.[323] Unable to believe
that this decree really expressed the king's will, they determined to
send a deputation to the south of France, whither he had gone; but
Francis had not forgotten their hint about the deposition of kings by
the popes, and, angry as ever, he rejected every demand.
[Sidenote: HOPES OF THE REFORMERS.]
Nor was the Sorbonne alone agitated: all the city was in commotion, some
being against the decree, others for it. The bigots, in their compassion
for 'the excellent Beda,'[324] exclaimed: 'What an indignity, to expose
so profound a divine, so high-born a man, to such a harsh
punishment!'[325] But, on the other hand, the friends of learning leapt
for joy.[326] A great movement seemed to be accomplishing; it was a
solemn time. Some of the most intelligent men imagined that France was
about to be regenerated and transformed.... Sturm in his college was
delighted. What news to send to Germany, to Bucer, to Melanchthon!... He
ran to his study, took up his pen, and wrote in his transport: 'Things
are changing, the hinges are turning.... It is true there still remain
here and there a few aged Priams, surrounded by servile creatures, who
cling to the things that are passing away.... But, with the exception of
this small number of belated men, no one any longer defends the cause of
the Phrygian priests.'[327] The classic Sturm could only compare the
spirit of the ultramontanists to the superstition and fanaticism of the
priests of Phrygia, so notorious for those qualities in ancient times.
But the friends of the Reform and of the Renaissance were indulging in
most exaggerated illusions. A few old folks, mumbling their _Ave-Marias_
and _Pater-nosters_, seemed to them to constitute the whole strength of
the papacy. They had great hopes of the new generation: 'The young
priests,' they said, 'are rushing into the shining paths of
wisdom.'[328] Francis I. having shown an angry face to the Sorbonne,
every Frenchman was about to follow his example, according to the belief
of the friends of letters. They indulged in transports of joy, and, as
it were, a universal shout welcomed the opening of a new era. But alas!
France was still far distant from it; she was not judged worthy of such
happiness. Instead of seeing the triple banner of the Gospel, morality,
and liberty raised upon her walls, that great and mighty nation was
destined, owing to Romish influence, to pass through centuries of
despotism and wild democracy, frivolity and licentiousness, superstition
and unbelief.
[Sidenote: THE FOUR DOCTORS EXILED.]
In the midst of the contrary movements now agitating Paris, there was a
certain number of spectators who, while leaning more to one party than
to the other, set about studying the situation. In one of the colleges
was a student of Alsace, the son of an ironmonger at Strasburg, who,
wishing to give himself a Greek or Latin name, called himself
_Siderander_, 'man of iron.' Such, however, was not his nature; he was
particularly curious; he had a passion for picking up news, and his
great desire to know other people's business made him supple as the
willow, rather than hard as the metal. Siderander was an amiable
well-educated young man, and he gives us a pretty faithful picture of
the better class of students of that day. On Monday, May 26, he was
going to hear a lecture on logic by Sturm, who, leaving the paths of
barren scholasticism, was showing by example as well as by precept how
clearness of thought may be united with elegance of language. Just as
the Alsatian was approaching the college of Montaigu, where Sturm
lectured, he met with a piece of good-luck. He saw an immense crowd of
students and citizens collected in front of the college, where they had
been waiting since the morning to witness the departure of the Hercules
of the Sorbonne.[329] He ran as fast as he could, his heart throbbing
with joy at the thought of seeing Beda, the great papist, going into
banishment.... For such a sight, the student would have walked from
Strasburg. The rumour had spread through Paris that the three or four
disgraced doctors were to leave the capital on that day. Everybody
wished to see them: some for the joy they felt at their disgrace;
others, to give vent to their sorrow. But, sad misfortune! the lucky
chance which had delighted the student failed him. The government was
alarmed, and fearing a riot, the exiles did not appear. The crowd was
forced to disperse without seeing them, and Siderander went away in
great disappointment. The next morning, at an early hour, the four
culprits, Beda, Le Picard, Mathurin, and a Franciscan, came forth under
guard and without noise. The doctors, humiliated at being led out of the
city like malefactors, did not even raise their heads. But the
precautions of the police were useless: many people were on the
look-out, the news spread in a moment through the quarter, and a crowd
of burgesses, monks, and common people filled the streets to see the
celebrated theologians pass, dejected, silent, and with downcast eyes.
