Chapters 6.
Meeting of Roger and Court.
NOW that Jacques Roger no longer stood alone in his labors for Christ in Dauphine, he turned with renewed courage to his original purpose of restoring church order in the scattered and somewhat disorderly assemblies of the Protestants of France. Louis XIV., who had caused a bronze statue to be erected, and many medals to be struck, to commemorate the abolition of Protestantism in his kingdom, was laid low by the Hand of God, and the same God was strengthening the hearts of His servants, to seek the revival from its enfeebled state of the faith which this once mighty monarch had sought to destroy.
Although the spirit of persecution was in no wise buried with the king, who had been its willing and active agent, as Roger had hoped when he returned from Germany, still he and the whole-hearted men, his companions, dared to meet together. And in spite of numberless difficulties and dangers, they conferred as to the re-establishment of consistories and the holding of synods, so as to unite again, upon a church basis, the dispersed Protestants of France.
Many were the hours spent in prayerful waiting upon God, for wisdom, grace, and courage, by this noble band, and we can surely see it as an answer to such prayer, that a worker of a very superior stamp was now brought into association with them. This was Antoine Court, who, later earned from the French Reformed, the title of “Restorer of Protestantism.”
It was evidently the guiding hand of God that, at this juncture, directed Roger’s steps into Languedoc, in order that his path in life might cross that of Court. Seven years previously, as already recounted, Roger had set off to visit the home of his childhood, and had been frustrated in his purpose. Now, in the spring of 1716, he again pined for a sight of his loved family, and finding Brunel nothing loth to revisit former scenes of his labors for the Lord, they started in company.
Many perilous adventures befell them on their way, but God’s protecting care was over them. On one occasion, while they sat at dinner in a roadside inn, a Roman Catholic, suspecting them to be Huguenots, gave the alarm to the priest, who forthwith dispatched his servant to act as a spy upon them. The manner of the woman aroused Roger’s fears, and he immediately signed to his companion that they must fly. They accomplished their departure but in the nick of time—only a few minutes later and the house was surrounded by fifty armed men, to find their prey had escaped.
Without further misadventure, Roger and Brunel pushed on until they reached Lagorce. Here, in the inn, they were accosted by a soldier, who sought to enter into conversation with them. With difficulty they suppressed any expression of alarm, and endeavored to answer him coolly, as he explained that he had been sent at the head of a detachment of troops to arrest any suspicious-looking strangers.
At Vallon our poor travelers were dismayed at finding the streets filled with soldiery. Brunel visibly paled with fear, but his stout-hearted companion reassured him, and encouraged him to step out more boldly and with greater sang-froid. On entering a tavern Brunel was recognized by the landlord, who, happily, was friendly towards the proscribed Huguenots.
Drawing them aside, he said in an undertone, “You reckless fellows! Why do you expose yourselves to such dangers? I should be indeed grieved if any harm came to you under my roof; but had you turned into the opposite room, where there are a lot of officers, you would most certainly have been arrested.”
However, they had not altogether escaped observation, but trusting to audacity to do what prudence could no longer effect, they boldly made their way through the troops; who offered no opposition. This was by no means the last danger they ran, but, determined not to be baffled, they pursued their hazardous journey, and at length reached Nimes.
Here Brunel, to his great delight, fell in, again with his former fellow-worker, Antoine Court, of whom he had often spoken to Roger in the warmest terms of affection and esteem. Though still very young, Antoine was already a marked man for God. Exhibiting an energy, zeal, and wisdom far beyond his years, he had, though unknown, become well-known in the service of his Master. The world, who hated him, as it has ever hated his Lord, had honored the young disciple by putting a heavy price upon his head; so anxious were the enemies of Christ to close forever those bold lips, which so unflinchingly proclaimed the preciousness of that faith which they sought to destroy.
Two years previous to Roger’s return from Germany, the youthful Court had been Brunel’s companion in various preaching expeditions, the last a rapid tour through Dauphiné. With knapsack on back, they had passed on foot from village to village, strengthening those who yet dared to profess the reformed faith. In constant danger of being betrayed by spies, or seized, by a savage soldiery, with unabated steadfastness the two had pursued their way, until at Marseilles they parted company.
Bruneb passed on to other towns, while Antoine remained for some months, engrossed in a new field of labor, peculiarly attractive to his brave and tender heart. With marvelous daring, he pushed his way on board the royal galleys, where a hundred and fifty of his brethren were suffering for Christ. On these horrible floating prisons, in full view of what such a testimony might cost him, this dauntless young Christian, not counting his life dear unto himself, had ventured to gather the forlorn and pitiable sufferers together, and to cheer their fainting spirits by systematically holding services among them, in which afresh he brought before them the Saviour’s unfailing love.
