Chapter 12 : The French Reformation

The Protest of Spires and the Confession at Augsburg, which

marked the triumph of the Reformation in Germany, were followed

by years of conflict and darkness. Weakened by divisions among

its supporters, and assailed by powerful foes, Protestantism seemed

destined to be utterly destroyed. Thousands sealed their testimony

with their blood. Civil war broke out; the Protestant cause was

betrayed by one of its leading adherents; the noblest of the reformed

princes fell into the hands of the emperor, and were dragged as

captives from town to town. But in the moment of his apparent

triumph, the emperor was smitten with defeat. He saw the prey

wrested from his grasp, and he was forced at last to grant toleration

to the doctrines which it had been the ambition of his life to destroy.

He had staked his kingdom, his treasures, and life itself, upon the

crushing out of the heresy. Now he saw his armies wasted by battle,

his treasuries drained, his many kingdoms threatened by revolt, while

everywhere the faith which he had vainly endeavored to suppress,

was extending. Charles V. had been battling against omnipotent

power. God had said, “Let there be light,” but the emperor had

sought to keep the darkness unbroken. His purposes had failed, and

in premature old age, worn out with the long struggle, he abdicated

the throne, and buried himself in a cloister.

In Switzerland, as in Germany, there came dark days for the

Reformation. While many cantons accepted the reformed faith,

others clung with blind persistence to the creed of Rome. Their

persecution of those who desired to receive the truth, finally gave

rise to civil war. Zwingle and many who had united with him in [212]

reform, fell on the bloody field of Cappel. Oecolampadius, overcome

by these terrible disasters, soon after died. Rome was triumphant,

and in many places seemed about to recover all that she had lost.

But He whose counsels are from everlasting had not forsaken his

cause or his people. His hand would bring deliverance for them. In

other lands he had raised up laborers to carry forward the reform.

In France, before the name of Luther had been heard as a reformer,

the day had already begun to break. One of the first to catch

the light was the aged Lefevre, a man of extensive learning, a professor

in the University of Paris, and a sincere and zealous papist.

In his researches into ancient literature his attention was directed to

the Bible, and he introduced its study among his students. Lefevre

was an enthusiastic adorer of the saints, and he had undertaken to

prepare a history of the saints and martyrs, as given in the legends

of the church. This was a work which involved great labor, but he

had already made considerable progress in it, when, thinking that

he might obtain useful assistance from the Bible, he began its study

with this object. Here indeed he found saints brought to view, but not

such as figured in the Romish calendar. A flood of divine light broke

in upon his mind. In amazement and disgust he turned away from

his self-appointed task, and devoted himself to the Word of God.

The precious truths which he there discovered, he soon began to

teach. In 1512, before either Luther or Zwingle had begun the work

of reform, Lefevre wrote: “It is God who gives us, by faith, that righteousness

which by grace justifies unto eternal life.” Dwelling upon

the mysteries of redemption, he exclaimed, “Oh, the unspeakable

greatness of that exchange,—the Sinless One is condemned, and he

who is guilty goes free; the Blessing bears the curse, and the curse

is brought into blessing; the Life dies, and the dead live; the Glory

is whelmed in darkness, and he who knew nothing but confusion of

face is clothed with glory.”

[213] And while teaching that the glory of salvation belongs solely to

God, he also declared that the duty of obedience belongs to man. “If

thou art a member of Christ’s church,” he said, “thou art a member

of his body; if thou art of his body, then thou art full of the divine

nature.” “Oh, if men could but enter into the understanding of this

privilege, how purely, chastely, and holily, would they live, and how

contemptible, when compared with the glory within them,—that

glory which the eye of flesh cannot see,—would they deem all the

glory of this world.”

There were some among Lefevre’s students who listened eagerly

to his words, and who, long after the teacher’s voice should be

silenced, were to continue to declare the truth. Such was William

Farel. The son of pious parents, and educated to accept with implicit

faith the teachings of the church, he might, with the apostle Paul,

have declared concerning himself, “After the most straitest sect of

our religion I lived a Pharisee.” [Acts 26:5.] A devoted Romanist,

he burned with zeal to destroy all who should dare to oppose the

church. “I would gnash my teeth like a furious wolf,” he afterward

said, referring to this period of his life, “when I heard any one

speaking against the pope.” He had been untiring in his adoration

of the saints, in company with Lefevre making the round of the

churches of Paris, worshiping at the altars, and adorning with gifts

the holy shrines. But these observances could not bring peace of

soul. Conviction of sin fastened upon him, which all the acts of

penance that he practiced, failed to banish. As a voice from Heaven,

he listened to the reformer’s words: “Salvation is of grace. The

Innocent One is condemned, and the criminal is acquitted.” “It is the

cross of Christ alone that openeth the gates of Heaven, and shutteth

the gates of hell.”

