from adopting the politic and self-serving counsel of Erasmus, he
determined upon still bolder measures. He would not only stand in defense
of the truth, but he would attack error. The charge of heresy which the
Romanists were seeking to fasten upon him, he would rivet upon them. The
most active and bitter of his opponents were the learned doctors and monks
of the theological department in the great University of Paris, one of the
highest ecclesiastical authorities both in the city and the nation. From
the writings of these doctors, Berquin drew twelve propositions which he
publicly declared to be “opposed to the Bible, and heretical;” and he
appealed to the king to act as judge in the controversy.
The monarch, not loath to bring into contrast the power and acuteness of
the opposing champions, and glad of an opportunity of humbling the pride
of these haughty monks, bade the Romanists defend their cause by the
Bible. This weapon, they well knew, would avail them little; imprisonment,
torture, and the stake were arms which they better understood how to
wield. Now the tables were turned, and they saw themselves about to fall
into the pit into which they had hoped to plunge Berquin. In amazement
they looked about them for some way of escape.
“Just at that time an image of the Virgin at the corner of one of the
streets, was mutilated.” There was great excitement in the city. Crowds of
people flocked to the place, with expressions of mourning and indignation.
The king also was deeply moved. Here was an advantage which the monks
could turn to good account, and they were quick to improve it. “These are
the fruits of the doctrines of Berquin,” they cried. “All is about to be
overthrown—religion, the laws, the throne itself—by this Lutheran
conspiracy.”(324)
Again Berquin was apprehended. The king withdrew from Paris, and the monks
were thus left free to work their will. The Reformer was tried, and
condemned to die, and lest Francis should even yet interpose to save him,
the sentence was executed on the very day it was pronounced. At noon
Berquin was conducted to the place of death. An immense throng gathered to
witness the event, and there were many who saw with astonishment and
misgiving that the victim had been chosen from the best and bravest of the
noble families of France. Amazement, indignation, scorn, and bitter hatred
darkened the faces of that surging crowd; but upon one face no shadow
rested. The martyr’s thoughts were far from that scene of tumult; he was
conscious only of the presence of his Lord.
The wretched tumbrel upon which he rode, the frowning faces of his
persecutors, the dreadful death to which he was going,—these he heeded
not; He who liveth and was dead, and is alive forevermore, and hath the
keys of death and of hell, was beside him. Berquin’s countenance was
radiant with the light and peace of heaven. He had attired himself in
goodly raiment, wearing “a cloak of velvet, a doublet of satin and damask,
and golden hose.”(325) He was about to testify to his faith in presence of
the King of kings and the witnessing universe, and no token of mourning
should belie his joy.
As the procession moved slowly through the crowded streets, the people
marked with wonder the unclouded peace, the joyous triumph, of his look
and bearing. “He is,” they said, “like one who sits in a temple, and
meditates on holy things.”(326)
At the stake, Berquin endeavored to address a few words to the people; but
the monks, fearing the result, began to shout, and the soldiers to clash
their arms, and their clamor drowned the martyr’s voice. Thus in 1529, the
highest literary and ecclesiastical authority of cultured Paris “set the
populace of 1793 the base example of stifling on the scaffold the sacred
words of the dying.”(327)
Berquin was strangled, and his body was consumed in the flames. The
tidings of his death caused sorrow to the friends of the Reformation
throughout France. But his example was not lost. “We too are ready,” said
the witnesses for the truth, “to meet death cheerfully, setting our eyes
on the life that is to come.”(328)
During the persecution at Meaux, the teachers of the reformed faith were
deprived of their license to preach, and they departed to other fields.
Lefevre after a time made his way to Germany. Farel returned to his native
town in eastern France, to spread the light in the home of his childhood.
Already tidings had been received of what was going on at Meaux, and the
truth, which he taught with fearless zeal, found listeners. Soon the
authorities were roused to silence him, and he was banished from the city.