The glory of the Sorbonne had faded; even that of Rome was dimmed; and
it seemed to many as if the papacy was departing with its four
defenders. The devout catholics gave way to sighs and groans,
indignation and tears; but at the very moment when these bigots were
paying the last honours to popery, others were saluting the advent of
the new times with transports of joy. 'They are sycophants,' said some
among the crowd, 'banished from Paris on account of their lies and their
traitorous proceedings.'[330]
The disciples of the Gospel did not confine themselves to words. Matters
were in good train, and it was desirable to persevere until the end was
reached. While the Sorbonne bent its head, the Reformation was looking
up. The Queen of Navarre and her husband, with many politicians and men
of rank, encouraged Roussel, Courault, and others to preach the Gospel
fearlessly; even these evangelists were astonished at their sudden
favour. Roussel in particular advanced timidly, asking whether the
Church would not interpose its _veto_? But no; Bishop du Bellay, the
diplomatist's brother, did not interfere. During the whole period of the
king's absence, Paris was almost like a country in the act of reforming
itself. Men thought themselves already secure of that religious liberty
which, alas! was to cost three centuries of struggle and the purest
blood, and whose lamentable defeats were to scatter the confessors of
Jesus Christ into every part of the world. When a great good is to be
bestowed on the human race, the deliverance is only accomplished by
successive efforts. But at this time men thought they had attained the
end at a single bound. From the pulpits that were opened to them in
every quarter of Paris, the evangelists proclaimed that the truth had
been revealed in Jesus Christ; that the Word of God, contained in the
writings of the prophets and apostles, did not require to be sanctioned
or interpreted by an infallible authority; and that whoever listened to
it or read it with a sincere heart, would be enlightened and saved by
it. The tutelage of the priests was abolished, and emancipated souls
were brought into immediate contact with God and his revelation. The
great salvation purchased by the death of Christ upon the cross was
announced with power, and the friends of the Gospel, transported with
joy, exclaimed: 'At last Christ is preached publicly in the pulpits of
the capital, and all speak of it freely.[331] May the Lord increase
among us day by day the glory of his Gospel!'[332]
[Sidenote: SATIRES OF THE STUDENTS.]
The most serious causes always find defenders among trivial men, who do
not thoroughly understand them, but yet despise their adversaries. The
Reformation has no reason to be proud of some of its auxiliaries in the
sixteenth century. A serious cause ought to be seriously defended; but
history cannot pass by these manifestations, which are as much in her
domain as those of another kind. Satire was not spared in this matter.
The students especially delighted in it: they posted up a long placard,
written carefully with ornamented letters in French verse, in which the
four theologians were described in the liveliest and most fantastic
colours.[333] Two of their colleagues were also introduced, for the four
doctors on whom the king's wrath had fallen were not the only criminals.
A cordelier especially was notorious for his curious sermons, full of
bad French and bad Latin, and still more notorious for the clever and
popular eloquence he displayed, whenever a collection was to be made in
favour of his order. This Pierre Cornu, who had been nicknamed _des
Cornes_, was wonderfully touched off in the poem of the students. Groups
of scholars, burgesses, and Parisian wits gathered round the placards,
some bursting with laughter and others with anger. The vehement and
ridiculous Cornu especially excited the mirth of the idlers. A profane
author who had nothing to do with the Reformation, speaks of him in his
writings:—'Ha! ha! Master Cornu,' said one, 'you are not the only man to
have horns.... Friend Bacchus wears a pair; and so do Pan, and Jupiter
Ammon and hosts besides.'—'Ha! ha! dear Master Cornibus,' said another,
'give me an ounce of your sermon, and I will make the collection in your
parish.' Strange circumstance! The public voice seemed at this time
opposed to these forerunners of the preachers of the League. The
Sorbonne, however, had friends who replied to these jests by bursts of
passion. 'The man who wrote these verses is a heretic,' they
exclaimed.[334] From insults they passed to threats; from threats they
came to blows, and the struggle began. The bigots wished to pull down
the placard. A creature of the Faculty succeeded; springing into the
air, he tore it down and ran off with his spoil.[335] Then the crowd
dispersed.
[Sidenote: SORBONNE CALLS FOR THE STAKE.]
In that age placards played a great part, similar to that played by
certain pamphlets in later times. There was no need to buy them at the
bookseller's; everybody could read the impromptu tracts at the corners
of the streets. Rome was not in the humour to leave these powerful
weapons in the hands of her enemies, and the Sorbonne determined to
appeal to the people against the abhorred race of innovators. It did not
jest, like the youth of the schools; it went straight to the point, and
invoked the stake against its adversaries. Two days after that on which
the former placard was posted up, another was found on the walls,
containing these unpolished verses:
To the stake! to the stake! with the heretic crew,
That day and night vexes all good men and true.
Shall we let them Saint Scripture and her edicts defile?