Farel joyfully accepted the truth. By a conversion like that of

Paul, he turned from the bondage of tradition to the liberty of the

sons of God. “Instead of the murderous heart of a ravening wolf,”

he came back, he says, “quietly, like a meek and harmless lamb, [214]

having his heart entirely withdrawn from the pope, and given to

Jesus Christ.

While Lefevre continued to spread the light among his students,

Farel, as zealous in the cause of Christ as he had been in that of the

pope, went forth to declare the truth in public. A dignitary of the

church, the bishop of Meaux, soon after united with them. Other

teachers who ranked high for their ability and learning, joined in

proclaiming the gospel, and it won adherents among all classes, from

the homes of artisans and peasants to the palace of the king. The

sister of Francis I., then the reigning monarch, accepted the reformed

faith. The king himself, and the queen mother, appeared for a time

to regard it with favor, and with high hopes the reformers looked

forward to the time when France should be won to the gospel.

But their hopes were not to be realized. Trial and persecution

awaited the disciples of Christ. This, however, was mercifully

veiled from their eyes. A time of peace intervened, that they might

gain strength to meet the tempest; and the Reformation made rapid

progress. The bishop of Meaux labored zealously in his own diocese

to instruct both the clergy and the people. Ignorant and immoral

priests were removed, and, so far as possible, replaced by men

of learning and piety. The bishop greatly desired that his people

might have access to the Word of God for themselves, and this was

soon accomplished. Lefevre undertook the translation of the New

Testament, and at the very time when Luther’s German Bible was

issuing from the press in Wittenberg, the French New Testament

was published at Meaux. The bishop spared no labor or expense

to circulate it among his parishes, and soon the peasants of Meaux

were in possession of the Holy Scriptures.

As travelers perishing from thirst welcome with joy a living

water-spring, so did these souls receive the message of Heaven. The

laborers in the field, the artisans in the workshop, cheered their

[215] daily toil by talking of the precious truths of the Bible. At evening,

instead of resorting to the wine shops, they assembled in each other’s

homes to read God’s Word and join in prayer and praise. A great

change was soon manifest in these communities. Though belonging

to the humblest class, an unlearned and hard-working peasantry, the

reforming, uplifting power of divine grace was seen in their lives.

Humble, loving, and holy, they stood as witnesses to what the gospel

will accomplish for those who receive it in sincerity.

The light kindled at Meaux shed its beams afar. Every day the

number of converts was increasing. The rage of the hierarchy was

for a time held in check by the king, who despised the narrow bigotry

of the monks; but the papist leaders finally prevailed. Now the stake

was set up. The bishop of Meaux, forced to choose between the

fire and recantation, accepted the easier path; but notwithstanding

the leader’s fall, his flock remained steadfast. Many witnessed for

the truth amid the flames. By their courage and fidelity at the stake,

these humble Christians spoke to thousands who in days of peace

had never heard their testimony.

It was not alone the humble and the poor, that amid suffering and

scorn dared to bear witness for Christ. In the lordly halls of the castle

and the palace, there were kingly souls by whom truth was valued

above wealth or rank or even life. Knightly armor concealed a loftier

and more steadfast spirit than did the bishop’s robe and mitre. Louis

de Berquin was of noble birth. A brave and courtly knight, he was

devoted to study, polished in manners, and of blameless morals. “He

was,” says a writer, “a great follower of the papistical constitutions,

and a great hearer of masses and sermons.” “And he crowned all

his other virtues by holding Lutheranism in special abhorrence.”

But, like so many others, providentially guided to the Bible, he was

amazed to find there, not the teachings of popery, but the doctrines

of Luther. Henceforth he gave himself, with entire devotion, to the

cause of the gospel.

“The most learned of the nobles of France,” his genius and elo- [216]

quence, his indomitable courage and heroic zeal, and his influence

at court—for he was a favorite with the king—caused him to be

regarded by many as one destined to be the reformer of his country.

