Leclerc; yet he boldly advanced, grasped the image of the holy hermit from the arms of the priest, and tossed it over the bridge into the river; as bold a deed as that of the Chevalier Bayard when he stayed an army at the bridge of the Garigliano. Then, turning to the awestricken crowd, he exclaimed, 'Poor idolaters, will ye never cease from your idolatry!'

The priests stood confused and motionless. With the loss of their saint, they lost their presence of mind. Their superstitious fear seemed to rivet them to the spot. But some one cried out, 'The image is drowning!' The priests recovered from their stupor. The multitudes shouted in rage, and gazed at the image floating away. Farel let them gaze and rave; and taking advantage of their devout attention to the saint, he escaped their violence. For a time he hid himself among his friends.

The duke and his court soon left the city; and having no strong arm to defend him, Farel had an additional reason for leaving Montbeliard. In the spring he took a secret refuge at Basle. He always took an interest in the church he had left, as a minister will ever do in the flock where were gathered the first-fruits of his labours. We will meet Peter Toussaint in this field.

CHAPTER VIII.

MOURNING AND MADNESS.

(1525-1526.)

AD tidings came to Farel at Basle. His friend, the Chevalier Anemond, was sick at Schauffhausen, where the Rhine presents

one of the finest waterfalls in Europe. The chevalier had wandered from place to place to recruit his failing health. He had hoped to preach the gospel, and still cherished plans, almost romantic, for urging forward the Reformation. Farel sent him four gold crowns. A messenger came to tell him that his warmhearted compatriot was dying. Before he could set out to visit him, a letter was received from Myconius, announcing the death of the young knight, 'who was in himself an host,' and who had made many sacrifices for the truth.

Farel applied to the senate of Basle once more to sanction his return, but without success. He went to Strasburg, and for about fifteen months was engaged in preaching to a small church of French exiles. If we cast an eye upon France, we can see a reason why this brave man kept beyond her borders.

There was a loud wail throughout France over the

disasters of Pavia. The king was carried away to Spain; the national power was humbled; the bravest of many a house had been slain, and ruin seemed at hand. The Romanists saw that it was their hour. They made the most of their time. They declared that heresy was in the land; it was the cause of all the troubles, and it must be crushed. The blame was thus laid upon those who were most innocent. There was a loud cry for blood.

Louisa was now the regent, the ruler, the Jezebel of the kingdom. She wrote to the Pope, and he gave orders for the introduction of the inquisition into France. This delighted the cruel Duprat, who was made a cardinal, and who was given an archbishopric, and into the bargain, a rich abbey. The Parliament thought that the king had erred in tolerating the new doctrines; and the members said to Louisa, 'Heresy has raised its head among us; and the king, by neglecting to bring the heretics to the scaffold, has drawn down the wrath of Heaven upon the nation.'

She wished to enlist the Sorbonne. They ordered Beda to return her an answer. He advised that all 'writings of heretics be prohibited by a royal proclamation; and if this means does not suffice, we must employ force against the persons of these false doctrines; for those who resist the light must be subdued by torture and by terror?

Everything was arranged for a vigorous campaign against the 'heretics.' Meaux was chosen as the first point of attack. The bishop, Briçonnet, had not yet fallen so far as to return fully to Popery. But how should they manage him? It might not be wise to burn him; those in sympathy with him would only cling the more stoutly to his doctrines. But if he could be

induced to recant, the effect would be better for the persecutors. There was an agent at hand to bring him

to terms.

The eloquent Mazurier, whom we left among the reformers at Meaux, had been so zealous for the new faith, that he had once broken to pieces an image of St. Francis. He was sent to prison. He was in fear of the stake. He saw that he was not with the popular party; Rome must conquer in France. He basely recanted, and became a Jesuit.

This man visited Briçonnet, and endeavoured to make the bishop fall, as he himself had done. The plot succeeded. The earliest supporter of the gospel in France denied the glad tidings of grace, because he was artfully persuaded that, if he did not, he would lose his influence over the court, the Church, the nation. He was deceived with the notion that Rome would permit him to be a reformer still! He found, however, that he must labour to undo all that he had done for the gospel. He restored the invocation of the saints, and put away every sign of 'Lutheranism,' as the new doctrine was now called. Poor man! His fall is perhaps the strangest of all that occurred in those times. He died in 1533. In his will he commended his soul to the Virgin Mary, and ordered twelve hundred masses for its repose.

Such was the first triumph of the Sorbonne. It was one that went to the hearts of all his old friends, and caused them to trust less in men and more in God. But this must be speedily followed by another victory. It was not hard to decide upon the victims. It was the man who had led the bishop into the 'heresy,' and who had been so long harboured at Meaux. Beda's eye had long been upon this man, who was once a doctor of the Sor

bonne-Lefevre. His accusation was soon drawn up; and the Parliament condemned nine doctrines found in his commentaries, and placed his French Testament on the list of prohibited books. This was but the prelude, as Lefevre well knew; and he recalled the words of his Lord, ‘When they persecute you in one city, flee ye into another.' He quitted Meaux, and went to Strasburg under a borrowed name. The persecutors had missed their victim; but they consoled themselves by thinking that France was rid of the father of all heretics.

This was something for the Sorbonne; but still there were no tortures, and nothing to terrify the people. There was yet one man who had vexed them more than the bishop or Lefevre. This was Louis Berquin, a more decided man than either of his two masters. He had unmasked the monks, exposed the priests, and done much to enlighten the people. He was one of the noblest of the nobles of Artois. He went zealously among the cottages of his estate, and taught that there is salvation in Christ alone. He crossed into Picardy, and in the fields and towns declared the true way of life.

Every day some noble, priest, or peasant went to the Bishop of Amiens, and told him what was said or done by this Christian gentleman. The bishop called a council. Suddenly he started for Paris, and had a word with the Sorbonne. Berquin was just the man they wanted. They went to his quarters in Paris, seized his writings, and, ‘after the manner of spiders,' drew from them certain articles, out of which 'to make poison, and bring about the death of a person who with simplicity of mind was endeavouring to advance the doctrine of God.'

Beda probably never read anything more eagerly in all his life. He had a remarkable talent for discovering