(Continued from p. 111).
IN the meantime the old countess, hearing the unwonted shouts, had rushed out upon the castle terrace. The news of Anthony’s crime had already reached her, and with joy she saw that both Anthony and Farel were now in the hands of the vigorous priests. “To the river! to the river!” cried the old lady. “Drown the Lutheran dogs! They have insulted the good God!” She meant the wafer. The priests followed the countess’s advice. They dragged their prisoners to the river Seyon, which was rushing below the castle walls. At this moment some neighboring peasants came up. They were returning from Neuchatel. They knew Farel by sight, and saw that in another moment all would be over with him. “Why do you drown those men?” they said. “Lock them up till they can be called to trial for their actions. You will find out by that means who is on their side.” This clever advice saved the two prisoners. The priests carried them back to the castle.
They had to pass on the way a chapel of the Virgin Mary. They dragged Farel and Anthony into this chapel. “Kneel down and worship our Lady,” they said, pointing to the image upon the altar. “The one true God is to be worshipped,” replied Farel, “and the one God only. He is to be worshipped in spirit and in truth—He alone—not dumb images, without life or power.” The priests fell upon Farel, and beat him with their sticks. Long after the marks of his blood were shown on the bespattered walls of the chapel. The two prisoners were then carried more dead than alive into the old castle, where they were locked up in the lowest dungeon. They must have remembered Paul and Silas at Philippi.
What next the old lady and the priests would have done to them we cannot tell, for the news of their imprisonment had speedily reached the town of Neuchatel, and a strong body of the citizens appeared before the castle of Valangin, demanding that the two prisoners should be immediately delivered up to them. The old countess dared not refuse. She was afraid of the displeasure of Berne.
It must have been two or three months later that she and Farel met again. It was again a festival time, just about Christmas. The countess had gone to mass in the parish church of Valangin. Scarcely had she arrived, when Farel, with some friends from Neuchatel, walked boldly into the church. Farel went up into the pulpit, and, deaf to the exclamations of the angry countess, he began there and then to preach the gospel. The countess gave orders to stop him, but the people rose up as one man, and said “We will have the gospel of Christ. We will hear Master Farel.”
The countess left the church, and returned in wrath and terror to the castle. “I am sure,” she said, “all that is not in the old gospels, and, if there are any new ones that make people do such things as that, it’s more than I can understand.”
But, in spite of the people who wished to have the gospel, the old lady had her way for a year longer. Mass was sung, and the gospel was banished. The church was locked up if any gospellers were thought to be near at hand.
The old lady wrote an imploring letter to the lords of Berne, entreating them to protect her against the preachers. She said, “I am resolved never to leave the faith of God and the Church, but in that faith I mean to live and die, without making any changes. Howbeit, last Saturday, some people of Neuchatel, going with Farel, broke down a cross upon my chapel below the castle. And the said Farel came to preach before my church, without being asked by the greater number of the townspeople, and on Sunday at Dombresson, when the priest was going to say mass, behold, instead of the mass, the said Farel preached. And afterward they broke and spoiled the images in the church. And not content with that, they went to other churches to preach, without the consent of the good people. And yesterday the said Farel, at Angollon, stopped the mass in the middle of the service in order that he might preach.... And I know not to whom to complain but to God and to you, and I pray that you will give orders that such outrages should cease, and that you will punish those that have thus offended. Otherwise I shall know that the world is a new one, wherein rulers are oppressed and justice is at an end, and truth and loyalty lost and gone. And I beseech you not to be displeased at this entreaty, made by a poor old lady, your citizen, thus tormented in her old age.”
In a few days came an answer from Berne. “As to punishing those,” said the lords of Berne, “who have committed no other offense than attending the preaching of the gospel, and who thereupon broke and burnt the idols, know that we will do nothing of the sort, for it would be fighting against God. It would be best for you to attend to the advice we gave you before.” This advice was that the old lady should leave the preachers in peace, and allow them convenient places to preach in. “And,” added the lords of Berne, “we pray to God to give you grace to discern the errors and seductions of anti-Christ.”
The poor old countess had no intention of following the advice of Berne. She bestirred herself all the more to hinder the preaching, and to get rid if possible of Farel and Anthony.
But a day came when a preacher appeared in the marketplace of Valangin. Some say it was Farel—some, that it was Anthony Marcourt, the first pastor of Neuchatel. All the people ran together, rejoiced to heat the preaching which had so spoken to their hearts a year before in the old church. The countess from her castle tower saw what was happening. She sent her servants to insult the preacher. But so vile were the insults of those wretched men, that suddenly the crowd rushed forward with shouts of anger. They broke open the doors of the great church, and there and then broke down the images, demolished the altars, shattered the painted windows, trod the relics of the saints underfoot, and left no trace to tell of the old days of idolatry. They then rushed upon the houses of the priests and canons. They wished to call them to account for their opposition to the gospel. The poor priests fled to hide in the woods. But the day was remembered when they had beaten Farel with their sturdy arms. Their houses were plundered of all that told the tale of obedience to the Pope.
The countess and her wicked steward, Claude de Bellegarde, saw this awful scene from the castle tower. They could do nothing. They saw the furious crowd turn from the canon’s houses, and take the steep road up to the castle gates. What was now to happen? The countess saw that she was in their power, and that resistance would be worse than useless. But they had not come to harm her. They only demanded that the servants should be punished for their insults to the preacher. The countess had to consent to this.
The citizens then declared that Valangin should be free forever from the rule of the Pope, and free it has remained from that day to this. The countess was allowed to have mass in the castle chapel, but there was to be no more mass, and there was to be gospel preaching in the church of Valangin.
But we must now return to William Farel at Neuchatel. He was far from thinking that his work there was done when the images were broken and the mass was stopped. On the contrary, this had but cleared the way for the work that he had at heart. Having now pulled down, he could begin to build up. And this was a far more laborious work. It needed a toil and patience far beyond that required for the work of pulling down. Besides, there was not nearly so much to spew for it in the eyes of man. To those whose motive was nothing higher than hatred of priestcraft and tyranny, Farel seemed to be nothing but a conquering hero. They compared the light and freedom which had broken in, with the old days of darkness and bondage, and could see nothing but victory and triumph. But Farel’s eyes were not turned backward upon the things that were behind. He was “reaching forth unto those things which are before.” His eyes were fixed upon Christ in the glory. It was by Him he measured all. It was not with blinded Papists that he now compared his converts, but with that holy and righteous One at God’s right hand.
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 Tribourg.
Berne had, as you know, been the great defender of the gospellers. Tribourg remained a popish town. But the lords of Berne had some little while back, compelled the government of Tribourg 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. I t 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 marketplace 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?”
F.B.