Shall we banish pure science for Lutherans vile?
Do you think that our God will permit such as these
To imperil our bodies and souls at their ease?
O Paris, of cities the flower and the pride,
Uphold that true faith which these heretics deride;
Or else on thy towers storm and tempest shall fall....
Take heed by my warning; and let us pray all
That the King of all kings will be pleased to confound
These dogs so accursed, where'er they be found,
That their names, like bones going fast to decay,
May from memory's tablets be clean wiped away.
To the stake! to the stake! the fire is their home!
As God hath permitted, let justice be done.
A crowd equally great assembled before this placard, as cruel as it was
crafty. The writer appealed to the people of Paris; he entitled them
'the flower and pride of cities,' knowing that flattery is the best
means of winning men's minds; and then he called for the stake. The
'stake' was the argument with which men opposed the Reform. 'Burn those
who confute us!' This savage invocation was a home-thrust. Many of the
citizens, kneeling down to write, copied out the placard, in order to
carry it to every house: the press is less rapid, even in our days.
Others committed the verses to memory, and walked along the streets
singing the burden:
To the stake! to the stake! the fire is their home!
As God hath permitted, let justice be done!
These rude rhymes became the motto of their party; this cruel ballad of
the sixteenth century erelong summoned the champions of the Church in
various quarters to fatten the earth with the ashes of their enemies.
Pierre Siderander happened to be in the crowd; noticing several papists
copying the incendiary verses, the Strasburg student did the same, and
sent copies to his friends. By this means they were handed down to our
times.[336]
The next day there was a fresh placard. The Sorbonne, finding the people
beginning to be moved, wished to arouse them thoroughly. This ballad was
not confined to a general appeal to the stake; Roussel was mentioned by
name as one who deserved to be burnt. The fanatical placards of the
Sorbonnists were not so soon torn down as the satirical couplets of
their pupils. They could be read for days together, such good watch did
the sacristans keep over them.
But the Sorbonne did not limit themselves to a paper war; they worked
upon the most eminent members of the parliament. Their zeal displayed
itself on every side. 'Justice! justice!' they exclaimed; 'let us punish
these detestable heretics, and pluck up Lutheranism, root and
branch.'[337] The whole city was in commotion; the most odious plots
were concocted; and the _matéologues_, as the students called the
defenders of the old abuses, took counsel at the Sorbonne every day.
[Sidenote: PROGRESS OF THE REFORM.]
In the midst of all this agitation the Reformation was advancing quietly
but surely. While the Queen of Navarre boldly professed her living piety
in the palace, and preachers proclaimed it from their pulpits to the
believing crowd, evangelical men, still in obscurity, were modestly
propagating around them a purer and a mightier faith. At this period
Calvin spent four years in Paris (1529-1533), where he at first engaged
in literature. It might have been thought that he would appear in the
world as a man of letters, and not as a reformer. But he soon placed
profane studies in the second rank, and devoted himself to the service
of God, as we have seen. He would have desired not to enter forthwith
upon a career of evangelical activity. 'During this time,' he said, 'my
sole object was to live privately, without being known.' He felt the
necessity of a time of silence and christian meditation. He would have
liked to imitate Paul, who, after his conversion and his first preaching
at Damascus, passed several quiet years in Arabia and Cilicia;[338] but
he had to combat error around him, and he soon took a step in advance.
While Courault and Roussel were preaching in the churches to large
audiences and dealing tenderly with the papacy, Calvin, displaying great
activity,[339] visited the different quarters of Paris where secret
assemblies were held, and there proclaimed a more scriptural, a more
complete, and a bolder doctrine. In his discourses he made frequent
allusions to the dangers to which those were exposed who desired to live
piously; and he taught them at the same time 'what magnanimity believers
ought to possess when adversity draws them on to despair.'—'When things
do not go as we wish,' he said, 'sadness comes over the mind and makes
us forget all our confidence. But the paternal love of God is the
foundation of an invincible strength which overcomes every trial. The
divine favour is a shelter against all storms, from whatever quarter
they may come.' And he usually ended his discourses, we are told, with
these words: '_If God be for us, who can be against us?_'[340]
Mere preaching did not satisfy Calvin: he entered into communication
with all who desired a purer religion,[341] made them frequent visits,
and conversed seriously with them. He avoided no one, and cultivated the
friendship of those whom he had formerly known. He advanced step by
step, but he was always busy, and the doctrine of the Gospel made some
progress every day. All persons rendered the strongest testimony to his
piety.[342] The friends of the Word of God gathered round him, and among
them were many burgesses and common people, but there were nobles and
college professors also.
