Some of the Huguenots, it is true, took part with Anthony, for no better reason than that they hoped the preaching would in time rid them of the priests. But very many had really been turned from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God.
The priests and monks thought it was time to bestir themselves. They went from house to house, warning the people. They harangued them in the streets and markets. “What can that little fool know?” they said: “he is scarcely twenty-two, and he is a devil.” “That fool,” answered the people, “will teach you to be wise. That devil will cast out the devil that is in you.” And thus day by day were souls saved. It was a great and marvelous work that God was then doing in Geneva—a work at which we must look back with awe and wonder—a work for which we may praise Him still. His strength was indeed made perfect in the weakness of Anthony Froment.
One day two ladies came in the crowd to the Golden Cross. One of them had a sweet but grave countenance, and was plainly and simply dressed. The other was resplendent with all sorts of finery. She wore also a number of crosses and rosaries. It is by the cross of Christ that the world is crucified to us (if we are really Christians) and we to the world. Yet the crosses of gold and silver, wood and stone, are commonly to be met with in the company of costly lace and jewels, and worldly adornments. This bedizened lady sat down just opposite little Anthony, with a look of mockery and derision. Her companion sat beside her.
Anthony came forward with a book in his hand, and got up on a round table, as was his custom, in order to be better heard. He read a few words from his book, and began to explain them. Meanwhile the smart lady crossed herself again and again, and murmured Ave Marias and Paternosters. Anthony spoke on. He told of the love of God, who sent His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. He told of the free forgiveness, and the perfect salvation which are for every weary soul that comes to Christ.
The look of mockery passed away from the face of the lady. She fixed her eyes with wonder and rapt attention upon Anthony’s face. It was another voice that was speaking to her—not the voice of the little preacher, but a voice from Heaven—that voice which the dead hear, and awaken to everlasting life. What was that book from which the preacher read those wonderful words—those words that seemed to her to come directly from the mouth of God?
The sermon was over: the children went out, followed by the older people; but the lady sat still in her place. Anthony got down from the table. “Is it true what you say?” asked the lady, suddenly rising up. “Yes,” answered Anthony. “Is that book really a New Testament?” “Yes.” “Is the mass mentioned in it?” “No!” The lady hesitated a moment, and then said, “Will you lend it me?” Anthony gladly gave it to her. She hid it carefully under her cloak, and went out with her friend.
She scarcely spoke a word on the way home. When she reached the house, she went straight to her room, and shut herself in alone with the Book. She told her family not to come to her room, not to knock at her door, not to wait at meals for her.
Three days and three nights passed. She remained in her room, neither eating nor drinking, but praying and reading. The Book lay open on the table before her. At the end of the three days she came forth. She said, “The Lord has forgiven me, and saved me. He has given me the living water.”
She now desired to see Anthony, and to tell him what the Lord had done for her. A messenger was sent to fetch him. When he came in, she rose up, and went to meet him, but she could not speak. “Her tears,” said Anthony, “fell on the floor.” At last she begged Anthony to sit down, and she told him that God had opened heaven to her, sinner as she was, and had saved her by the precious blood of His Son. Anthony could only listen in wonder and joy. She went on to tell that she had been brought to the preaching by her sister-in-law, Paula Levet. Paula had very often entreated her to come, but she had refused again and again, for she feared lest she should be bewitched. The priests had said that whoever heard the heretic preach would be not only bewitched, but damned. At last, however, out of love for Paula, she had made up her mind to go. She had fastened fresh-gathered rosemary leaves to her temples, had rubbed her breast with virgin wax, and had hung relics of the saints around her neck, with crosses and rosaries in addition. She thus hoped to be safe from the enchantments of little Anthony; and she thought that having heard the preaching, she might be able to prove to Paula it was heresy.
“And now,” she said, “how can I ever thank God enough that He has opened my blind eyes?”
One day, just after this, Claudine Levet—for this was the lady’s name—again shut herself up in her room. She there took off all her finery, her jewels, and costly attire, and dressed herself in a plain and modest dress. She sold her ornaments and trappings, and gave the money to the poor, especially to any of the Lord’s poor saints who had come to take refuge in Geneva from the persecutions in France. She opened her house to these banished followers of Christ; she spoke openly and meekly of the precious truth the Lord had made known to her.
Her friends were grieved and astonished at this sudden change. One day, when some of them were met together, they talked of nothing but the mysterious transformation of Claudine. “We loved her so much,” they said, “that we lament all the more that she is lost! She has left off going to the mass, and to every sort of amusement. And so suddenly, too. Ah! she has heard that creature, and has been bewitched by him.” And one and all resolved they would visit her no more.
For a while they kept their resolution, and held aloof. But they watched their old friend; and one by one, they began to feel uneasy when they saw her holy life, her usefulness, her meekness, and gentleness. Could it be, after all, that she was changed for the better? At last they took opportunities of talking to her. Claudine spoke to them lovingly and humbly, and gave them each a New Testament. She told them of the precious love of Christ. Those same ladies, who had talked her over in bitterness and anger, were won to Christ also. They, too, cast aside their fine clothes, and gave their money to those who had need.
It is easy to read these things, and easy to approve of them in other people, especially if they lived some hundreds of years ago. But are we ready to do likewise? “Costly array,” the “lust of the eyes, and the pride of life,” are things which are no less of the world, and no more of the Father, in the nineteenth century than they were in the sixteenth. People take solemn vows to “renounce the pomps and vanities of this wicked world.” Sometimes they take them in the name of children, who are dressed up for the occasion in “christening robes,” the cost of which would comfortably clothe ten or twenty shivering little children of the poor. These vows are “renewed “by the children themselves, just at the time when they are looking forward to “coming out into the world.” Can it be the same “wicked world” they have just sworn they would renounce? We read in the sixth chapter of the second epistle to the Corinthians, of a “coming out,” but it is from not into that world, of which, if we will be the friends, we must be the enemies of God. I would ask you to read those words. They are the commandment of God.
Do you know what it is, thus to come out? And to come out, not as Lot’s wife, looking back to the place of doom, but looking onward and upward to the glory, and to Him who is there—drawn from the world that crucified Him by the power of His love. It is true that worldliness often shows itself in a less vulgar shape than that of jewels or finery, or expensive food and drink. There is a worldliness in things of the mind, as well as in things of the body. There is a worldliness which is intellectual and refined, as well as a worldliness that is low and coarse. But in the one shape or the other, wherever the love of the world is found, it is a sure sign that in that heart the love of the Father is not. What solemn words! But they are the words of God.
You may wonder where Claudine got the New Testaments which she gave to her friends. Farel had sent them to Anthony with tracts and books, supplied by his friends at Lyons. They were Master Faber’s Testaments—the only French translation then to be had. Aimé Levet (Claudine’s husband) was at first very much displeased; but his wife was so meek and gentle, he began at last to desire himself to read the Word of God, and hear the preaching. He, too, became a believer in Jesus.