Though he could no longer labor publicly, he traversed the plains and
villages, teaching in private dwellings and in secluded meadows, and
finding shelter in the forests and among the rocky caverns which had been
his haunts in boyhood. God was preparing him for greater trials. “The
crosses, persecutions, and machinations of Satan, of which I was
forewarned, have not been wanting,” he said; “they are even much severer
than I could have borne of myself; but God is my Father; He has provided
and always will provide me the strength which I require.”(329)
As in apostolic days, persecution had “fallen out rather unto the
furtherance of the gospel.”(330) Driven from Paris and Meaux, “they that
were scattered abroad went everywhere preaching the word.”(331) And thus
the light found its way into many of the remote provinces of France.
God was still preparing workers to extend His cause. In one of the schools
of Paris was a thoughtful, quiet youth, already giving evidence of a
powerful and penetrating mind, and no less marked for the blamelessness of
his life than for intellectual ardor and religious devotion. His genius
and application soon made him the pride of the college, and it was
confidently anticipated that John Calvin would become one of the ablest
and most honored defenders of the church. But a ray of divine light
penetrated even within the walls of scholasticism and superstition by
which Calvin was inclosed. He heard of the new doctrines with a shudder,
nothing doubting that the heretics deserved the fire to which they were
given. Yet all unwittingly he was brought face to face with the heresy,
and forced to test the power of Romish theology to combat the Protestant
teaching.
A cousin of Calvin’s, who had joined the Reformers, was in Paris. The two
kinsmen often met, and discussed together the matters that were disturbing
Christendom. “There are but two religions in the world,” said Olivetan,
the Protestant. “The one class of religions are those which men have
invented, in all of which man saves himself by ceremonies and good works;
the other is that one religion which is revealed in the Bible, and which
teaches man to look for salvation solely from the free grace of God.”
“I will have none of your new doctrines,” exclaimed Calvin; “think you
that I have lived in error all my days?”(332)
But thoughts had been awakened in his mind which he could not banish at
will. Alone in his chamber he pondered upon his cousin’s words. Conviction
of sin fastened upon him; he saw himself, without an intercessor, in the
presence of a holy and just Judge. The mediation of saints, good works,
the ceremonies of the church, all were powerless to atone for sin. He
could see before him nothing but the blackness of eternal despair. In vain
the doctors of the church endeavored to relieve his woe. Confession,
penance, were resorted to in vain; they could not reconcile the soul with
God.
While still engaged in these fruitless struggles, Calvin, chancing one day
to visit one of the public squares, witnessed there the burning of a
heretic. He was filled with wonder at the expression of peace which rested
upon the martyr’s countenance. Amid the tortures of that dreadful death,
and under the more terrible condemnation of the church, he manifested a
faith and courage which the young student painfully contrasted with his
own despair and darkness, while living in strictest obedience to the
church. Upon the Bible, he knew, the heretics rested their faith. He
determined to study it, and discover, if he could, the secret of their
joy.
In the Bible he found Christ. “O Father,” he cried, “His sacrifice has
appeased Thy wrath; His blood has washed away my impurities; His cross has
borne my curse; His death has atoned for me. We had devised for ourselves
many useless follies, but Thou hast placed Thy word before me like a
torch, and Thou hast touched my heart, in order that I may hold in
abomination all other merits save those of Jesus.”(333)
Calvin had been educated for the priesthood. When only twelve years of age
he had been appointed to the chaplaincy of a small church, and his head
had been shorn by the bishop in accordance with the canon of the church.
He did not receive consecration, nor did he fulfil the duties of a priest,
but he became a member of the clergy, holding the title of his office, and
receiving an allowance in consideration thereof.