Said Beza, “Berquin would have been a second Luther, had he found

in Francis I. a second elector.” “He is worse than Luther,” cried the

papists. More dreaded he was indeed by the Romanists of France.

They thrust him in prison as a heretic, but he was set at liberty by the

king. For years the struggle continued. Francis, wavering between

Rome and the Reformation, alternately tolerated and restrained the

fierce zeal of the monks. Berquin was three times imprisoned by

the papist authorities, only to be released by the monarch, who, in

admiration of his genius and his nobility of character, refused to

sacrifice him to the malice of the hierarchy.

Berquin was repeatedly warned of the danger that threatened

him in France, and urged to follow the steps of those who had found

safety in voluntary exile. The timid and time-serving Erasmus—

who with all the splendor of his scholarship failed of that moral

greatness which holds life and honor subservient to truth—wrote to

Berquin: “Ask to be sent as ambassador to some foreign country;

go and travel in Germany. You know Beda and such as he—he

is a thousand-headed monster, darting venom on every side. Your

enemies are named legion. Were your cause better than that of Jesus

Christ, they will not let you go till they have miserably destroyed

you. Do not trust too much to the king’s protection. At all events,

do not compromise me with the faculty of theology.”

But as dangers thickened, Berquin’s zeal only waxed the stronger.

So far 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

[217] 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 contrary to the Bible, and therefore heretical; and he

appealed to the king to act as judge in the controversy.

The monarch, not loth to bring in 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 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 this time an image of the virgin, standing at the corner

of one of the public streets, was found 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.”

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

[218] 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 tumbril 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.” 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.”

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.”

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.”

During the persecution at Meaux, the teachers of the reformed [219]

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.

“Crosses, persecution, and the lying-in-wait of Satan, of which I

had intimation, were not wanting,” he said; “they were even much

more than I could have borne in my own strength; but God is my

Father; he has ministered, and will forever minister, to me all needful

strength.”

As in apostolic days, persecution had “fallen out rather unto the

furtherance of the gospel. [Philippians 1:12.] Driven from Paris and

Meaux, “they that were scattered abroad went everywhere preaching

the Word.” [Acts 8:4.] 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

[220] 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 men to look for salvation

solely to 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?”

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 [221]

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.”

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 fulfill 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 to still 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 dignity.”

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

[222] 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 [223]

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.

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 [224]

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.

[225] 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; and let Lutheranism be totally

exterminated.” 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 papist 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. “No house was spared, great or small, not even the colleges

of the University of Paris. Morin made the whole city quake.” “The

reign of terror had begun.”

The victims were put to death with cruel torture, it being specially [226]

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 is 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.”

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 fulfillment; 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 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

[227] 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. Along the line of [228]

march the houses were draped in mourning. At intervals altars were

erected, and before every door was a lighted torch in honor of the

“holy sacrament.” Before daybreak the procession formed, at the

palace of the king. After the crosses and banners of the parishes,

came citizens, walking two and two, and bearing lighted 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 borne under a splendid canopy, supported by four

princes of highest rank. After them walked the monarch, divested of

his crown and royal robe, with uncovered head and downcast eyes,

and bearing in his hand a lighted taper. Thus the king of France

appeared publicly as a penitent. At every altar he bowed down in

humiliation, not for the vices that defiled his soul, not 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.

As a part of the services of the day, the monarch himself addressed

the high officials of the kingdom in the great hall of the

bishop’s palace. With a sorrowful countenance he appeared before

them, and in words of moving eloquence bewailed the “crime, the

blasphemy, the day of sorrow and disgrace,” that had come upon

the nation. And he called upon every loyal subject to aid in the

extirpation of the pestilent heresy that threatened France with ruin.

“As true, Messieurs, as I am your king,” he said, “if I knew one of

my own limbs spotted or infected with this detestable rottenness, I

would give it to you to cut off.... And, further, if I saw one of my

children defiled by it, I would not spare him.... I would deliver him

up myself, and would sacrifice him to God.” Tears choked his ut-

[229] terance, and the whole assembly wept, with one accord exclaiming,

“We will live and die in the Catholic religion.”

