All this, and much more of martyrdom, and persecution, was happening in France during the year 1525. Meanwhile, for the first three months of that sad year, William Farel, in the little town of Montbéliard, had been preaching and teaching unharmed. But though none were allowed to seize upon him, the zeal of the priests was none the less. They did their best to hinder and oppose, and to keep up the idolatrous worship where worshippers could be found. The popish cantons of Switzerland also sent messages to Duke Ulric, entreating him to banish the heretic who was disturbing the peace of the Church. The duke was unwilling to do so. And so the early spring of 1525 passed away, and Farel preached on.
It happened one day, probably about March, 1525, that the priests of Montbéliard made a procession in honor of St. Anthony. Two priests went first, carrying the image of the saint; behind walked other priests in gorgeous dresses, choristers, girls and boys in various colors, carrying banners, candles, and flowers. As they crossed the bridge of the Allan a man stood before them. That red beard and those flashing eyes were well known in the little town. He stepped forward, took the image from the shoulders of the priests, and hurled it over the bridge into the river below. “Poor idolaters!” he said, “will you never turn from your idols?”
The priests and the people stood dumb with consternation, but after a few moments they made a rush upon Farel. At that minute a cry was raised that a whirlpool had appeared in the river, and the image was drowning. All eyes were directed to the rushing water. When again they turned to seize Farel, he was gone. He had walked away, none having laid hands upon him. The violence of the priests, and of the messengers from the Swiss cantons seems, after this, to have had some effect upon Duke Ulric.
Farel was soon after driven from Montbéliard. The duke, though he consented to his banishment, remained his friend. The priests had power enough to raise a strong party against the gospel. The gospel, however, could not be banished, though Farel could be. To this day popery has never been able to regain possession of Montbéliard. Farel seems first to have gone back to Basle to see his friend Hausschein, but he was not allowed to remain there.
We next hear of him in the chronicles of the City of Metz. Since the beginning of the year, the servants of God had been terribly persecuted in that city. In January, a faithful preacher of the gospel, named Châtelain, had been seized by the Cardinal of Lorraine. He had been a priest and a monk, and had not yet cast off the dress which he had then worn. He was first stripped of these “holy garments,” as they were called. His fingers were then scraped with a piece of glass, “that he might no longer have the power to sacrifice, consecrate, and bless, which he had received by the anointing of hands.” He was then burnt in the streets of Metz. And now, in June, 1525, the old chronicle relates as follows: “About the time of the Feast of St. Barnabas, there returned a very fine young canon of the Cathedral of Metz, named Master Peter, and he brought with him a great doctor deeply learned in science, named Master William, who held to the teaching of Luther.” (This we know was not exactly the case.) The chronicle proceeds to say that Master Peter demanded a hearing for himself and for Master William, but could not obtain his request. On the contrary, he found that he and his friend were in danger of being seized and imprisoned forthwith. Therefore, “A few days before St. John’s Day, they quickly departed from Metz, and galloped their horses all night, for fear of being taken.” I should tell you that Master Peter, whose surname was Toussaint, had for some short time back believed the gospel. We are not told by what means he was converted: probably through the preaching of our old friend, John Leclerc (who was, you remember, at Metz), and of the matryr Châtelain. And it may interest you to know that on the Sunday which Farel spent at Metz, he dined with his friend the knight, Nicholas d’Esch, who also invited Master Peter and the good wool-carder, John Leclerc. It is pleasant to think of that little party, who were never altogether again upon earth, but have long been together in the presence of the Lord. William now returned to his kind friends at Strasbourg.
He had been there but a few weeks when terrible news was brought from the city of Metz. John Leclerc, in spite of threats and persecutions, had continued to preach the gospel. Many, through his means, appear to have been saved, and, in spite of priests and monks, the work of God had been carried on with wonderful power and blessing.
But a great holiday of the Papists was at hand. Every year, on a certain day, the people of Metz made a pilgrimage to a chapel about three miles from the town. This chapel contained images of the Virgin, and of the chief saints of the country. The people believed that by worshipping there on this festival they gained a pardon for their sins. The evening before this great day a man came silently into the chapel in the dusk. It was John Leclerc. He had been pondering over the words of the Scripture, “Ye shall destroy their altars and break down their images.” He was filled with shame and grief and horror, at the thought that the next day the multitudes who called themselves by the name of Christ, from all the country round, would be falling down before these idols of wood and stone. He believed that God had spoken to him in those words of the law. He took down the images, one and all. He broke them into small pieces, and scattered them before the altar. He was all night in the chapel, thus employed. At daybreak he returned to Metz. In the morning the great procession started, with banners, drums, and trumpets; priests in their gorgeous dresses, monks and guilds, crosses and bells. The priests went first into the chapel, and came out with horror-stricken faces to tell the awful sight they had beheld. No one doubted that Leclerc had been the criminal. Some persons had seen him, in the early morning, coming into the town. He was at once seized. He made no secret of what he had done. He said, “I did it, that you might worship God alone.” He was taken before the judges, to whom he said, “Jesus Christ is God manifest in the flesh. God only is to be adored.” He was sentenced to be burnt alive. To add to this punishment, his flesh was first to be torn off with red-hot pincers. Leclerc was unmoved. He was carried to the place of execution. His right hand was first cut off. I will not describe to you the awful tortures which followed. It must have been a work of hours. The monks surrounded him with yells of fury. And meanwhile Leclerc, with a loud and solemn voice, repeated the words of God—“Their idols are silver and gold, the work of men’s hands. They have mouths, but they speak not; eyes have they, but they see not. They have ears, but they hear not; noses have they, but they smell not. They have hands, but they handle not; feet have they, but they walk not, neither speak they through their throat. They that make them are like unto them, so is everyone that trusteth in them.” Such was the last sermon of John Leclerc, preached in the slow fire in the streets of Metz.
William Farel’s heart was filled with grief and thankfulness when this sad but glorious news was brought to Strasbourg—grief for the sufferings of God’s dear servant, and thankfulness that he, as well as Châtelain, had been found faithful when tried in the fire of persecution.