Bishop Briçonnet becomes the jailer of the "Lutherans."
Where less rigor was deemed necessary, the penalty for having embraced the reformed tenets was reduced to imprisonment for a term of years, often with bread and water for the only food and drink. The place of confinement was sometimes a monastery, at other times the "prisons of Monseigneur the Bishop of Meaux."[197] Thus Briçonnet enjoyed the rare and exquisite privilege of acting as jailer of unfortunates instructed by himself in the doctrines for the profession of which they now suffered! Meantime their companions having escaped detection, although deprived of the advantage of public worship, continued for years to assemble for mutual encouragement and edification, as they had opportunity, in private houses, in retired valleys or caverns, or in thickets and woods. Their minister was that person of their own number who was seen to be the best versed in the Holy Scriptures. After he had discharged his functions in the humble service, by a simple address of instruction or exhortation, the entire company with one voice supplicated the Almighty for His blessing, and returned to their homes with fervent hopes for the speedy conversion of France to the Gospel.[198] Thus matters stood for about a score of years, until a fresh attempt was made to constitute a reformed church at Meaux, the signal, as will appear in the sequel, for a fresh storm of persecution.
Lefèvre's subsequent history.
A few words here seem necessary respecting the subsequent fortunes of the venerable teacher whose name at this point fades from the history of the French Reformation. The action of parliament (August 28, 1525), in condemning, at the instigation of the syndic of the theological faculty, nine propositions extracted from his commentary on the Gospels, and in forbidding the circulation of his translation of the Holy Scriptures, had given Lefèvre d'Étaples due warning of danger. We have already seen that a few weeks later (October, 1525) he had taken refuge in Strasbourg under the pseudonym of Antonius Peregrinus. But the incognito of so distinguished a stranger could not be long maintained, and before many days the very boys in the streets knew him by his true name.[199] Meantime the Sorbonne, in his absence, proceeded to censure a large number of propositions drawn from another of Lefèvre's works. Shortly after a letter was received from Francis the First, written in his captivity at Madrid, and enjoining the court to suspend its vexatious persecution of a man "of such great and good renown, and of so holy a life," until the king's return. The refractory judges, however, neglected to obey the order, and continued the proceedings instituted against Lefèvre.[200]
Lefèvre and the Nuncio Aleander.
When, however, Francis succeeded in regaining his liberty, a year later, he not only recalled Lefèvre and his companion, Roussel, from exile, but conferred upon the former the honorable appointment of tutor to his two daughters and his third and favorite son, subsequently known as Charles, Duke of Orleans.[201] This post, while it enabled him to continue the prosecution of his biblical studies, also gave him the opportunity of instilling into the minds of his pupils some views favorable to the Reformation.[202] A little later Margaret of Angoulême secured for Lefèvre the position of librarian of the royal collection of books at Blois; but, as even here he was subjected to much annoyance from his enemies, Margaret, now Queen of Navarre, sought and obtained from her brother permission to take the old scholar with her to Nérac, in Gascony.[203] Here, in the ordinary residence of his patron, and treated by the King of Navarre with marked consideration, Lefèvre d'Étaples was at last safe from molestation. The papal party did not, indeed, despair of gaining him over. The Nuncio Aleander, in a singular letter exhumed not long since from the Vatican records, expressed himself strongly in favor of putting forth the effort. Lefèvre's "few errors" had at first appeared to be of great moment, because published at a time when to correct or change the most insignificant syllable, or a faulty rendering, in the ancient translations of the Holy Scriptures approved by the church, was an unheard-of innovation. But, now that more important questions had come up to arrest attention, the mere matter of retranslation, without introducing unsound doctrine, seemed to be a thing of little or no consequence.[204] Let Lefèvre but leave the heretical company which he kept, and let him make the least bit of a retraction respecting some few passages in his works, and the whole affair would at once be arranged.[205]
Lefèvre's mental suffering.
The reconciliation of Lefèvre with the church did not take place. The "bit of a retraction" was never written. But none the less are Lefèvre's last days reported to have been disturbed by harassing thoughts. The noble old man, who had consecrated to the translation of the Bible and to exegetical comment upon its books the energy of many years, and who had suffered no little obloquy in consequence, could not forgive himself that he had not come forward more manfully in defence of the truth. One day, not long before his death, it is said, while seated at the table of the King and Queen of Navarre, he was observed to be overcome with emotion. When Margaret expressed her surprise at the gloomy deportment of one whose society she had sought for her own diversion, Lefèvre mournfully exclaimed, "How can I contribute to the pleasure of others, who am myself the greatest sinner upon earth?" In reply to the questions called forth by so unexpected a confession, Lefèvre, while admitting that throughout his long life his morals had been exemplary, and that he was conscious of no flagrant crime against society, proceeded, in words frequently interrupted by sobs, to explain his deep penitence: "How shall I, who have taught others the purity of the Gospel, be able to stand at God's tribunal? Thousands have suffered and died for the defence of the truth in which I instructed them; and I, unfaithful shepherd that I am, after attaining so advanced an age, when I ought to love nothing less than I do life—nay, rather, when I ought to desire death—I have basely avoided the martyr's crown, and have betrayed the cause of my God!" It was with difficulty that the queen and others who were present succeeded in allaying the aged scholar's grief.[206]
The "anguish of spirit and terror of God's judgment experienced by so pious an old man as Lefèvre," because he had concealed the truth which he ought openly to have espoused, supplied an instructive warning for his even more timid disciples. Farel, who never lacked courage, was not slow to avail himself of it. Taking advantage of the freedom of an old associate, he addressed a letter containing an account of Lefèvre's death, with some serious admonitions, to Michel d'Arande, who never venturing to separate from a church whose corruptions he acknowledged, had reached the position of Bishop of Saint Paul-Trois-Châteaux, in Dauphiny. The letter has perished, but the reply in which the prelate's dejection and internal conflicts but too plainly appear, has seen the light after a burial of three centuries. Admitting the guilt of his course, the bishop begs the intrepid reformer to pray for him continually, and meanwhile not to withhold his friendly exhortations, that at length the writer may be able to extricate himself from the deep mire in which he finds no firm foundation to stand upon.[207]
Such was the unhappy state of mind to which many good, but irresolute men were reduced, who, in view of the persecution certain to follow an open avowal of their reformatory sentiments, endeavored to persuade themselves that it was permissible to conceal them under a thin veil of external conformity to the rites of the Roman church.