Terrible had become the darkness of the nation that had rejected

the light of truth. “The grace that bringeth salvation” had appeared;

but France, after beholding its power and holiness, after thousands

had been drawn by its divine beauty, after cities and hamlets had

been illuminated by its radiance, had turned away, choosing darkness

rather than light. They had put from them the heavenly gift, when

it was offered them. They had called evil good, and good evil,

till they had fallen victims to their willful self-deception. Now,

though they might actually believe that they were doing God service

in persecuting his people, yet their sincerity did not render them

guiltless. The light that would have saved them from deception,

from staining their souls with blood-guiltiness, they had willfully

rejected.

A solemn oath to extirpate heresy was taken, in the great cathedral

where, nearly three centuries later, the “Goddess of Reason”

was to be enthroned by a nation that had forgotten the living God.

Again the procession formed, and the representatives of France set

out to begin the work which they had sworn to do. At intervals along

the homeward route, scaffolds had been erected for the execution of

heretics, and it was arranged that at the approach of the king the pile

should be lighted, that he might thus be witness to the whole terrible

spectacle. The details of the tortures endured by these witnesses for

Christ are too harrowing for recital; but there was no wavering on

the part of the victims. On being urged to recant, one answered, “I

only believe in what the prophets and apostles formerly preached,

and what all the company of the saints believed. My faith has a

confidence in God which will resist all the power of hell.”

Again and again the procession halted at the places of torture.

Upon reaching their starting-point at the royal palace, the crowd

dispersed, and the king and the prelates withdrew, well satisfied

[230] with the day’s proceedings, and congratulating themselves that the

work now begun would be continued to the complete destruction of

heresy.

The gospel of peace which France had rejected was to be only

too surely rooted out, and terrible would be the results. On the 21st

of January, 1793, two hundred and fifty-eight years from the very

day that fully committed France to the persecution of the reformers,

another procession, with a far different purpose, passed through the

streets of Paris. “Again the king was the chief figure; again there

were tumult and shouting; again there was heard the cry for more

victims; again there were black scaffolds; and again the scenes of

the day were closed by horrid executions; Louis XVI., struggling

hand to hand with his jailers and executioners, was dragged forward

to the block, and there held down by main force till the ax had fallen,

and his dissevered head fell on the scaffold.” Nor was the king the

only victim; near the same spot two thousand and eight hundred

human beings perished by the guillotine during the bloody days of

the reign of terror.

The Reformation had presented to the world an open Bible,

unsealing the precepts of the law of God, and urging its claims upon

the consciences of the people. Infinite love had unfolded to men the

statutes and principles of Heaven. God had said, “Keep therefore and

do them; for this is your wisdom and your understanding in the sight

of the nations, which shall hear all these statutes, and say, Surely

this great nation is a wise and understanding people,” [Deuteronomy

4:6.] When France rejected the gift of Heaven, she sowed the seeds

of anarchy and ruin; and the inevitable outworking of cause and

effect resulted in the Revolution and the reign of terror.

Long before the persecution excited by the placards, the bold

and ardent Farel had been forced to flee from the land of his birth.

He repaired to Switzerland, and by his labors, seconding the work of

Zwingle, he helped to turn the scale in favor of the Reformation. His

later years were to be spent here, yet he continued to exert a decided [231]

influence upon the reform in France. During the first years of his

exile, his efforts were especially directed to spreading the gospel in

his native country. He spent considerable time in preaching among

his countrymen near the frontier, where with tireless vigilance he

watched the conflict, and aided by his words of encouragement and

counsel. With the assistance of other exiles, the writings of the

German reformers were translated into the French language, and,

together with the French Bible, were printed in large quantities. By

colporteurs, these works were sold extensively in France. They were

furnished to the colporteurs at a low price, and thus the profits of the

work enabled them to continue it.

Farel entered upon his work in Switzerland in the humble guise

of a school-master. Repairing to a secluded parish, he devoted

himself to the instruction of children. Besides the usual branches

of learning, he cautiously introduced the truths of the Bible, hoping

through the children to reach their parents. There were some who

believed, but the priests came forward to stop the work, and the

superstitious country people were roused to oppose it. “That cannot

be the gospel of Christ,” urged the priests, “seeing the preaching

of it does not bring peace but war.” Like the first disciples, when

persecuted in one city he fled to another. From village to village,

from city to city, he went; traveling on foot, enduring hunger, cold,

and weariness, and everywhere in peril of his life. He preached in

the market-places, in the churches, sometimes in the pulpits of the

cathedrals. Sometimes he found the church empty of hearers; at

times his preaching was interrupted by shouts and jeers, again he was

pulled violently out of the pulpit. More than once he was set upon

by the rabble, and beaten almost to death. Yet he pressed forward.

