(Continued from p. 128).
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 neighbouring, 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 newfangled 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 around 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.
But these sermons were destined to come to a sudden and untimely end. Father Michael was one day describing “the new preachers.” He had just told his congregation that the priests and monks were mediators between God and man, and friends of the saints, who cure all diseases. “Those therefore,” he said “who listen to them can want for nothing. But as for the new preachers, who throw down crosses and images, they are the enemies of Christ—they are priests and monks who have broken their vows in order to marry wives, and to live in vice and crime.”
“You lie! you lie!” said a loud voice amongst the crowd.
All turned to the spot whence the voice proceeded, and then, standing up with a face of indignation, was Christopher Holard. In one moment the whole church was in a tumult. There was a general rush made upon Christopher. The foremost in the attack were the women. They were headed by the chief lady of the place, the Lady Elizabeth Arnez.
“All,” says the Chronicle, “fell with one accord upon the said Christopher. They tore out his beard, and beat him, they scratched him with their nails and otherwise, so that if they had been let alone, he would never have gone out of the said church alive, which would have been a great benefit for the poor Catholics.”
The governor of Orbe however, hearing the tumult came to the rescue; he rushed amongst the shrieking women, seized Master Christopher, and locked him up in the dungeon of the castle.
There was one woman who was filled with grief at all that had happened. This was Christopher’s old mother. She knew of only one friend to whom she could go for sympathy and help. This was Mark Romain the schoolmaster. She entreated Mark to go with her to the castle of Echallens, some miles off. The bailiff of Berne lived there. She believed that he might be able and willing to rescue her son from the hands of the papists.
Mark was ready to go at once, and with trembling hearts, the two friends presented themselves at the castle of Echallens. The bailiff listened kindly to their sad tale.
“It is the friar who is to be blamed, not your son, my good woman,” he said. “Berne will not suffer such preaching as that.” The bailiff went immediately to Orbe. He sat down in the open air near the castle, and desired his officers to fetch the friar. But the friar was not to be found. The bailiff waited patiently, whilst the officers went from house to house.
The friar meanwhile was safely hid in the house of a certain “Frances Pugin, instructress of girls in all virtue and learning.” But when he heard the officers were coming, he thought it best to take the bull by the horns. He ran out of the house, and went in a respectful manner to the bailiff, who was still sitting near the castle. The bailiff rose up instantly, seized him by the arm, and said, “I arrest you in the name of my lords of Berne.” He then led him into the castle, commanded Christopher’s dungeon to be unlocked, called Christopher out, and locked up Father Michael in his place.
The good schoolmaster watched these proceedings with joy and triumph. “He was as pleased,” it is said, “as if he had gained a thousand crowns!” The bailiff said he himself would take Christopher home to his mother.
Meanwhile the news of Father Michael’s imprisonment had spread through the town. A mob collected in the marketplace.
“If we can catch Mark Romain,” they said, “he shall be thrown into the river, for it was he who fetched the bailiff.” Poor Mark came in sight at this moment. He saw his danger, and fled, with the mob in pursuit. They were now gaining fast upon him—he had just reached the front of the church, seeing the door open, he rushed in.
But it was at a fatal moment—five o’clock in the afternoon, when prayers were daily offered up to Mary. Lady Elizabeth, and many or the women of Orbe were kneeling before the altar of “the Queen of Heaven.” When Mark Romain suddenly appeared amongst them, they sprang from their knees, flew at him, threw him down, beat him and scratched him.
“I saw the whole affair,” says a papist who was present, “I did not think the schoolmaster would ever have got out alive.” But at this moment “a Lutheran friend” came in, and dragged Mark from the midst of his enraged enemies.
The women, Lady Elizabeth at their head, now ran into the streets to implore the bailiff to release the friar. A mob had already gathered round the castle, and in the midst stood the bailiff, Christopher by his side.
Loud and angry voices were heard in every direction. “Why have you locked up Father Michael?” “Why have you let Christopher out of prison?” they asked.
“By order of my lords of Berne,” said the bailiff, and then pointing to the thick walls of the castle, he added, “If you can get him out, you may, but I advise you not to try.”
As the bailiff proceeded to the square, turning a deaf ear to threats and entreaties, he met the troop of ladies. They all fell on their knees “with many tears,” and implored “mercy for the good father.” The bailiff was touched by their grief, but he said Father Michael was the prisoner of Berne, and he had no power to release him. He saw Christopher safely home, and returned to Echallens.
The priests of Orbe met together to consult. They resolved to send to Friborg for help. I told you that the town of Orbe was the property of both Friborg and Berne. The lords of Friborg could do nothing without the consent of Berne. They therefore sent messengers to Berne to ask for advice, in consequence of which a number of officers of both cities were sent together to settle the matter at Orbe, when they had inquired into both sides of the question.
As the officers proceeded on their way to Orbe, they passed through the village of wenches. There, to the joy of the Bernese, they found William Farel, who had been preaching there for the past month. They entreated him to come with them to Orbe. They reached Orbe the day before Palm Sunday.
Quickly the news spread through the little town, that the heretic who had preached on the fountain was again amongst them.
But Sunday morning passed quietly, and Sunday afternoon. All the services had been said and sung, excepting only vespers. The people were filling the church for this last service, “when” we are told, “Farel, leaving his inn with presumptuous boldness, went into the pulpit without asking the leave of anyone, and began to preach.”
At once the whole crowd began to hiss, to howl, to stamp, and to shriek. “You dog! you devil! you heretic!” sounded from every side.
“It was a glorious noise,” said a Catholic who was present. Farel was used to noise. He preached on till they rushed up the pulpit stairs and dragged him down. The governor afraid of the consequences, if he allowed him to be killed, seized him by the arm, and led him back to his inn. Thus ended his first sermon.
F. B.
The following is the paper of Jessie Harriet P. (11 years old), who gains the first prize, Schaff’s “Through Bible Lands.”