But Francis gave no signs of life. In his excuse it has been urged that if he had at that time been victorious abroad and honoured at home, he would have saved Berquin once more; but the troubles in Italy and the intrigues mixed up with the treaty of Cambray, signed three months later, occupied all his thoughts. These are strange reasons. The fact is, that if the king (as is probable) had desired to save Berquin, he had not the opportunity; the enemies of this faithful christian had provided against that. They had scarcely got the sentence in their hands, when they called for its immediate execution. They fancied they could already hear the gallop of the horse arriving from Blois, and see the messenger bringing the pardon. Beda fanned the flame. Not a week's delay, not even a day or an hour! 'But,' said some, 'this prevents the king from exercising the right of pardon, and is an encroachment upon his royal authority.'—'It matters not! put him to death!'—The judges determined to have the sentence carried out the very day it was delivered, 'in order that he might not be helped by the king.'[115]
In the morning of the 22nd of April, 1529,[116] the officers of parliament entered the gloomy cell where Berquin was confined. The pious disciple, on the point of offering up his life voluntarily for the name of Jesus Christ, was absorbed in prayer; he had long sought for God and had found him; the Lord was near him, and peace filled his soul. Having God for his father, he knew that nothing would be wanting to him in that last hour when everything else was to fail him: he saw a triumph in reproach, a deliverance in death. At the sight of the officers of the court, some of whom appeared embarrassed, Berquin understood what they wanted. He was ready; he rose calm and firm, and followed them. The officers handed him over to the lieutenant-criminal and his sergeants, who were to carry out the sentence.
Meanwhile several companies of archers and bowmen were drawn up in front of the Conciergerie. These armed men were not alone around the prison. The news had spread far and wide that a gentleman of the court, a friend of Erasmus and of the Queen of Navarre, was about to be put to death; and accordingly there was a great commotion in the capital. A crowd of common people, citizens, priests and monks, with a few gentlemen and friends of the condemned noble, waited, some with anger, others with curiosity, and others with anguish, for the moment when he would appear. Budæus was not there; he had not the courage to be present at the punishment. Margaret, who was at St. Germain, could almost see the flames of the burning pile from the terrace of the château.
When the clock struck twelve, the escort began to move. At its head was the grand penitentiary Merlin; then followed the archers and bowmen, and after them the officers of justice and more armed men. In the middle of the escort was the prisoner. A wretched tumbrel was bearing him slowly to punishment. He wore a cloak of velvet, a doublet of satin and damask, and golden hose, says the Bourgeois of Paris, who probably saw him pass.[117] The King of heaven having invited him to the wedding, Berquin had joyfully put on his finest clothes. 'Alas!' said many as they saw him, 'he is of noble lineage, a very great scholar, expert and quick in learning ... and yet he has gone out of his mind!' There was nothing in the looks or gestures of the reformer which indicated the least confusion or pride. He neither braved nor feared death: he approached it with tranquillity, meekness, and hope, as if entering the gates of heaven. Men saw peace unchangeable written on his face. Montius, a friend of Erasmus, who had desired to accompany this pious man even to the stake, said in the highest admiration: 'There was in him none of that boldness, of that hardened air which men led to death often assume; the calmness of a good conscience was visible in every feature.'—'He looks,' said other spectators, 'as if he were in God's house meditating upon heavenly things.'[118]
=BERQUIN'S MARTYRDOM.=
At last the tumbrel had reached the place of punishment, and the escort halted. The chief executioner approached and desired Berquin to alight. He did so, and the crowd pressed more closely round the ill-omened spot. The principal officer of the court, having beckoned for silence with his hand, unrolled a parchment, and read the sentence 'with a husky voice,' says the chronicler. But Berquin was about to die for the Son of God who had died for him; his heart did not flinch one jot; he felt no confusion, and wishing to make the Saviour who supported him in that hour of trial known to the poor people around him, he uttered a few christian words. But the doctors of the Sorbonne were watching all his movements, and had even posted about a certain number of their creatures in order to make a noise if they thought it was necessary. Alarmed at hearing the soft voice of the evangelist, and fearing lest the people should be touched by his words, these 'sycophants' hastily gave the signal. Their agents immediately began to shout, the soldiers clashed their arms, 'and so great was the uproar that the voice of the holy martyr was not heard in the extremity of death.' When Berquin found that these clamours drowned his voice, he held his peace. A Franciscan friar, who had accompanied him from the prison, eager to extort from him one word of recantation, redoubled his importunities at this last moment; but the martyr remained firm. At length the monk was silent, and the executioner drew near. Berquin meekly stretched out his head; the hangman passed the cord round his neck and strangled him.
=EFFECT ON THE SPECTATORS.=
There was a pause of solemn silence ... but not for long. It was broken by the doctors of the Sorbonne and the monks, who hastily went up and contemplated the lifeless body of their victim. No one cried 'Jesus! Jesus!'—a cry of mercy heard even at the execution of a parricide. The most virtuous man in France was treated worse than a murderer. One person, however, standing near the stake, showed some emotion, and, strange to say, it was the grand penitentiary Merlin. 'Truly,' he said, 'so good a christian has not died these hundred years and more.' The dead body was thrown into the flames, which mounted up and devoured those limbs once so vigorous and now so pale and lifeless. A few men, led away by passion, looked on with joy at the progress of the fire, which soon consumed the precious remains of him who should have been the reformer of France. They imagined they saw heresy burnt out, and when the body was entirely destroyed, they thought that the Reformation was destroyed with it, and that not a fragment of it remained. But all the spectators were not so cruel. They gazed upon the burning pile with sorrow and with love. The christians who had looked upon Berquin as the future reformer of France, were overwhelmed with anguish when they saw the hero in whom they had hoped reduced to a handful of dust. The temper of the people seemed changed, and tears were seen to flow down many a face. In order to calm this emotion, certain rumours were set afloat. A man stepped out of the crowd, and going up to the Franciscan confessor, asked him: 'Did Berquin acknowledge his error?'—'Yes, certainly,' answered the monk, 'and I doubt not that his soul departed in peace.' This man was Montius; he wrote and told the anecdote to Erasmus. 'I do not believe a word of it,' answered the latter. 'It is the usual story which those people invent after the death of their victims, in order to appease the anger of the people.'
Some such stratagems were necessary, for the general agitation was increasing. Berquin's innocence, stamped on his features and on all his words, struck those who saw him die, and they were beginning to murmur. The monks noticed this, and had prepared themselves beforehand in case the indignation of the people should break out. They penetrated into the thickest of the crowd, making presents to the children and to the common people; and having worked them up, they sent them off in every direction. The impressionable crowd spread over the Grève and through the neighbouring streets, shouting out that Berquin was a heretic. Yet here and there men gathered in little groups, talking of the excellent man who had been sacrificed to the passion of the theological faculty. 'Alas!' said some with tears in their eyes, 'there never was a more virtuous man.'[119] Many were astonished that a nobleman who held a high place in the king's affections should be strangled like a criminal. 'Alas!' rejoined others indignantly, 'what caused his ruin was the liberty which animated him, which is always the faithful companion of a good conscience.'[120] Others of more spirit exclaimed: 'Condemn, quarter, crucify, burn, behead ... that is what pirates and tyrants can do; but God is the only just judge, and blessed is the man whom he pardoneth.' The more pious looked for consolation to the future. 'It is only through the cross,' they said, 'that Christ will triumph in this kingdom.'[121] The crowd dispersed.
=THE MARTYRS' HYMN.=