Though often repulsed, with unwearying persistence he returned to

the attack; and, one after another, he saw towns and cities which had

[232] been strongholds of popery, opening their gates to the gospel. The

little parish where he had first labored, soon accepted the reformed

faith. The cities of Morat and Neuchatel also renounced the Romish

rites, and removed the idolatrous images from their churches.

Farel had long desired to plant the Protestant standard in Geneva.

If this city could be won, it would be a center for the Reformation in

France, in Switzerland, and in Italy. With this object before him, he

had continued his labors until many of the surrounding towns and

hamlets had been gained. Then with a single companion he entered

Geneva. But only two sermons was he permitted to preach. The

priests, having vainly endeavored to secure his condemnation by the

civil authorities, summoned him before an ecclesiastical council, to

which they came with arms concealed under their robes, determined

to take his life. Outside the hall, a furious mob, with clubs and

swords, was gathered to make sure of his death if he should succeed

in escaping the council. The presence of magistrates and an armed

force, however, saved him. Early next morning he was conducted,

with his companion, across the lake to a place of safety. Thus ended

his first effort to evangelize Geneva.

For the next trial a lowlier instrument was chosen,—a young

man, so humble in appearance that he was coldly treated even by

the professed friends of reform. But what could such a one do

where Farel had been rejected? How could one of little courage and

experience withstand the tempest before which the strongest and

bravest had been forced to flee? “Not by might, nor by power, but

by my Spirit, saith the Lord.” [Zechariah 4:6.] “God hath chosen the

weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty.”

“Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness

of God is stronger than men.” [1 Corinthians 1:27, 25.]

Froment began his work as a school-master. The truths which he

taught the children at school, they repeated at their homes. Soon the

parents came to hear the Bible explained, until the school-room was

filled with attentive listeners. New Testaments and tracts were freely [233]

distributed, and they reached many who dared not come openly to

listen to the new doctrines. After a time this laborer also was forced

to flee; but the truths he taught had taken hold upon the minds of

the people. The Reformation had been planted, and it continued to

strengthen and extend. The preachers returned, and through their

labors the Protestant worship was finally established in Geneva.

The city had already declared for the Reformation, when Calvin,

after various wanderings and vicissitudes, entered its gates. Returning

from a last visit to his birthplace, he was on his way to Basel,

when, finding the direct road occupied by the armies of Charles V.,

he was forced to take the circuitous route by Geneva.

In this visit, Farel recognized the hand of God. Though Geneva

had accepted the reformed faith, yet a great work remained to be

accomplished here. It is not as communities but as individuals that

men are converted to God; the work of regeneration must be wrought

in the heart and conscience by the power of the Holy Spirit, not by

the decrees of councils. While the people of Geneva had cast off the

authority of Rome, they were not so ready to renounce the vices that

had flourished under her rule. To establish here the pure principles

of the gospel, and to prepare this people to fill worthily the position

to which Providence seemed calling them, was no light task.

Farel was confident that he had found in Calvin one whom he

could unite with himself in this work. In the name of God he

solemnly adjured the young evangelist to remain and labor here.

Calvin drew back in alarm. Timid and peace-loving, he shrank from

contact with the bold, independent, and even violent spirit of the

Genevese. The feebleness of his health, together with his studious

habits, led him to seek retirement. Believing that by his pen he

could best serve the cause of reform, he desired to find a quiet retreat

[234] for study, and there, through the press, instruct and build up the

churches. But Farel’s solemn admonition came to him as a call from

Heaven, and he dared not refuse. It seemed to him, he said, “that the

hand of God was stretched down from Heaven, that it laid hold of

him, and fixed him irrevocably to the place he was so impatient to

leave.”

At this time great perils surrounded the Protestant cause. The

anathemas of the pope thundered against Geneva, and mighty nations

threatened it with destruction. How was this little city to resist the

powerful hierarchy that had so often forced kings and emperors to

submission? How could it stand against the armies of the world’s

great conquerors?

