At the time that Farel was writing thus, another servant of the Lord was truly “taking with both hands the blessing prepared for those who suffer for Jesus.” Alexander, who had been driven from Geneva, had gone to preach the gospel at Lyons. Great blessing followed his preaching. When the sermon was over he hid himself in the house of some gospeller, and appeared again to preach in another part of the town; but in the week following Easter, the priests found him. Loaded with chains he was sent to Paris for his trial, guarded by soldiers. As they journeyed along Alexander spoke of the love of Christ. The captain who guarded him, and some of the soldiers, were turned to the Lord. At the inns on the way Alexander preached, and numbers were saved. The story that follows is a short one. He was tortured at Paris till he was a hopeless cripple. He was then condemned to be burnt alive. Alexander’s face beamed with joy at this sentence, which was to send him from the tortures and blasphemies of the priests, into the presence of his Beloved. He preached till the last moment. A monk called out to him, “Recant, or hold your tongue.” Alexander replied, “I will not give up Jesus. Depart from me! deceivers of the people!” As the monks looked at his ashes, some said, “If he is not saved who will be?”
Meanwhile the priests of Geneva had busied themselves in finding a new preacher to take the place of Father Furbity. The Bernese, who considered themselves personally insulted by Furbity’s sermons, insisted that he should still be kept in prison. There was a Franciscan monk of the name of Courtelier, who was of great repute at Chambéry. He was invited to Geneva to preach the lent sermons in the church of the Franciscan convent. The Franciscan was one of those people who desire to please everybody, and to this end he spoke smooth words, paying compliments alike to the priests and the gospellers. He even attempted to preach the gospel, but so contradicted himself in every sentence that his sermon became most bewildering.
“You cannot teach the truth, for you do not know it,” said Farel, suddenly standing up; and the monk was silent. He continued his course of sermons, or rather his course of compliments, but the Genevese were not thus to be caught. They disliked to be told of nothing but their virtues and holiness. “We don’t want to please either gentlemen or ladies,” they said.
In vain the Bernese ambassadors demanded a church for Farel also. The council always had some excuse ready. “You complain,” said the ambassadors, “that our preachers are preaching in holes and corners like pig-styes. Give us a church; you need not go there unless you like, but all will then have fair play.” But the council still replied they had no right to the churches, they belonged to the bishop.
One Sunday in March, when Father Courtelier had just finished his sermon, and the people were leaving the church, our friend Baudichon stood up in the midst, and announced that William Farel would preach there that same day, and that the bells would be rung to give notice to the city. The monks stood aghast; but Baudichon and his friends proceeded to the belfry and rang loud peals during one hour. In the meanwhile the Huguenots took possession of the convent cloisters, which would hold more people than the church—perhaps as many as four or five thousand. By the end of the hour the cloisters were crowded with Huguenots and Catholics alike. The Catholics waited anxiously to see the wonderful preacher, of whom they had heard such tales.
To their utter astonishment he appeared in his usual dress, —no robes, no gown but the Spanish cloak he always wore, and the brimmed cap which was only worn by laymen.
The sermon began. Such words of life and power as had never before been heard in the old cloisters. None listened more attentively than one of the monks, who was a bitter enemy to the gospel. The words came to him from Heaven, and that day, for the first time, Christ shone down in His love and grace into the heart of the poor Franciscan. This monk was James Bernard, brother to Claude Bernard, the Huguenot, of whom you have heard before.
The next day the priests and their friends appeared before the council, to complain of the strange doings at the convent. At the same moment the Bernese came into the council-room. “We have long asked you for a church,” they said, “and now a place has been provided by the inspiration of God, without our help. That cloister has been given to Farel by the Lord Himself; beware lest you hinder him.” The council thought it best to leave the matter alone. The ambassadors now left Geneva. “We commend our preachers to you,” they said to the Huguenots. Claude Bernard took the three preachers thenceforth to live in his house, where they were in better quarters than at the “Black Head.”
The Council of Friburg now in their turn sent messengers to Geneva. They were bitterly displeased at the welcome given to William Farel; but finding that the Council of Geneva was unable or unwilling to stop the gospel preaching, they declared the alliance between Friburg and Geneva at an end, and returned home. The priests thus lost their best friends.
Every day the gospel meetings were more crowded—every day the believers were multiplied.
The priests were now at their wits’ end; but they had not come to the end of their large stock of miracles. A miracle, more startling than any of the former ones, was published through the streets of Geneva. The Virgin Mary herself, dressed all in white, had appeared to one of the curates. She had told him that a grand procession must be made in Geneva and all the villages around. She said if this were not done, the city would be swallowed up; if it were done speedily, the heretics would burst asunder in the midst, like Judas. The Huguenots, who were so successful in catching crabs in the churchyard, were determined to lay hold of the “fine lady in white.” She was quickly caught, and turned out to be the curate’s housemaid. But it was in vain that this was proved to the benighted people. The procession was made, and pilgrims from all parts of Savoy flocked to Geneva. The sight of the idols, borne along with incense and music, stirred up the wrath of some of the Huguenots; they went by night to the Franciscan cloister, broke the images of St. Anthony, and of eight other saints, and threw the fragments down the well of St. Clara.
