Feret proceeded to Switzerland. He had hardly crossed the Jura when a striking spectacle met his eyes. Everything was in commotion, as in a hive of bees. Farel, Viret, Saunier, Olivetan, Froment, Marcourt, Hollard, Le Comte, and others besides, coming from Dauphiny, Basle, Paris, Strasburg, or belonging to the country, were boldly preaching the evangelical doctrine everywhere. At Neufchatel all idolatry had been removed from public worship; and the same had been done at Aigle, and in its four mandements. Orbe, Grandson, and the Pays de Vaud were beginning to make up their minds; Geneva was tottering; the old Waldenses of Piedmont were holding out their hands to the new reformers. In many places they were even 'destroying the altars and breaking down the images,' according to the command in Deuteronomy.[200] What a contrast with the timid precautions of the christians of Paris! Feret was quite struck with it, and that alone was an answer.
He explained to the christians to whom he was accredited the very different state of things at Paris; he described the difficulties of France and the two parties that existed among the reformed, and asked for their advice. Farel and his friends held that a subject ought not to rise in rebellion against his lord, but if the king of France commanded anything forbidden by the King of heaven, it was necessary to obey him who was the master of the other. These decided christians rejected all those medleys of the Gospel and popery that Francis I., Margaret of Navarre, Du Bellay, and even Melanchthon (as it was said) desired. 'These two (the Gospel and the pope) cannot exist together,' they said, 'any more than fire and water.' The mass especially, that main point of the Romish doctrine, must, in their opinion, be abolished. If the papal hierarchy was the tree whose deadly shade killed the living seeds of the Word, the mass was its root. It must be plucked up, and thus prevented from stretching its fatal branches any longer over the wide field of Christendom. The writing and posting of placards were proposed.
What indeed could be done? Oppression kept the boldest voices silent. It was necessary to draw up an energetic protest against error, and place it at the same moment, if possible, before the eyes of all France. Farel undertook the task; he could not write without making use of 'his trenchant style and thundering eloquence.'[201] He reflected on the evils that afflicted his country. Indignation guided his daring pen; his style was uneven, harsh perhaps, but masculine, nervous, and full of fire. At length the evangelical protest was written, and Farel laid it before his brethren, who accepted it, believing that it would be like a hammer that breaketh the rock in pieces. The document was taken to the printer's, and came out in two forms: in placards to be posted up against the walls, and little tracts that were to be dropped in the streets.[202] The sheets were packed up and intrusted to the care of Feret, who departed with the precious bales containing 'the thunderbolt forged on Farel's anvil.'[203] No one stopped him at the frontier; he traversed Franche-Comté, Burgundy, and Champagne without difficulty, and arrived in Paris.
=DISCUSSION ABOUT THE PLACARDS.=
The evangelical christians of the capital, impatient to receive news from Switzerland, assembled hastily, and Feret laid the placard before them. Those energetic words, written at the foot of the Jura, seemed strangely bold when they were read under the walls of the Sorbonne, and at the gates of the Louvre. That brave and pious minister, Courault, came forward in the meeting as the organ of the 'men of judgment,' as they were afterwards called. 'Let us beware of posting up these placards,' he said; 'we shall only inflame the rage of our adversaries thereby, and increase the dispersion of believers.' But on the other hand, those who were alarmed at the steps taken by Francis I. to unite the pope and the Gospel were delighted. 'Let us be cautious of so squaring our prudence,' they said, 'that it does not make us act like cowards. If we look timidly from one side to the other to see how far we can go without exposing our lives, we shall forsake Jesus Christ.' In their view it was of importance to confess the Lord in the sight of France, and in order to do so, they were ready, like the martyrs of old, to encounter death. Many of the opposite party gave way, and the publication of the placard was resolved on. These sincere Christians were so firmly convinced of the divinity of their doctrine, and so full of faith, that they expected an intervention from God—not a miraculous one indeed, but an extraordinary one—'a rushing mighty wind from heaven,' and 'cloven tongues like as of fire,' which should kindle all hearts. They thought that God would by this declaration open to France the gate of His spiritual treasures.
The consultation continued. Where should they circulate this paper? asked some. 'All over Paris,' was the reply:—'All over France,' answered others. They were not unknown individuals who deliberated thus: the wealthy tradesman, Du Bourg, and his friends were there, and if Bartholomew Milon could not act, at least he gave advice which was to cost him dear. The warmest friends of the Reformation shared the work between them: each man had his district, his province. 'They portioned out the kingdom in order to do the same in every city,' says the catholic Fontaine; and the night of the 24th of October was appointed for this daring enterprise.[204] The placards were divided among those who were to post them up or to distribute them. Knowing that unless God made the truth enter into the heart, they would do nothing but beat the air in vain,[205] these pious men exhorted one another to 'pray to God with fervent zeal.' Then every man returned home, carrying with him a bundle of placards and a parcel of tracts.
=THE PLACARDS POSTED UP.=
When the night came, the selected men left their houses, carrying the printed sheets in their hands; and each one did his duty in his quarter, silently and mysteriously. The fervent christian who thus hazarded his life, took, however, certain precautions; he listened to hear if any one were coming, hastily stuck the bill on the wall, and then glided noiselessly away to some other place, where he posted up another. In a short time the streets, market-places, and crossways were covered with the evangelical proclamation, some being fixed even on the walls of the Louvre. As the day appeared, most of these daring men returned home; but others hid themselves, and from a distance watched to see what would happen.
A few persons began to come out of doors; they went up to the large handbills and stopped to examine them. Gradually a crowd was formed, some friars approached: hundreds of persons of every class collected round the strange placards. They were read aloud, remarks were made upon them, and the most diverse sentiments were expressed; many persons gave vent to indignation and threats; some approved, the greater part were astounded. The crowd was particularly large in the streets of St. Denis and St. Honoré, in the Place Royale, in the city, at the gates of the churches, and of the Sorbonne and the Louvre. Let us read this terrible handbill, as it was read in the streets of the capital. The public of our age will find it too severe and possibly too long, and we must abridge it a little; but the men of the sixteenth century read it to the end, and notwithstanding its defects, its action was powerful. Like the shock of an earthquake, it made all France tremble. It began with a solemn invocation:—