Throughout Christendom, Protestantism was menaced by

formidable foes. The first triumphs of the Reformation past, Rome

summoned new forces, hoping to accomplish its destruction. At this

time, the order of the Jesuits was created, the most cruel, unscrupulous,

and powerful of all the champions of popery. Cut off from

every earthly tie and human interest, dead to the claims of natural

affection, reason and conscience wholly silenced, they knew no rule,

no tie, but that of their order, and no duty but to extend its power.

The gospel of Christ had enabled its adherents to meet danger and

endure suffering, undismayed by cold, hunger, toil, and poverty, to

uphold the banner of truth in face of the rack, the dungeon, and the

stake. To combat these forces, Jesuitism inspired its followers with

a fanaticism that enabled them to endure like dangers, and to oppose

to the power of truth all the weapons of deception. There was no

crime too great for them to commit, no deception too base for them

to practice, no disguise too difficult for them to assume. Vowed to

perpetual poverty and humility, it was their studied aim to secure

wealth and power, to be devoted to the overthrow of Protestantism,

and the re-establishment of the papal supremacy.

When appearing as members of their order, they wore a garb of

sanctity, visiting prisons and hospitals, ministering to the sick and the [235]

poor, professing to have renounced the world, and bearing the sacred

name of Jesus, who went about doing good. But under this blameless

exterior the most criminal and deadly purposes were concealed. It

was a fundamental principle of the order that the end justifies the

means. By this code, lying, theft, perjury, assassination, were not

only pardonable but commendable, when they served the interests

of the church. Under various disguises the Jesuits worked their way

into offices of State, climbing up to be the counselors of kings, and

shaping the policy of nations. They became servants, to act as spies

upon their masters. They established colleges for the sons of princes

and nobles, and schools for the common people; and the children of

Protestant parents were drawn into an observance of popish rites. All

the outward pomp and display of the Romish worship was brought to

bear to confuse the mind, and dazzle and captivate the imagination;

and thus the liberty for which the fathers had toiled and bled was

betrayed by the sons. The Jesuits rapidly spread themselves over

Europe, and wherever they went, there followed a revival of popery.

To give them greater power, a bull was issued re-establishing the

Inquisition. Notwithstanding the general abhorrence with which it

was regarded, even in Catholic countries, this terrible tribunal was

again set up by popish rulers, and atrocities too terrible to bear the

light of day were repeated in its secret dungeons. In many countries,

thousands upon thousands of the very flower of the nation, the purest

and noblest, the most intellectual and highly educated, pious and

devoted pastors, industrious and patriotic citizens, brilliant scholars,

talented artists, skillful artisans, were slain, or forced to flee to other

lands.

Such were the means which Rome had invoked to quench the

light of the Reformation, to withdraw from men the Bible, and to

restore the ignorance and superstition of the Dark Ages. But under

God’s blessing and the labors of those noble men whom he had [236]

raised up to succeed Luther, Protestantism was not overthrown. Not

to the favor or arms of princes was it to owe its strength. The smallest

countries, the humblest and least powerful nations, became its

strongholds. It was little Geneva in the midst of mighty foes plotting

her destruction; it was Holland on her sand-banks by the Northern

Sea, wrestling against the tyranny of Spain, then the greatest and

most opulent of kingdoms; it was bleak, sterile Sweden, that gained

victories for the Reformation.

For nearly thirty years, Calvin labored at Geneva; first to establish

there a church adhering to the morality of the Bible, and then

for the advancement of the Reformation throughout Europe. His

course as a public leader was not faultless, nor were his doctrines

free from error. But he was instrumental in promulgating truths that

were of special importance in his time, in maintaining the principles

of Protestantism against the fast-returning tide of popery; and in

promoting in the reformed churches simplicity and purity of life, in

place of the pride and corruption fostered under the Romish teaching.

From Geneva, publications and teachers went out to spread the

reformed doctrines. To this point the persecuted of all lands looked

for instruction, counsel, and encouragement. The city of Calvin

became a refuge for the hunted reformers of all Western Europe.

Fleeing from the awful tempests that continued for centuries, the

fugitives came to the gates of Geneva. Starving, wounded, bereft of

home and kindred, they were warmly welcomed and tenderly cared

for; and finding a home here, they blessed the city of their adoption

by their skill, their learning, and their piety. Many who sought here a

refuge returned to their own countries to resist the tyranny of Rome.

John Knox, the brave Scotch reformer, not a few of the English

Puritans, the Protestants of Holland, and the Huguenots of France,

carried from Geneva the torch of truth to lighten the darkness of

their native land.