THE two days at Geneva had by no means discouraged Farel. On the contrary, the thought of the hungry souls whom he had left behind, only strengthened his longing for the day when Geneva should “be taken for Christ.”
After a few days at Orbe, he journeyed on to Grandson. At this place he found Anthony Froment, who, young as he was, had become the pastor of the little flock at the village of Yoonand. Anthony was not wanting in courage. But he was scarcely twenty-two years old. He was of mean appearance, he was shy, and he was small in stature. He had, however, one qualification which was a great one in the eyes of Farel, and which he possessed beyond many others. This was, that he was “nobody.” To Anthony therefore Farel betook himself. He related his adventures at Geneva, and said, “Go and try if you can find an open door at Geneva.”
Froment stood speechless. “How should I dare,” he said at last, “to face the enemies who drove away even you, Master Farel!”
Farel said, “Begin as I did at Aigle. I became a schoolmaster, and taught little children, and taking any opportunity I could find to speak of Christ to one and to another, till the door was opened for me to preach.” “Fear nothing,” said Farel, “it is a great thing to be nobody. You can then be free of everybody. Nobody will attend to what you do. God will guide you, and will guide you in His own path.”
Anthony felt that the message came to him from God. It was not to please Farel, but to please Christ, that he would dare to go. He fell on his knees. “O God,” he said, “I trust not in the power of man, I place myself entirely in Thy hands. To Thee I commit my cause, praying Thee to guide it, for it is Thine.”
Arriving at Geneva, he asked a man, whose acquaintance he had made in the street, if he knew of any room that he might hire for a school. “There is the great hall at the Golden Cross,” replied his friend. So they went there together, and Anthony hired it. He then returned to his inn. In his best handwriting he wrote the following placard:
“A man has just arrived in this city, who engages to teach reading and writing in French, in one month, to all who will come to him, young and old, men and women, even such as have never been to school; and if they cannot read and write within the said month, he asks nothing for his trouble. He will be found at the large room, at the sign of the Golden Cross. Many diseases are also cured gratis.” Anthony made several copies of this placard. He then went out, and stuck them up in conspicuous places. Many people stopped to read them. Some felt inclined to go to the new school.
Very soon the whole city had heard of the young Frenchman and his school. And it was not long before fathers and mothers determined to go too, and hear for themselves.
Some of the Huguenots were the first who went. They hoped that the schoolmaster would say something in his little sermons against the priests and the mass. They sat behind the children, waiting till the lessons were over. They were charmed with the lessons. The children were taught even more than the placard had promised—not only reading and writing, but also arithmetic.
At last the little sermon began. Anthony read a Bible story, and explained the difficult words as he went on. He then spoke a few words, very simply and lovingly, telling his hearers what it was that God desired them to learn from the verses he had read. All eyes were fixed upon him as he spoke. The people as they went out, said they had never heard such teaching. Not a word about the priests, but much about Christ. They told all their friends of the beautiful preaching at the Golden Cross.
Soon the great ball became crowded with men, women, and children. They came long before the time, to be sure of getting places. We are told, everyone was full of the wonderful sermons. Every day the crowd at the Golden Cross was larger, and many returned, praising and glorifying God. They had learned the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge. 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 we Marias and Paternosters. Anthony spoke on. He told of the love of God, who sent His only begotten Son, that whosoever believe 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. 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 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 petted 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.
F. B.