University of Virginia Library

3. THE
BAPTISM OF FIRE.

A LEAF FROM HISTORY.

3. THE
BAPTISM OF FIRE.

As day was drawing to a close, and the
rays of the setting sun climbed slowly up the
dungeon wall, the prisoner sat and read in a
tome with silver clasps. He was a man in the
vigor of his days, with a pale and noble countenance,
that wore less the marks of worldly
care than of high and holy thought. His temples
were already bald; but a thick and curling
beard bespoke the strength of manhood,
and his eye, dark, full, and eloquent, beamed
with all the enthusiasm of a martyr.

The book before him was a volume of the
early Christian Fathers. He was reading the
Apologetic of the eloquent Tertullian, the oldest
and ablest writer of the Latin Church. At
times he paused, and raised his eyes to heaven
as if in prayer, and then read on again in
silence. At length a passage seemed to touch
his inmost soul. He read aloud;

“Give us, then, what names you please,
from the instruments of cruelty you torture us
by, call us Sarmenticians and Semaxians, because
you fasten us to trunks of trees, and
stick us about with faggots to set us on fire;
yet let me tell you, when we are thus begirt and
dressed about with fire, we are then in our most
illustrious apparel. These are our victorious
palms and robes of glory; and mounted on
our funeral pile we look upon ourselves in our
triumphal chariot. No wonder, then, such
passive heroes please not those they vanquish
with such conquering sufferings. And therefore
we pass for men of despair, and violently
bent upon our own destruction. However,
that which you are pleased to call madness and
despair in us, are the very actions, which under

virtue's standard lift up your sons of fame and
glory, and emblazon them to future ages.”

He arose and paced the dungeon to and
fro, with folded arms and a firm step. His
thoughts held communion with eternity.

“Father, which art in Heaven!” he exclaimed;
“give me strength to die, like those
holy men of old, who scorned to purchase life
at the expense of truth. That truth has made
me free; and though condemned on earth, I
know that I am absolved in heaven!”

He again seated himself at his table, and
read in that tome with silver clasps.

This solitary prisoner was Anne Du Bourg,
a man, who feared not man. Once a merciful
judge in that august tribunal, upon whose voice
hung the life and death of those, who were
persecuted for conscience' sake, he was now
himself an accused,—a convicted heretic, condemned
to the baptism of fire, because he
would not unrighteously condemn others. He
had dared to plead the cause of suffering humanity
before that dread tribunal, and in the
presence of the king himself to declare, that it
was an offence to the majesty of God to shed

man's blood in his name. Six weary months,
—from June to December,—he had lain a
prisoner in that dungeon, from which a death
by fire was soon to set him free. Such was
the clemency of Henry the Second!

As the prisoner read, his eyes were filled
with tears. He still gazed upon the printed
page, but it was a blank before his eyes. His
thoughts were far away amid the scenes of his
childhood, amid the green valleys of Riom,
and the Golden Mountains of Auvergne. Some
simple word had called up the vision of the
past. He was a child again. He was playing
with the pebbles of the brook,—he was shouting
to the echo of the hills,—he was praying
at his mother's knee, with his little hands clasped
in hers.

This dream of childhood was broken by
the grating of bolts and bars, as the jailor
opened his prison door. A moment afterwards,
his former colleague De Harley stood at his
side.

“Thou here!” exclaimed the prisoner, surprised
at the visit. “Thou in the dungeon of
an heretic! On what errand hast thou come?”

“On an errand of mercy,” replied De Harley.
“I come to tell thee—”

“That the hour of my death draws near?”

“That thou mayst still be saved.”

“Yes; if I will bear false witness against
my God—barter heaven for earth—an eternity
for a few brief days of worldly existence. Lost,
thou shouldst say,—lost, not saved!”

“No! saved!” cried De Harley with
warmth; “saved from a death of shame and
an eternity of wo! Renounce this false doctrine—this
abominable heresy—and return
again to the bosom of the church, which thou
dost rend with strife and dissention.”

“God judge between thee and me, which
has embraced the truth.”

“His hand already smites thee.”

“It has fallen more heavily upon those who
so unjustly persecute me. Where is the king?
—he who said, that with his own eyes he
would behold me perish at the stake?—he, to
whom the undaunted Du Faur cried, like
Elijah to Ahab, It is thou, who troublest Israel!
Where is the king?—called through a
sudden and violent death to the judgment-seat

of heaven!—Where is Minard, the persecutor
of the just?—Slain by the hand of an assassin!
It was not without reason, that I said to
him, when standing before my accusers, Tremble!
believe the word of one, who is about to
appear before God; thou likewise shalt stand
there soon,—thou, that sheddest the blood of
the children of peace.—He has gone to his account
before me.”

“And that menace has hastened thine own
condemnation. Minard was slain by the Huguenots,
and it is whispered, that thou wert
privy to his death.”

“This at least might have been spared a
dying man!” replied the prisoner, much agitated
by so unjust and so unexpected an accusation.
“As I hope for mercy hereafter, I am
innocent of the blood of this man, and of all
knowledge of so foul a crime. But tell me,
hast thou come here only to embitter my last
hours with such an accusation as this? If so,
I pray thee, leave me. My moments are precious.
I would be alone.”

“I came to offer thee life, freedom, and
happiness.”