These christians were full of hope, and even Calvin entertained the bold
idea of winning the king, the university, and indeed France herself,
over to the Gospel. Paris was in suspense. Every one thought that some
striking and perhaps sudden change was about to take place in one
direction or another. Will Rome or will the Reformation have the
advantage? There were strong reasons for adopting the former opinion,
and reasons hardly less powerful for adopting the latter. Discussions
arose upon this point, even among friends. Men were on the look-out for
anything that might help them to divine the future, and the more curious
resorted to the various places where they hoped to pick up news. Public
attention was particularly turned towards the Sorbonne, when it was
known that the heads of the Roman party were holding council.
[Sidenote: PIERRE SIDERANDER.]
On the 23rd of May, 1533, Pierre Siderander (who was naturally
inquisitive), instigated by a desire to learn what was going to happen,
and wishing in particular to know what was doing in the theological
clubs (for from them, he doubted not, would proceed the blow that would
decide who should be the victors), stole into the buildings belonging to
the faculty of divinity.[343] He did not dare penetrate farther than the
great gate: stopping there like any other lounger, he began to look at
the pictures that were sold at the entrance of the building.[344] But,
with all his innocent air, his eyes and ears were wide open, trying to
pick up a word or two that would tell him what was going on; for the
doctors, as they went in or out talking together, must necessarily pass
close by him. Pierre wasted his time sauntering about before the
pictures of the saints and of the Virgin (which he looked upon as
idolatrous). On a sudden he saw the illustrious Budæus coming out of the
Sorbonne.[345] At that time Budæus was playing the same part as the
noble Chancellor l'Hôpital afterwards did: he was present in every place
where it was necessary to moderate, enlighten, or restrain the
hot-headed. He passed Siderander without saying a word, and quitted the
building; but the curious student could not resist; he left his post and
began to follow the celebrated hellenist, wishing to look at him at his
ease, and hoping no doubt to learn something.[346] 'Am I not,' he said,
'the friend of his two sons who like myself attend the course of
Latomus? Has not the eldest invited me to come and see his museum?[347]
Did not I go there the other day, and ought he not to return my visit
along with his brother?' Siderander, who burnt with desire to know what
was said in the assembly which the founder of the college of France had
just left, quickened his pace; the words were already on his lips, when
he suddenly stopped intimidated. Timidity was stronger than curiosity,
and he soon lost sight of the man whom Erasmus called 'the prodigy of
France.' And yet, had he asked him, he would perhaps have learnt what
the Roman party was plotting, and been able to tell his friends the
probable issue of the crisis. He had often asked the sons of Budæus what
their father was planning.[348] 'He is much with the bishop,' answered
they, 'but he is planning nothing.'[349] Thus Siderander did all he
could, but to no purpose, to elicit some interesting communication and
to learn some rare news. He was unable to satisfy his extreme curiosity.
'And that is not all,' he said to himself, 'for if, instead of losing my
time under the portico of the Sorbonne, I had been elsewhere, I might
have learnt something.' He desired to be everywhere, and yet was
nowhere. 'Ha!' he said with vexation as he returned from running after
Budæus, 'while I throw my hook in at one place, the fish goes to
another. Things occur in our quarter which the inhabitants of the others
know nothing about, and we know nothing of what takes place
elsewhere.[350] Alas! everything assumes a threatening aspect;
everything announces a violent storm.'[351]
[Sidenote: SIDERANDER'S CURIOSITY.]
The Sorbonne, the religious orders, and all fervent catholics, being
convinced that the innovators, by exalting Jesus Christ and his Word,
were humbling the Church and the papacy, were determined to wage a
deadly war against them. They thought that if they first struck down the
most formidable of their adversaries, they could easily disperse the
rest of the rebel army. But against whom should the first blow be aimed?
This was the subject of deliberation in those councils which the curious
Siderander desired so much to overhear.
Before we learn what was preparing at the Sorbonne, we must enter more
illustrious council-chambers, and transport ourselves to Bologna.
[Footnote 307: 'Rex Navarræ instinctu uxoris et episcopus regem
sollicitare ... seditionis crimen intendere.'—Sturm to Bucer.]
[Footnote 308: 'Gerardum removeat a concionibus.'—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p.
648.]
[Footnote 309: 'Placuit regi ut Beda cum suis oratoribus et G. Rufus,
quisque in suis ædibus, tanquam privata custodia detineretur.'—Sturm to
Bucer.]
