From that hour Berquin's case appeared desperate. Most of his friends abandoned him; they were afraid lest Margaret's intervention, always so powerful, should now prove unavailing. The captive alone did not give way to despair. Although shut up in a strong tower, he possessed liberty and joy, and uplifting his soul to God, he hoped even against hope.
=BERQUIN'S SENTENCE.=
On Friday, the 16th of April, 1529, the inquiry was finished, and at noon Berquin was brought into court. The countenance of Budæus was sorrowful and kind; but the other judges bore the stamp of severity on their features. The prisoner's heart was free from rancour, his hands pure from revenge, and the calm of innocence was on his face. 'Louis Berquin,' said the president, 'you are convicted of belonging to the sect of Luther, and of having written wicked books against the majesty of God and of his glorious mother. Wherefore we condemn you to do public penance, bareheaded and with a lighted taper in your hand, in the great court of our palace, asking pardon of God, of the king, and of justice, for the offence you have committed. You shall then be taken, bareheaded and on foot, to the Grève, where you shall see your books burnt. Next you shall be led to the front of the church of Notre Dame, where you shall do penance to God and the glorious Virgin, his mother. Afterwards you shall have your tongue pierced—that instrument of unrighteousness by which you have so grievously sinned.[104] Lastly, you shall be taken to the prison of Monsieur de Paris (the bishop), and be shut up there all your life between four walls of stone; and we forbid you to be supplied either with books to read, or pen and ink to write.'
Berquin, startled at hearing such a sentence, which Erasmus terms 'atrocious,' and which the pious nobleman was far from expecting,[105] at first remained silent, but soon regaining his usual courage, and looking firmly at his judges,[106] he said: 'I appeal to the king.'—'Take care,' answered his judges; 'if you do not acquiesce in our sentence, we will find means to prevent you from ever appealing again.' This was clear. Berquin was sent back to prison.
Margaret began to fear that her brother would withdraw his support from the evangelicals. If the Reformation had been a courtly religion, Francis would have protected it; but the independent air that it seemed to take, and, above all, its inflexible holiness, made it distasteful to him. The Queen of Navarre saw that the unhappy prisoner had none but the Lord on his side. She prayed:
Thou, God, alone canst say:
Touch not my son, take not his life away.
Thou only canst thy sovereign hand outstretch
To ward the blow.[107]
Everything indicated that the blow would be struck. On the afternoon of the very day when the sentence had been delivered, Maillard, the lieutenant-criminal, with the archers, bowmen, and arquebusiers of the city, surrounded the Conciergerie. It was thought that Berquin's last hour had come, and an immense crowd hurried to the spot. 'More than twenty thousand people came to see the execution,' says a manuscript.[108] 'They are going to take one of the king's officers to the Grève,' said the spectators. Maillard, leaving his troops under arms, entered the prison, ordered the martyr's cell to be opened, and told him that he had come to execute the sentence. 'I have appealed to the king,' replied the prisoner. The lieutenant-criminal withdrew. Everybody expected to see him followed by Berquin, and all eyes were fixed upon the gate; but no one appeared. The commander of the troops ordered them to retire; the archers marched back, and 'the great throng of people that was round the court-house and in the city separated.' The first president immediately called the court together, to take the necessary measures. 'We must lose no time,' said some, 'for the king has twice already rescued him from our hands.' Was there no hope left?