“Life—freedom—happiness! At the price
thou hast set upon them, I scorn them all!
Had the apostles and martyrs of the early
christian church listened to such paltry bribes
as these, where were now the faith in which
we trust! These holy men of old shall answer
for me. Hear what Justin Martyr says
in his earnest appeal to Antonine the Pious, in
behalf of the christians, who in his day were
unjustly loaded with public odium and oppression.

He opened the volume before him and
read.

“I could wish you would take this also into
consideration, that what we say is really for
your own good; for it is in our power at any
time to escape your torments, by denying the
faith, when you question us about it; but we
scorn to purchase life at the expense of a lie;
for our souls are winged with a desire of a life
of eternal duration and purity, of an immediate
conversation with God the father and maker
of all things. We are in haste to be confessing
and finishing our faith; being fully persuaded,
that we shall arrive at this blessed state,

if we approve ourselves to God by our works,
and, by our obedience, express our passion for
that divine life, which is never interrupted by
any clashing evil.”

The Catholic and the Huguenot reasoned
long and earnestly together; but they reasoned
in vain. Each was firm in his belief; and they
parted to meet no more on earth.

On the following day Du Bourg was summoned
before his judges to receive his final
sentence. He heard it unmoved, and with a
prayer to God, that he would pardon those
who had condemned him according to their
consciences. He then addressed his judges in
an oration full of power and eloquence. It
closed with these words.

“And now, ye judges, if indeed you hold
the sword of God as ministers of his wrath, to
take vengeance upon those who do evil, beware,
I charge you beware, how you condemn us.
Consider well what evil we have done; and
before all things, decide whether it be just,
that we should listen unto you, rather than
unto God. Are you so drunken with
the wine-cup of the great sorceress, that

you drink poison for nourishment? Are you
not those, who make the people sin, by turning
them away from the service of God? And if
you regard more the opinion of men than that
of heaven, in what esteem are you held by other
nations and principalities and powers, for
the martyrdoms you have caused in obedience
to this blood-stained Phalaris?—God grant,
thou cruel tyrant, that by thy miserable death,
thou may'st put an end to our groans!

Why weep ye? What means this delay?
Your hearts are heavy within you. Your consciences
are haunted by the judgment of God.
And thus it is, that the condemned rejoice in
the fires you have kindled, and think they never
live better, than in the midst of consuming
flames. Torments affright them not,—insults
enfeeble them not,—their honor is redeemed
by death—he that dies is the conqueror, and
the conquered, he that mourns.

No! whatever snares are spread for us,
whatever suffering we endure, you cannot separate
us from the love of Christ. Strike then
—slay—grind us to powder! Those that die
in the Lord shall live again; we shall all be

raised together. Condemn me as you will—I
am a christian; yes, I am a christian, and am
ready to die for the glory of our Lord—for the
truth of the evangelists.

Quench, then, your fires! Let the wicked
abandon his way, and return unto the Lord,
and he will have compassion on him. Live—
be happy—and meditate on God, ye Judges!
As for me, I go rejoicing to my death. What
wait ye for? Lead me to the scaffold!”

They bound the prisoner's hands, and leading
him forth from the council-chamber, placed
him upon the cart, that was to bear him to the
Place de Grève. Before and behind marched
a guard of five hundred soldiers; for Du Bourg
was beloved by the people, and a popular tumult
was apprehended. The day was overcast
and sad; and ever and anon the sound of the
tolling bell mingled its dismal clang with the
solemn notes of the funeral march. They soon
reached the place of execution, which was already
filled with a dense and silent crowd. In
the centre stood the gallows with a pile of faggots
beneath it, and the hangman, with a burning
torch in his hand. But this funeral apparel

inspired no terror in the heart of Du Bourg.
A look of triumph beamed from his eye, and his
countenance shone like that of an angel. With
his own hands he divested himself of his outer
garments, and gazing round upon the breathless
and sympathizing crowd, exclaimed;

“My friends; I come not hither as a thief
or a murderer; but it is for the gospel's sake!”

A cord was then fastened round his waist,
and he was drawn up into the air. At the same
moment the burning torch of the executioner
was applied to the faggots beneath, and the
thick volumes of smoke concealed the martyr
from the horror-stricken crowd. One stifled
groan arose from all that vast multitude, like the
moan of the sea; and all was hushed again,
save the crackling of the faggots, and at intervals
the funeral knell, that smote the very soul.
The quivering flames darted upward and
around; and an agonizing cry broke from the
murky cloud;

“My God! My God! forsake me not,
that I forsake not thee!”

The wind lifted the reddening smoke, like a
veil, and the form of the martyr was seen to

fall into the fire beneath, that glowed like a furnace
seven times heated. In a moment it rose
again, its garments all in flame; and again the
faint, half-smothered cry of agony was heard;

“My God! my God! forsake me not,
that I forsake not thee!”

Once more the quivering body descended into
the flames; and once more it was lifted into
the air, a blackened, burning cinder. Again,
and again this hellish mockery of baptism was
repeated; till the martyr with a despairing,
suffocating voice exclaimed;

“O God! I cannot die!”

The chief executioner came forward, and
either in mercy to the dying man, or through
fear of the populace, threw a noose over his
neck, and strangled the almost lifeless victim.
At the same moment, the cord which held the
body was loosened, and it fell into the fire to
rise no more. And thus was consummated the
martyrdom of the Baptism of Fire.