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more boisterous priests seemed to gain the day, and became tbe willing recruits of Beda and his satellites. The more silent doctors read and thought for themselves.
Berquin translated several of Luther's writings. This was too much; he was now one with the German monk who had dared to set himself against the pope. Death was too good for Luther; it was good enough for his translator; and Beda resolved to bring him to the scaffold. There was this argument, the University had condemned the German writings to be publicly burned. An appeal was sent to Francis, who was then pleasuring through the land. Margaret whispered in his ear. His eyes were opened. He saw that the "heretics" were simply men of learning. The grave deputies were sent back, crest-, fallen and in great wrath, with this reply from the king, '' I will not have these people molested. To persecute those who teach us, would prevent able scholars from coming into our country.''
Am^ng those who were thus shielded were many of Luther's disciples. They had crossed the Rhine in advance of his writings, and found a welcome among all the Bible-readers, whose new doctrines were often called '' the sentiments of men of genius." "In a short time," says a Jesuit author, "the university was filled with foreigners, who, because they knew a little •Hebrew and Greek, acquired a reputation, insinuated themselves into the houses of persons of quality, and claimed an insolent liberty of interpreting the Bible.''
And that the king should allow them to stay! This was an awful calamity to the church. But if Beda and his troop could not erect scaffolds or pile up the fagots, there was another sort of persecution which might be employed. They could annoy the reformers, vex them, slander them, cry out against them, and make the people believe that the church was in danger. They might hiss and hound them Dut of society, or provoke them to say and do things in self-defence, on which they could found such charges as would bring down the wrath of the king. Beda was bold to declare that he would wage war upon them to the bitter end; if the king consented well, but if not his majesty must make the best of it. The aged Lefevre felt tormented by these ignorant zealots, and began to look for some retreat where he might be free from the strife of tongues. Where should he find it? Where be out of the reach of the man in whom there were three thousand monks?
CC /^OME to me, good father Lefevre, and find rest from your
\J troubles," we seem to read in a letter from Bric,onnet, the Bishop of Meaux, who is now at home, with his flock, in the beautiful country of the river Maine. "Our city will afford you an asylum."
"Shall such a man as I flee?" we think Lefevre responds, in the spirit of Nehemiah.
"Come over and help us," urges the bishop; and the call to work proves stronger than the invitation to rest. Lefevre goes, and finds a busy bishop, who needs help and counsel. Let us see what has been going on at Meaux.
After Bri^onnet had opened his heart to the "good Guest," he returned to the diocese, and, with the zeal of a Christian, began the work of a faithful bishop. He visited every parish. He inquired into the doctrines and lives of the preachers, as one who had an account to render unto the great Master. He summoned witnesses, who had a sad story on their lips.
"At collection-time," they said, "the Franciscans of Meaux begin their rounds. A single preacher will visit four or five parishes in a day, always delivering the same sermon, not to feed the souls of his hearers, but to fill his mouth, his purse, and his convent. When their wallets are replenished, their end is gained;' there are no more sermons, and the people see the priests no more in the churches until the next pay-day comes."
"These shepherds make it their only business to shear the sheep," declares the bishop, who pities the shorn flocks, and is indignant against the monks. '' But, where are these hirelings?''
"They get their money, and then go to Paris to spend it," reply the parishioners.
"Alas! are they not traitors who thus desert the service of Jesus Christ?"
The bishop resolved upon a sifting process. He called all his clergy together in 1519, and took account of them. Many, who cared for little else than the charms of Paris, urged that they had employed curates to tend their flocks while they enjoyed the city. What, then of these curates? Were they as bad as the priests who held the livings? One hundred and twenty-seven of them were examined, and only fourteen of them were approved by the bishop! The rest were weak, ignorant, worldly and selfish.
The next year the bishop published a mandate, in which he declared '' traitors and deserters all those pastors who, by abandoning their flocks, show plainly that what they love is the fleece;" selected others, who were found to be qualified, and set them over the sheep, ransomed by the most holy blood of Jesus Christ. He now was convinced that, if he would have able ministers in his diocese, he must train them himself. He therefore resolved to establish a theological school at Meaux, under the direction of pious and learned doctors. He must find good teachers; and, without meaning it, Beda was providing them.
Lefevre had left Farel and the Bible-band at the capital, hunted everywhere by the secret detective police of the Sorbonne. Far el did not preach, for he was not yet ordained; but he talked with students and citizens, argued with professors and priests, and boldly proclaimed the cause of the reformation at the university and in the city. Some, however,, fired by his example, openly preached the gospel. Martial Mazurier, president of St. Michael's college, and eloquent in the pulpit, threw aside all reserve, and painted the disorders of the times in the darkest but the truest colours. Tt was almost impossible to resist the wisdom with which this earnest Stephen spake. Beda and his recruits were raised to the highest pitch of anger, and declared,—"If we tolerate these innovators, they will invade the whole body, and all will be over with our teaching, our traditions, our places, and the respect felt towards us by France and the whole of Christendom.''
All had, indeed, been over, long ago, with the respect which the Sorbonnists claimed. They had forfeited it by their bigotry and intolerance. They stood accused, before all true Christendom, of the great crime of persecuting the men who would have saved France from darkness and blood. On them was fixed the lasting dishonour of having refused the true light, because their deeds and doctrines were evil. They were blinding their own eyes, and were fighting against God. To them, these excellent men, of whom Paris was not worthy, might have said, as Paul and Barnabas declared to certain persecutors,—'' It was necessary that the word of God should first have been spoken to you; but, seeing ye put it from you, and judge yourselves unworthy of everlasting life, lo, we turn to the Gentiles." Never was there a more solemn hour to *that capital city, in which was concentrated all France. Never were the destinies of that nation more delicately hinged on an event, small in the eyes of men, but great in the sight of God. That event was the persecution