=A WITTEMBERG STUDENT.=
In the month of July 1534, the Queen of Navarre was in one of the chambers of her palace: before her stood a bashful timid young man, and she had a letter in her hand which she appeared to be reading with the liveliest interest. The young man was a native of Nîmes, Claude Baduel by name. He had just come from Wittemberg, where he had found, at the feet of Melanchthon and Luther, the knowledge of the Saviour. He was not an ordinary student. Of reserved manners,[612] generous heart, rare disinterestedness, and great firmness in the faith, he had at the same time a highly cultivated mind. He spoke Latin not only with purity, but with great elegance, and his discourses were as full of matter as of harmony.[613]
Like many other young scholars, Baduel was very poor, not having the means of studying and scarcely of living. Often during his residence at Wittemberg, he found himself in his little room reduced to the last extremity. He had uttered many a groan, and had prayed to that heavenly Father who feedeth the birds of the air. As the moment of his departure approached, his distress had increased. How could he perform the journey? What would become of him in France? He had asked himself with sorrow whether he ought not to abandon letters and devote himself to some manual labour. On a sudden, he conceived the idea of applying to the Queen of Navarre; and going to Melanchthon, he said to him: 'Ill fortune compels me to forsake the liberal arts for vulgar occupations, which my nature and my will abhor with equal energy.[614] In vain have I zealously devoted myself to the study of Holy Scripture and of eloquence; in vain have I ardently desired to make further progress; a cruel enemy—poverty—lays its barbarous hands upon me, and compels me to renounce a vocation which transported me with joy.[615] Yet I am determined to make a last and supreme attempt. The Queen of Navarre is a sort of providence, almost a divinity for the friends of letters and of the arts.[616] ... Pray, dear master, give me a letter to her.'
Melanchthon, grieved at the destitute condition of a young man whose fine understanding he appreciated, did not hesitate to accede to his request. In those days there was less etiquette and formality and more familiarity between princes and the friends of letters than there has been since. On the 13th of June, 1534, a month after the battle of Laufen, the master of Germany wrote to the sister of Francis, to introduce the scholar to her. It was this letter which Baduel had delivered to the queen, and which she, delighted at entering into direct communication with Melanchthon, was reading with the greatest interest.
'It is certainly a great boldness,' wrote the illustrious reformer, 'for a man like me, of low condition and unknown to your highness,[617] to dare recommend a friend to you; but the reputation of your eminent piety, spread through all the world,[618] does not permit me to refuse an upright and learned man the service he begs of me. The liberal arts can never be supported except by the generosity of princes.' Melanchthon ended by saying: 'Never will alms more royal or more useful have been bestowed. The Church, scattered over the world, has long counted your highness among the number of those queens whom the prophet Isaiah calls the nursing mothers of the people of God, and will take care to hand down the remembrance of your kindnesses to the most distant generations.'[619] But the student, that living message of the reformers, interested Margaret no less than the letter itself. Baduel had seen and heard them, in their homes, in the street, and in the pulpit. 'Talk to me,' she said with that amiable grace which distinguished her, 'talk to me about Melanchthon and Luther; tell me how they teach and how they live, what are their relations with their pupils, and what they think of France.' Margaret desired to know everything. She questioned him on several points, a knowledge of which might be useful for the projects she had conceived in conjunction with Du Bellay.
=MARGARET'S PATRONAGE.=
The queen did not forget the young man himself: observing the beauty of his mind, the liveliness of his faith, and the elevation of his soul, she thought that to protect Baduel was to prepare a chosen instrument to propagate evangelical principles in France. Thanks to her care, the young man, recommended by Melanchthon, became erelong a professor at Paris. Subsequently, when a college of arts was founded at Nîmes, the youthful doctor resolved to sacrifice the advantageous post he held in the capital to devote his services to the city of his birth. The queen recommended him to the consuls of that city for rector of their new institution. 'I provided for his studies,' she told them. But persecution did not allow Baduel to serve France unto the end; he was obliged to take refuge at Geneva, where he became professor in the academy founded by Calvin.[620]
=THE MISSION OF CHELIUS=
The communications of the young man of Nîmes strengthened Margaret, the king, and Du Bellay in their plans, and Francis resolved to send across the Rhine a confidential person, empowered to ask the doctors of the Reformation for a sketch of the means best suited to found an evangelical catholicism in Europe. It was not Baduel whom Du Bellay selected for this mission: he was too young. The diplomatist cast his eyes on Ulric Chelius, a doctor of medicine and native of Augsburg, at that time living at Strasburg, a great friend of Sturm and Bucer, and more than once employed by the King of France in various negotiations. Intelligent, active, and animated like Bucer with the double desire of reforming and at the same time of uniting christendom, Chelius was well suited for such a work. Although a German, and consequently knowing Germany thoroughly, he had all the promptitude of a Frenchman; and the circumstance that he was not of exalted rank rendered him fitter still for entering into negotiations that were to be carried on secretly. He left Strasburg and arrived at Wittemberg in July 1534.
Melanchthon was at that time greatly agitated. The divisions which separated catholicism from reform, and the quarrels between the Zwinglians and the Lutherans, filled him with anguish. He often stole away from that crowd of every age, condition, and country which continually filled his house, eager to see him.[621] His wife's anxious heart was wrung when she saw her husband's sadness, and even the children could scarcely cheer him by their innocent smiles. The future alarmed him.... 'What sad times are hanging over us,' he exclaimed, 'unless there be somebody to remedy the existing disorders!... We are moving to our destruction.... They will have recourse to arms ... and State and Church will perish!'[622]