Now, feeling that he could never become a priest, he turned for a time to
the study of law, but finally abandoned this purpose, and determined to
devote his life to the gospel. But he hesitated to become a public
teacher. He was naturally timid, and was burdened with a sense of the
weighty responsibility of the position, and he desired still to devote
himself to study. The earnest entreaties of his friends, however, at last
won his consent. “Wonderful it is,” he said, “that one of so lowly an
origin should be exalted to so great a dignity.”(334)
Quietly did Calvin enter upon his work, and his words were as the dew
falling to refresh the earth. He had left Paris, and was now in a
provincial town under the protection of the princess Margaret, who, loving
the gospel, extended her protection to its disciples. Calvin was still a
youth, of gentle, unpretentious bearing. His work began with the people at
their homes. Surrounded by the members of the household, he read the
Bible, and opened the truths of salvation. Those who heard the message,
carried the good news to others, and soon the teacher passed beyond the
city to the outlying towns and hamlets. To both the castle and the cabin
he found entrance, and he went forward, laying the foundation of churches
that were to yield fearless witnesses for the truth.
A few months, and he was again in Paris. There was unwonted agitation in
the circle of learned men and scholars. The study of the ancient languages
had led men to the Bible, and many whose hearts were untouched by its
truths were eagerly discussing them, and even giving battle to the
champions of Romanism. Calvin, though an able combatant in the fields of
theological controversy, had a higher mission to accomplish than that of
these noisy schoolmen. The minds of men were stirred, and now was the time
to open to them the truth. While the halls of the universities were filled
with the clamor of theological disputation, Calvin was making his way from
house to house, opening the Bible to the people, and speaking to them of
Christ and Him crucified.
In God’s providence, Paris was to receive another invitation to accept the
gospel. The call of Lefevre and Farel had been rejected, but again the
message was to be heard by all classes in that great capital. The king,
influenced by political considerations, had not yet fully sided with Rome
against the Reformation. Margaret still clung to the hope that
Protestantism was to triumph in France. She resolved that the reformed
faith should be preached in Paris. During the absence of the king, she
ordered a Protestant minister to preach in the churches of the city. This
being forbidden by the papal dignitaries, the princess threw open the
palace. An apartment was fitted up as a chapel, and it was announced that
every day, at a specified hour, a sermon would be preached, and the people
of every rank and station were invited to attend. Crowds flocked to the
service. Not only the chapel, but the ante-chambers and halls were
thronged. Thousands every day assembled,—nobles, statesmen, lawyers,
merchants, and artisans. The king, instead of forbidding the assemblies,
ordered that two of the churches of Paris should be opened. Never before
had the city been so moved by the word of God. The spirit of life from
heaven seemed to be breathed upon the people. Temperance, purity, order,
and industry were taking the place of drunkenness, licentiousness, strife,
and idleness.
But the hierarchy were not idle. The king still refused to interfere to
stop the preaching, and they turned to the populace. No means were spared
to excite the fears, the prejudices, and the fanaticism of the ignorant
and superstitious multitudes. Yielding blindly to her false teachers,
Paris, like Jerusalem of old, knew not the time of her visitation, nor the
things which belonged unto her peace. For two years the word of God was
preached in the capital; but while there were many who accepted the
gospel, the majority of the people rejected it. Francis had made a show of
toleration, merely to serve his own purposes, and the papists succeeded in
regaining the ascendency. Again the churches were closed, and the stake
was set up.
Calvin was still in Paris, preparing himself by study, meditation, and
prayer, for his future labors, and continuing to spread the light. At
last, however, suspicion fastened upon him. The authorities determined to
bring him to the flames. Regarding himself as secure in his seclusion, he
had no thought of danger, when friends came hurrying to his room with the
news that officers were on their way to arrest him. At the instant a loud
knocking was heard at the outer entrance. There was not a moment to be
lost. Some of his friends detained the officers at the door, while others
assisted the Reformer to let himself down from a window, and he rapidly
made his way to the outskirts of the city. Finding shelter in the cottage
of a laborer who was a friend to the reform, he disguised himself in the
garments of his host, and shouldering a hoe, started on his journey.
