Towards the frontier of France, amongst steep mountains and dark pine woods, lay the town of Orbe. This town belonged to the two cities of Berne and Friburg.
Berne had, as you know, been the great defender of the gospellers. Friburg remained a popish town. But the lords of Berne had some little while back compelled the government of Friburg to sign an agreement that, in all towns belonging to either city, the gospel should be preached, and the mass done away with, provided that most of the inhabitants wished it to be thus. If, on the contrary, most of them were papists, the gospel was not to be hindered amongst those who desired to hear it, and the gospellers were to be free to worship God as they thought best.
Orbe was still a popish town. The gospel had never yet been heard there. Priests and monks had none to oppose them. It was just at the end of this eventful year, 1530, that an indulgence-seller arrived at Orbe. He had come, as you know, to sell indulgences, or pardons, for any who had committed crimes, or even who meant to commit them, and wished to get a pardon beforehand, as you get a ticket for a railway journey. “An indulgence for every crime, past or future!” cried the merchant, as a crowd collected round him in the market-place of Orbe. And as the people pressed nearer, the merchant saw, with some misgiving, a man with a red beard and piercing eyes. He felt afraid of this man, he knew not why.
The man came forward. “Have you a pardon,” he said, “for a man who is going to kill his father or mother?”
The merchant was at a loss for an answer. The man’s eyes now flashed fire. He sprang upon the stone basin of the fountain close by, and in a voice of thunder he preached to the astonished people of God’s judgment upon sin; and how One had borne that judgment, and had gone up into the glory, and now gave full forgiveness and remission of sins without money and without price—without price, for He had paid the price by His own precious blood; and woe to all those who turned from Him to seek pardon from sinful men—from men who desired only to grow rich upon their ignorance and folly.
There were two men of Orbe who were glad to hear this blessed preaching—one was a schoolmaster called Mark Romain, the other was a tradesman called Christopher Holard.
The strange preacher then disappeared, and some months passed by. Lent came, the Lent of 1531. But the preaching at the fountain was not forgotten by the priests and monks.
There were two convents in the town of Orbe. The one was a convent of Carmelite monks, the other a nunnery of the nuns of St. Clara. These two convents were divided from one another by the parish church; they were joined to one another by a secret passage. It often happened thus that nuns, who professed to be shut up from the world, found plenty of company amongst the monks in neighboring convents. Thus we read of a convent near Paris, where the nuns would invite into their beautiful garden the monks from a convent hard by, and have dances and other amusements upon the smooth lawns.
The nuns at Orbe had amongst their friends a priest called Michael Juliani. They entreated him to preach during Lent against the “new religion.” Father Michael was delighted to find that the church was crowded with hearers. There were two or three amongst them, who not only listened attentively, but took notes on pieces of paper which they carried in their books. Father Michael did not know these notes were to be sent to Berne, where his sermons would find few admirers. You will have supposed that amongst those who took these notes were Mark Romain and Christopher Holard.
There was also a lad of whom you have not yet heard, who longed to hear Father Michael contradicted, and to hear the gospel preached. The name of this young man was Peter Viret. He was then nineteen years old. His father, William Viret, was a citizen of Orbe, and was also a cloth-dresser and tailor. Peter, who had always been a studious boy, had persuaded his father to send him, when he was only twelve years old, to be taught at the great University of Paris. He hoped that he might some day be a priest. He was remarked at Paris for his love of learning, and also for his devotion to saints and images. But he had not been there long, when, by some means unknown to us, his eyes were opened to see the Lord Jesus Christ. You will remember that there were meetings at Paris before and after Farel was driven away. There were those who knew the glad tidings, and who desired to make them known to others. Some say Farel himself, in his last visit to Paris, had met with Peter Viret; but there is no proof of this. All we know is that, in some way, Peter heard the gospel, and, boy as he was, he received it into his heart. The seed was sown, and it grew up slowly, but surely. When Peter was about nineteen he was to receive the tonsure: that is to say, he was to have a small round bald patch made on his head, the hair being shaved so as to leave the remaining hair in the form, as the priests said, of the crown of thorns. All priests and monks have their heads thus shaved, and Peter was now to become a priest. But the gospel he had learned at Paris clung to him. He resolved that the mark of Rome should never be set upon his forehead. He therefore left Paris suddenly and returned to Orbe. He had just arrived there when Father Michael began his sermons.
The priests of Orbe remarked that there was something amiss with Peter, and they suspected that “the new religion” had got hold of him. They had long talks with him, and told him that the Church of Rome held the faith of the old fathers; of Jerome, and of Chrysostom, and of Augustine. “The old ways must be the right ways,” they said; “we get no good by turning aside from the good old paths to new-fangled notions.”
But Peter was not convinced by this time-honored argument. “What is there older,” he said, “than the ways of murder, and lying, and disobedience to God? Is not the way of Cain a very old way? And what is there older than man’s inventions but God Himself? I will believe Him only. The Lord Jesus is my Shepherd, I will not be the disciple of Jerome or Augustine, nor even of Martin Luther— I will follow Christ only.”
And the more the priests argued, the more therefore did Peter betake himself to Christ. He prayed earnestly, not for himself only, but for those round him. He prayed especially for his beloved father and mother. They began to feel a desire to hear the blessed Word of God, which Peter read to them from time to time. And Peter was so respectful, and so gentle, that they could not be angry with him. You now understand why the sermons of Father Michael were a grief and a sorrow to Peter.