Sister Jane’s journal now became a black catalog of crimes. “The Reverend Father Furbity,” she writes, “was brought before the magistrates about eleven o’clock, after dinner, on Monday. There were there the Satan Farel and others. The Reverend Father said, ‘If I am to dispute with that boy, that poor idiot Farel, I require first that all his hair should be shaved off, for it is there that the devil his master lodges, and I will then answer with my life if I fail to conquer the devils he carries about with him as his counselors'. But this was refused him, and he was taken back to his dungeon, which was a cruel thing.
“This same day the accursed Farel baptized a child in their accursed manner, and even good Christians went to see how it was done.
“On Sunday the wretch Farel married a man and woman according to their form without any solemnity or devotion.
“On the Sunday Misericordia, a rich perverted lady came to the Convent of St. Clara to talk to the sisters, and not being able to keep in her venom, she poured it forth, saying the world had been all in error till now, and in idolatry, and that our forefathers lived in evil ways, because the commandments of God had not been made known to them. The mother vicar replied to this lady, that if she would not talk devoutly as in olden times, they would make 'wooden faces’ (that is, turn a deaf ear), 'for,’ she said, 'you have been drinking the poison of that cursed Farel.’ And at last, as she continued her remarks, the nuns rose up and barred the door in her face; but nevertheless she stood there a long time talking to the door, and saying the sisters were more obedient to the devil than to God.
“The day of the Holy Cross a Franciscan monk took off his frock after the preaching, and in contempt he trod it under foot, to the great joy of the heretics.”
Thus wrote this poor blind nun, encouraged in her sin and folly by the blind leaders of the blind, who called themselves the priests of God. It may be, as you read this, that you think of these wretched men with anger and contempt. But there was One who, whilst “He looked upon them with anger, being grieved at the hardness of their hearts,” could yet yearn over them in love and grace: for there were in that list of blaspheming priests those whose names had been written in the Book of Life, before the foundation of the world, in the Book of Life of the Lamb slain for their sin and hatred.
On a Sunday in May, after the sermon, the believers met in the Franciscan cloister to break bread. To their surprise, a priest, in his splendid robes, came up to the table. One by one did he take off his gorgeous trappings—his stole, his cope, his alb. He flung them on the ground, and stood there in a plain citizen’s dress. “I throw off,” he said, “the old man, and stand here a prisoner to the gospel of the Lord. Brethren, I will live and die with you, for Jesus Christ’s sake.” The gospellers looked at the priest with tears of joy, and “the layman" Farel held forth to him the bread and wine, and all together thanked the Lord for His grace and goodness.
This priest was Louis Bernard, the brother of James and Claude.
God had greatly blessed this family. Claude’s little daughter, only seven or eight years old, was a bright witness for Christ. The priests, who could not answer the texts she repeated to them, said she was possessed. It must have been a happy party who met in Claude Bernard’s house—the three brothers, the three preachers, and the wife and little daughter. James Bernard, who saw the truth but dimly at first, grew daily in grace and in the knowledge of God.
A fourth preacher was soon added to the party. He, too, was a banished Frenchman, a knight of St. John of Jerusalem. His name was Gaudet—and a new member was also added after awhile to the Bernard family—Louis, who had become a member of the Council of Two Hundred, married a widow lady. The priests and their friends were horror-stricken: “Louis Bernard, the priest, has dared,” they said, “to marry a wife!” “You call out now,” replied the Huguenots, “because Bernard has a lawful wife, but you said nothing whilst the priests had any number of unlawful wives. That did not surprise you at all.” It scarcely could surprise them, whilst the popes themselves set the example. It was in this same year that Pope Clement died. He was succeeded by Paul III. This man, whilst a cardinal, had disguised himself as a layman, in order to marry a lady of Bologna. The Catholic writer before referred to, thus relates his history. He had two children, a son and a daughter. His mother, his sister, his son, and his son-in-law all died, under suspicion of having been murdered by the “holy father.” “He was” says this author, “the most awful monster of his time.” He stirred up the emperor and the kings of France and Spain to the burning of Protestants. Being urged to the reform of the papacy, in order to stop the spread of heresy, he charged four cardinals and five bishops to state what seemed the necessary steps. They stated clearly and plainly, the abuses, vices, and crimes of the popes, and proposed their reformation. Paul however said he would not dishonor the holy throne by confessing their vices. He passed the bull “in cana Domini,” to curse, every holy Thursday, all who spoke against the rights and privileges of the chair of Peter. Such is the history told us; such was the bright example set before the clergy of Christendom.