Traveling southward, he again found refuge in the dominions of
Margaret.(335)
Here for a few months he remained, safe under the protection of powerful
friends, and engaged as before in study. But his heart was set upon the
evangelization of France, and he could not long remain inactive. As soon
as the storm had somewhat abated, he sought a new field of labor in
Poitiers, where was a university, and where already the new opinions had
found favor. Persons of all classes gladly listened to the gospel. There
was no public preaching, but in the home of the chief magistrate, in his
own lodgings, and sometimes in a public garden, Calvin opened the words of
eternal life to those who desired to listen. After a time, as the number
of hearers increased, it was thought safer to assemble outside the city. A
cave in the side of a deep and narrow gorge, where trees and overhanging
rocks made the seclusion still more complete, was chosen as the place of
meeting. Little companies, leaving the city by different routes, found
their way hither. In this retired spot the Bible was read and explained.
Here the Lord’s supper was celebrated for the first time by the
Protestants of France. From this little church several faithful
evangelists were sent out.
Once more Calvin returned to Paris. He could not even yet relinquish the
hope that France as a nation would accept the Reformation. But he found
almost every door of labor closed. To teach the gospel was to take the
direct road to the stake, and he at last determined to depart to Germany.
Scarcely had he left France when a storm burst over the Protestants, that,
had he remained, must surely have involved him in the general ruin.
The French Reformers, eager to see their country keeping pace with Germany
and Switzerland, determined to strike a bold blow against the
superstitions of Rome, that should arouse the whole nation. Accordingly
placards attacking the mass were in one night posted all over France.
Instead of advancing the reform, this zealous but ill-judged movement
brought ruin, not only upon its propagators, but upon the friends of the
reformed faith throughout France. It gave the Romanists what they had long
desired,—a pretext for demanding the utter destruction of the heretics as
agitators dangerous to the stability of the throne and the peace of the
nation.
By some secret hand—whether of indiscreet friend or wily foe was never
known—one of the placards was attached to the door of the king’s private
chamber. The monarch was filled with horror. In this paper, superstitions
that had received the veneration of ages were attacked with an unsparing
hand. And the unexampled boldness of obtruding these plain and startling
utterances into the royal presence, aroused the wrath of the king. In his
amazement he stood for a little time trembling and speechless. Then his
rage found utterance in the terrible words: “Let all be seized without
distinction who are suspected of Lutheresy. I will exterminate them
all.”(336) The die was cast. The king had determined to throw himself
fully on the side of Rome.
Measures were at once taken for the arrest of every Lutheran in Paris. A
poor artisan, an adherent of the reformed faith, who had been accustomed
to summon the believers to their secret assemblies, was seized, and with
the threat of instant death at the stake, was commanded to conduct the
papal emissary to the home of every Protestant in the city. He shrunk in
horror from the base proposal, but at last fear of the flames prevailed,
and he consented to become the betrayer of his brethren. Preceded by the
host, and surrounded by a train of priests, incense-bearers, monks, and
soldiers, Morin, the royal detective, with the traitor, slowly and
silently passed through the streets of the city. The demonstration was
ostensibly in honor of the “holy sacrament,” an act of expiation for the
insult put upon the mass by the protesters. But beneath this pageant a
deadly purpose was concealed. On arriving opposite the house of a
Lutheran, the betrayer made a sign, but no word was uttered. The
procession halted, the house was entered, the family were dragged forth
and chained, and the terrible company went forward in search of fresh
victims. They “spared no house, great or small, not even the colleges of
the University of Paris.... Morin made all the city quake.... It was a
reign of terror.”(337)
The victims were put to death with cruel torture, it being specially
ordered that the fire should be lowered, in order to prolong their agony.
But they died as conquerors. Their constancy was unshaken, their peace
unclouded. Their persecutors, powerless to move their inflexible firmness,
felt themselves defeated. “The scaffolds were distributed over all the
quarters of Paris, and the burnings followed on successive days, the
design being to spread the terror of heresy by spreading the executions.