[Footnote 310: 'Ut ne accusatores viderentur, sed opinatores tantum, et
inquisitores hæreticæ pravitatis.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 311: 'Tum bonus noster Beda in Monte suo Acuto manere coactus
est.'—Siderander Bedroto.]
[Footnote 312: 'In mulo suo equitantem vidi.'—Siderander Bedroto.]
[Footnote 313: 'Judicium de hæresi sibi reservavit.'—Sturmius Bucero.]
[Footnote 314: 'Vociferati sunt seditiosissime, regi minantes ipsi.'—
Melanchthon to Spalatin, _Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 685.]
[Footnote 315: 'Rex, quoniam esset exacerbatus, irrisit tanquam
Arcadicorum pecorum.'—Sturm to Bucer.]
[Footnote 316: H. de Coste, _Le parfait Ecclésiastique_, p. 73.]
[Footnote 317: 'Cujus vel permissu vel jussu populum commovissent et
læsissent regem.'—Sturm to Bucer, ed. Schmidt.]
[Footnote 318: 'Responderunt ex consensu et placito magistrorum
nostrorum.'—Sturm to Bucer, ed. Schmidt.]
[Footnote 319: 'Theologi cum pericula animadverterent, negabant.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 320: 'Nunquam velit Bedam reverti.'—Sturm to Bucer.]
[Footnote 321: 'Gerardus libere concionatur; et imperatum theologis, si
quid habeant negotii adversus eum, ut jure agant.'—Melanchthon to
Spalatin, July 22. _Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 658.]
[Footnote 322: 'Senex quidem theologus hanc contumeliam theologici
ordinis adeo ægre tulit, ut delirio vitam amiserit.'—Melanchthon to
Spalatin. _Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 658.]
[Footnote 323: 'Ὁι θεολόγοι non die, non nocte, unquam cessant ab
opere.'—Siderander, Strasburg MSS.]
[Footnote 324: 'Illi miserantur optimi Bedæ.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 325: 'Hominem tam grandem natu, exilium tam durum pati
oportere.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 326: 'Audias alios qui gaudio exultent.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 327: 'Vide rerum commutationem ... Praeter senes Priamos et
paucos alios, nemo est qui faveat istis sacerdotibus Phrygiis.'—Sturm to
Bucer.]
[Footnote 328: 'Juniores theologi jam sapere incipiunt.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 329: 'Maximam turbam ante collegium Montis Acuti vidi.'—
Siderander Bedroto.]
[Footnote 330: 'Beda urbe pulsus cum aliis quibusdam sycophantis.'—
Melanchthon to Spalatin, _Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 658.]
[Footnote 331: 'Palam prædicare Christum quidam cœperunt, omnes loqui
liberius.'—Bucer to Blaarer. Strasburg MSS.]
[Footnote 332: 'Christus evangelii gloriam augeat.'—Melanchthon to
Spalatin. _Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 658.]
[Footnote 333: 'In qua pulcherrime suisque coloribus omnes isti theologi
depingebantur.'—Siderander Bedroto.]
[Footnote 334: 'Alii auctorem clamabant esse hæreticum.'—Siderander
Bedroto.]
[Footnote 335: 'Tandem nescio quis delator dilaceravit.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 336: 'Quos cum viderem, descripsi et ipse,' and here follow
the verses. Schmidt, _G. Roussel. Pièces Justificatives_, p. 205.]
[Footnote 337: 'Ut supplicium de detestandis illis hæreticis sumat,
eosque extirpet funditus.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 338: Galatians i. 17-21.]
[Footnote 339: 'Nec ei mox defuit in quo sese strenue exerceret.'—Bezæ
_Vita Calvini_.]
[Footnote 340: Bezæ _Vita Calvini_. Herzog, _Real Encyclopädie_, art.
_Calvin_. Schmidt, _G. Roussel_, p. 94.]
[Footnote 341: 'Omnibus purioris religionis studiosis innotuit.'—Bezæ
_Vita Calv._]
[Footnote 342: 'Non sine insigni pietatis testimonio.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 343: 'Heri videre volui quidnam in Sorbonna ageretur.'—
Siderander Bedroto.]
[Footnote 344: 'Picturas et imagines quæ ibi venduntur.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 345: 'Budæum egredientem video.'—Siderander Bedroto.]
[Footnote 346: 'Quem relicto instituto secutus sum.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 347: 'Me rogavit ut musæum suum viderem.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 348: 'Quid novi jam pater moliretur.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 349: 'Negabat quicquam moliri.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 350: 'Quod nos ignoramus.'—Siderander Bedroto.]
[Footnote 351: 'Nemo est qui possit expiscari omnia ... Omnia tumultum
minari videntur.'—Ibid.]