Such tales of Antoine’s fearless faithfulness to Christ had already delighted the ears of Roger, and it was, as no stranger, that with deep emotion he now grasped the hand of his young brother in the Lord. No petty jealousy as to his own ministerial dignity crept into Roger’s true heart, to chill the warm interest with which he listened, while the unordained preacher, with all the enthusiasm of his years, poured forth the story of the stirring incidents connected with his past labors for the Lord; and told of his ardent aspirations as to the future.
To Roger’s intense joy, he recognized a kindred spirit, with kindred hopes, and similar projects. His heart went forth in truest love to the youthful preacher, as he spread before him the very plans that had been so long his own, as to the restoration of order in the Church of the Desert. He recounted the details of the synod he had convoked the previous year in Languedoc, and laid before Roger the rules he had there proposed as needful for discipline in the assemblies, beseeching him to adopt the same in Dauphine.
Roger needed no persuading, for Court’s suggestions fell in exactly with his own thoughts of long-standing. He in his turn proceeded to tell his new-found friend his schemes for raising the tone of the demoralized churches of that province, and related the history of his past efforts towards re-organization.
Sweet as were these hours, spent in close brotherly intercourse and fellowship, both servants of Christ were too true as to their service to prolong the sweetness. Antoine hurried forward to further labors, while Roger hastened to pay his long-deferred visit to his family at Boissières.
Alas! the blast of persecution had not spared the old homestead, nor the humble family of the lowly artizan. Roger finding but few remaining of those whom he had loved in the days of his youth, turned away, sad at heart, feeling more than ever a stranger and a pilgrim, with no continuing city. Again he sought his interests and his joys, where he had long found them, among his suffering fellow-Christians in Dauphine.
But we will turn aside for a moment to give a few details as to the previous history of Antoine Court, who occupied, at that day, the most prominent place in the Church of the Desert.
His godly parents had consecrated him to the service of the Lord even before his birth, although in doing so they were well aware how much of cross-bearing it would entail, for their little Antoine first saw the light in the time of the hottest persecution. At four years of age he lost his father, but still had the blessing of a brave, steadfast mother, who courageously held to the faith in a day of sore difficulty. Very early in life the child was called to take his own stand on the Lord’s side. He was but ten years of age when, having learned all that could be taught in the village school, the question arose whether he should be placed at a Jesuit College, where he could only be received on the condition that he attended mass. The lad decided the matter at once for himself. Though thirsting for knowledge, he declared that he preferred being ignorant all his life to purchasing it at such a price.
Child though he was, he simply abhorred the mass as a symbol of popery, and his up-right mind recoiled from appearing to countenance it. His earliest memories were of scenes of horror caused by Roman Catholic persecution, and it was no marvel that his hatred of that false and cruel religion strengthened with his growth. Even at the village school, thy little Huguenot had had to prove for himself how bitter was the opposition to the faith in which he had been brought up. He had to bear constant taunts and jeers, and stones were thrown at him as he passed down the street. Once four of his schoolfellows seized him, and by force tried to drag him to the, Roman Catholic church. Some of his friends fearing he would be hurt, advised him to yield but the indignant lad, with the strength of resolution which characterized him through life, made so good a fight that his tormentors fled.
The one great longing of the boy’s heart was to possess an entire copy of the Word of God―a rare thing in those days, when nearly all had been seized upon and burned. A few leaves had been rescued from the flames by the Court family, and had been carefully sewn together, and preserved as their dearest treasure. These Antoine would pore over; reading and re-reading them, until the divine words burned into his very soul.
Up to this time Madame Court had refrained from further compromising her child by taking him to the assemblies in the desert. However, he was not slow to notice that she often went out at nights, and, concluding that she was attending those nocturnal meetings, of which he had heard whispers, he, unobserved by her, one night followed her steps. They had gone some miles before she discovered he was behind her, and then she rebuked him severely.
“I have followed you, mother,” he answered, firmly, “and you must let me do so. I know you are going to pray to God, and would you wish to refuse me doing so too?”
The tears rushed to the fond mother’s eyes, as she put before her boy the terrible consequences of taking the path he was so eager to enter. Then, finding nothing would deter him, added that she feared he would drop from fatigue before they could reach the meeting place. But Antoine, overjoyed at having got his mother’s permission, walked bravely on, and, when fairly tired out, some good-natured men of the party bore him by turns on their shoulders until they reached the rendezvous.