The advantage, however, in the end, remained with the gospel. All Paris
was enabled to see what kind of men the new opinions could produce. There
was no pulpit like the martyr’s pile. The serene joy that lighted up the
faces of these men as they passed along ... to the place of execution,
their heroism as they stood amid the bitter flames, their meek forgiveness
of injuries, transformed, in instances not a few, anger into pity, and
hate into love, and pleaded with resistless eloquence in behalf of the
gospel.”(338)
The priests, bent upon keeping the popular fury at its height, circulated
the most terrible accusations against the Protestants. They were charged
with plotting to massacre the Catholics, to overthrow the government, and
to murder the king. Not a shadow of evidence could be produced in support
of the allegations. Yet these prophecies of evil were to have a
fulfilment; under far different circumstances, however, and from causes of
an opposite character. The cruelties that were inflicted upon the innocent
Protestants by the Catholics, accumulated in a weight of retribution, and
in after-centuries wrought the very doom they had predicted to be
impending, upon the king, his government, and his subjects; but it was
brought about by infidels, and by the papists themselves. It was not the
establishment, but the suppression, of Protestantism, that, three hundred
years later, was to bring upon France these dire calamities.
Suspicion, distrust, and terror now pervaded all classes of society. Amid
the general alarm it was seen how deep a hold the Lutheran teaching had
gained upon the minds of men who stood highest for education, influence,
and excellence of character. Positions of trust and honor were suddenly
found vacant. Artisans, printers, scholars, professors in the
universities, authors, and even courtiers, disappeared. Hundreds fled from
Paris, self-constituted exiles from their native land, in many cases thus
giving the first intimation that they favored the reformed faith. The
papists looked about them in amazement at thought of the unsuspected
heretics that had been tolerated among them. Their rage spent itself upon
the multitudes of humbler victims who were within their power. The prisons
were crowded, and the very air seemed darkened with the smoke of burning
piles, kindled for the confessors of the gospel.
Francis I. had gloried in being a leader in the great movement for the
revival of learning which marked the opening of the sixteenth century. He
had delighted to gather at his court men of letters from every country. To
his love of learning and his contempt for the ignorance and superstition
of the monks was due, in part at least, the degree of toleration that had
been granted to the reform. But, inspired with zeal to stamp out heresy,
this patron of learning issued an edict declaring printing abolished all
over France! Francis I. presents one among the many examples on record
showing that intellectual culture is not a safeguard against religious
intolerance and persecution.
France by a solemn and public ceremony was to commit herself fully to the
destruction of Protestantism. The priests demanded that the affront
offered to high Heaven in the condemnation of the mass, be expiated in
blood, and that the king, in behalf of his people, publicly give his
sanction to the dreadful work.
The 21st of January, 1535, was fixed upon for the awful ceremonial. The
superstitious fears and bigoted hatred of the whole nation had been
roused. Paris was thronged with the multitudes that from all the
surrounding country crowded her streets. The day was to be ushered in by a
vast and imposing procession. “The houses along the line of march were
hung with mourning drapery, and altars rose at intervals.” Before every
door was a lighted torch in honor of the “holy sacrament.” Before daybreak
the procession formed, at the palace of the king. “First came the banners
and crosses of the several parishes; next appeared the citizens, walking
two and two, and bearing torches.” The four orders of friars followed,
each in its own peculiar dress. Then came a vast collection of famous
relics. Following these rode lordly ecclesiastics in their purple and
scarlet robes and jeweled adornings, a gorgeous and glittering array.
“The host was carried by the bishop of Paris under a magnificent canopy,
... supported by four princes of the blood.... After the host walked the
king.... Francis I. on that day wore no crown, nor robe of state.” With
“head uncovered, his eyes cast on the ground, and in his hand a lighted
taper,” the king of France appeared “in the character of a penitent.”(339)
At every altar he bowed down in humiliation, not for the vices that
defiled his soul, nor the innocent blood that stained his hands, but for
the deadly sin of his subjects who had dared to condemn the mass.
Following him came the queen and the dignitaries of state, also walking
two and two, each with a lighted torch.