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drew twelve propositions which he publicly declared to be contrary to
the Bible, and therefore heretical; and he appealed to the king to act as
judge in the controversy.
The monarch, not loth to bring in contrast the power and acuteness
of the opposing champions, and glad of an opportunity of humbling
the pride of these haughty monks, bade the Romanists defend their
cause by the Bible. This weapon, they well knew, would avail them
little; imprisonment, torture, and the stake were arms which they
better understood to wield. Now the tables were turned, and they
saw themselves about to fall into the pit into which they had hoped to
plunge Berquin. In amazement they looked about them for some way
of escape.
Just at this time an image of the virgin, standing at the corner of one
of the public streets, was found mutilated. There was great excitement
in the city. Crowds of people flocked to the place, with expressions
of mourning and indignation. The king also was deeply moved. Here
was an advantage which the monks could turn to good account, and
they were quick to improve it. “These are the fruits of the doctrines
of Berquin,” they cried. “All is about to be overthrown,—religion, the
laws, the throne itself,—by this Lutheran conspiracy.”
Again Berquin was apprehended. The king withdrew from Paris,
and the monks were thus left free to work their will. The reformer
was tried, and condemned to die, and lest Francis should even yet
interpose to save him, the sentence was executed on the very day it
was pronounced. At noon Berquin was conducted to the place of
death. An immense throng gathered to witness the event, and there
were many who saw with astonishment and misgiving that the victim
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had been chosen from the best and bravest of the noble families of
France. Amazement, indignation, scorn, and bitter hatred darkened the
faces of that surging crowd; but upon one face no shadow rested. The
martyr’s thoughts were far from that scene of tumult; he was conscious
only of the presence of his Lord.
The wretched tumbril upon which he rode, the frowning faces of
his persecutors, the dreadful death to which he was going,—these he
heeded not; He who liveth and was dead, and is alive forevermore,
and hath the keys of death and of hell, was beside him. Berquin’s
countenance was radiant with the light and peace of Heaven. He had
attired himself in goodly raiment, wearing “a cloak of velvet, a doublet