From that night the lad’s future was determined. He had deliberately thrown in his lot with the persecuted people of God, and cost what it might, his resolution was taken to endure to the end. He henceforth regularly attended the secret meetings, and shortly began to be used of the Lord in them, first as only a reader of the Scriptures, but soon as a speaker. The boy-preacher was eagerly welcomed in those days of the prophetesses, when ministry was so scarce that the faithful heard but little beyond the wild exhortations of young girls, who claimed to have prophetic power. Readily the child was believed to be one of the “inspired” like them, as his burning words vibrated through the souls of his rough auditors.
When Antoine had attained his seventeenth year, he was invited by Brunel to join him in the evangelistic tours already mentioned. The resolution of her only son to devote his ‘life to the ministry of the gospel gave. Madame Court much anxiety, and caused her many tears, for she well knew such a calling must bring danger, suffering, and perhaps death to her loved child. Antoine, feeling he could meet her objections better in public than with her pleading words falling on his ear in private took advantage of preaching in her presence to speak on the text: “He that loveth father or mother more than Me, is not worthy of Me.” This sermon deeply impressed her, and revived her drooping courage. “From that moment,” writes Court, “she considered me only as a sacrifice that she had consecrated to God, and bowed, as another Abraham, to the divine will.”
The great blessing given to Antoine’s service encouraged him to work beyond his strength, and after two years of incessant labors, his health giving way, he had to take an enforced rest. Laid aside in a quiet village, with a suffering body, but an ever-energetic mind, he sought to employ hours of inaction by striving to solve a problem which had for long perplexed him―how to restore Protestantism, once God’s powerful influence for the truth in France, but now reduced to the last extremity through Roman Catholic persecution on the one hand, and through Camisard so-called inspiration on the other. To realize this, the fond dream of his childhood, he now spent many hours in thought, and in prayer to God to reveal His mind and His way to him.
It was a strange coincidence that at the same time that Court, in a little obscure village, in France, was planning the restoration of the church in that country, another saint of God, quite unknown to him, was meditating on the same subject in Wurtemberg through long days of exile. Antoine acted before Roger, and so was the executor of their joint project.
The very month that the king, le vainqueur de I’hérésie, was laid in the grave, a youth of nineteen convoked the first synod, laying again the foundations of that church which the great monarch had made it the aim of his long reign to destroy. “This project,” writes an historian of the time, “which required the wisdom of an old man, was conceived by a child.”
At the gray dawning of the morning, in a deserted quarry, came together in solemn conclave that memorable synod. It consisted but of nine persons, none of whom were ordained―the preachers, Court, Arnaud, Durand, and Rouvière; the prophets, Hue and Vesson, with three others who had not taken up the ministry. After earnest prayer, Antoine opened out his plan of operations.
He advised the establishment of elders, who would undertake the convoking of assemblies, with the choice of their locality, the care of the poor, and the enforcing of godly discipline. He strongly condemned the dishonorable and dangerous practice of preachers using for their own needs sums collected for the poor, counseling its abolition. But the point he most pressed was the last―the extinction of fanaticism. He prohibited frenzies and ecstacies in the assemblies, and ordained that for the future the Bible, as the only rule of faith, should take the place of this imaginary inspiration of the Spirit. Women were commanded to keep silence in the churches, according to the teaching of Paul.
Seated in a circle, on the large stones of the quarry, the other members of the synod, in deferential silence, listened in profound admiration to the wise counsels of the youthful speaker. Enthusiastically they accepted all the propositions of him whom they had begun by choosing as “moderator,” and adopted them all without a question.
Having now attained the wish of his heart, in establishing the assemblies on a church basis, Court proceeded to make another tour through Languedoc, the late theater of the Camisard war, to which province he and his companions confined their ministry. His greatest difficulty ever was in having fellow-workers, who though devoted men, were unequal to himself. The old Camisards especially (Montbonnoux included), would brook no control, and it required all his marvelous firmness to keep them in the right path.
Arnaud and Corteiz were his most valued helpers. The former soon perished on the scaffold, but the latter was spared to be his true yoke-fellow through many years of dangerous labors. Court writes of this time: “What was most essential was lacking, namely, preachers one alone of all who then existed could second me, and he did so effectually. His name was Corteiz. He was not present at the first synod that I convoked, being then abroad. At his return, he not only approved of what I had done, but also entered into all the views that I proposed for the future, and did all that was in his power to ensure success.”