In the month of July of the next year, 1532, Farel returned afresh to the work at Granson. Several who had believed the gospel there, now wished to go forth as preachers, and Farel and some of the older preachers were anxious to know whether they were sufficiently well taught in the Scriptures. They spent some days, therefore, together, in reading the Word, and in prayer.
On one of these days, Farel was told that two strangers wished to speak to him. They were brought in—foreign looking, sun burnt men, but speaking French easily. Their wonderful history was soon told.
Long, long ago, they said, when the Roman Emperor, Constantine, had done his best to mix up the church of God with the heathen world, their fathers had set themselves apart, desiring not to be amongst those who were serving two masters. They had fled away to live in lonely mountain valleys in the high Alps of Piedmont. “And there,” said the two strangers, “have we, their children, lived ever since. We have never owned the pope, but we have had the Bible only for our teacher, and we have, therefore, worshipped no saints, nor images, nor wafers; and have been called heretics and infidels.”
These people were the Waldenses, of whom I told you at the beginning of this story.
You may remember how, just at the time of William Farel’s birth, the pope had sent an army against them, and had left dead upon the mountains 4000 of these witnesses for God, amongst them 400 little children, who were hunted and murdered amongst the snowy peaks, whilst little William was sleeping peacefully in his cradle at les Farelles. About ninety years before that, numbers had perished, being attacked by bands of soldiers from Savoy, just at Christmas time—and then, also, no less than eighty little children were found in one place, frozen in the snow in the arms of their dead mothers.
At last the news had come somehow over the mountains that in Germany, and France, and Switzerland, there were preachers raised up, who believed in the Bible only, and preached the same old gospel for which the Waldenses had suffered and died. Then one of the mountain pastors determined to go and see if this were true. His name was Martin Gonin. He set off, and traveled about till he found some of these preachers, and came back to tell the glad tidings, and to scatter about in the mountain villages the good books which he had brought back with him. After reading these books, and hearing Martin’s stories, two other Waldensian pastors, or “barbes,” as they were called, were sent by their brethren to learn more of the gospellers in Switzerland, and to claim fellowship with them as having the like precious faith with themselves.
These two barbes were called George Morel and Peter Masson. They went first to Basle, and asked for the house of our old friend, Hausschein. The good man was delighted and surprised when these simple men from the mountain valleys told him their story, and when they showed him the papers they carried in their bosoms, on which they had written an account of their faith. Would you like to know what they had written? I will tell you a part of it.
“Christ,” they said, “is our Life, our Truth, our Peace, our Righteousness, our Shepherd, our Advocate, our Victim, our High Priest, who died for the salvation of believers.” They had written, too, their belief that the religion of the pope was “a mixture of Jewish, Pagan, and Christian rites.” Hausschein looked at these men with wonder and joy. “I thank God,” he said, “that He has called you to so great light.”
Hausschein’s friends at Bask gathered at his house to see the men from the mountains, who had never lost the Bible, and never forgotten the gospel. But when they questioned the barbes further, they were not altogether satisfied with their answers. The barbes confessed that from fear, and a desire for peace, they allowed the Romish priests to baptize their children, and that they sometimes went with the papists to mass. This conduct, which would be generally approved as wide-minded and charitable, was by no means right in the eyes of the faithful Hausschein. He said, “Has not Christ fully satisfied the justice of God? Is there any need to offer other sacrifices after that of Calvary? By saying amen to the priests’ mass, you deny the grace of Jesus Christ.” The good man further discovered that the barbes thought every man had some natural goodness in him, which made him do good works. Hausschein told them that no good work ever came from any other power than that of the Holy Spirit. The barbes, who were humble modest men, were not offended at being contradicted by those whom they had expected to find far behind themselves in knowledge. They owned their ignorance, and were thankful to be taught.
Hausschein did not do as some would have done—turn his back upon them because of their errors: “We must enlighten these dear brothers,” he said to his friends; “but above all things we must love them.”
The barbes at last left Basle to return to their mountains. But I am sorry to tell you that on the way, their holy conversation drew upon them the notice of some of the papists at Dijon in France. They were both seized and put in the prison of Dijon. George Morel managed to escape, but Peter Masson was condemned and put to death.
There was great sorrow in the mountain villages when George Morel came back alone. But everyone was anxious to hear all he had to tell. He related faithfully how Master Hausschein had reproved them for having fellowship with Rome. From this time there was a division amongst the pastors. Some said Hausschein was right. Others defended the plan of being on brotherly terms with the Romish priests. At last all the barbes from all the villages met together to consult about this matter. As they could not settle it, they determined to send into Switzerland two of their number—one called George, and the other Martin Gonin, the same who made the first journey in search of the gospel preachers. These two barbes were directed to find the great preacher Master Farel and, if possible, to bring him back to tell them what they ought to do.
This was the long story which Farel heard from the two mountain pastors. “And now,” they said, “will you come back with us? and all the barbes shall meet to hear what you have to say.” Farel was delighted. His friend Saunier agreed to go with him. But most of Farel’s friends were filled with terror when they heard of this distant journey. There was a fresh persecution of the Waldenses just set on foot by the parliament of Aix-les-Bains. The prisons of Savoy and Piedmont were filled with them. The Duke of Savoy was a bitter enemy to the gospel. Farel would have to pass through his country. The protection of Berne would be no use to him there. But none of these things moved William Farel. He saw that the matter was far too important to the honor of Christ to be neglected at any risk. He immediately prepared for the long journey, and by the middle of August he was ready to start.
The barbes seem to have gone before, to make known amongst their brethren that William Farel was on his way. And immediately some set off to meet the Swiss pastors, and to bring them by secret paths to the mountain valleys. It seems probable that a third preacher was also of the party, of whom you will hear more bye and bye. He, too, was a Frenchman, called Robert Olivetan. He had been a student at Paris, and had a cousin, of whom much will have to be told later on—John Calvin, of Noyon, in Picardy. This cousin had by this time learned something of the gospel from Robert, but he will not appear in our story for some years to come.