LIV.—To Farel.

Exposition of the motives which prevent him from returning to Geneva.

Strasbourg, 27th October 1540.

I have no doubt whatever that you have taken good care to apologize for me to those brethren who advised that I should return to Geneva, that I have not replied to them. For you are well aware how on that account I was thrown for two days into such perplexity and trouble of mind that I was scarcely half myself. Some time after that, however, that I might humour you, I made an attempt to write somewhat to them in common; but when I took into account what usually happens with these general letters addressed in common, I changed my mind. For what is sent only to a select few, flickers about hither and thither incessantly from hand to hand, until at length it is thoroughly well published. This, therefore, was my reason why I wrote only to you: it was that you may not take into your confidence any other readers than those from whom you know that you need be under no apprehension of any danger. Why, therefore, I did not wish what I intrust to your confidence to be more widely spread, you will understand when you have read to the end of this letter. Although I trust that you completely take up my meaning, and that you have also faithfully explained it to others, I shall briefly repeat now how I stand affected. Whenever I call to mind the state of wretchedness in which my life was spent when there, how can it be otherwise but that my very soul must shudder when any proposal is made for my return? I pass over entirely that disquietude by which we were perpetually tossed up and down, and driven from one side to another, from the time when I was appointed your colleague. I know indeed from experience, that wheresoever I might turn, all sorts of annoyances were strewn in my way; that if I would live to Christ, this world must be to me a scene of trial and vexation: the present life is appointed as the field of conflict. But, at the same time, while I call to mind by what torture my conscience was racked at that time, and with how much anxiety it was continually boiling over, pardon me if I dread that place as having about it somewhat of a fatality in my case. You yourself, along with God, are my best witness, that no lesser tie would have been sufficient to retain me there so long, had it not been that I dared not to throw off the yoke of my calling, which I was well assured had been laid upon me by the Lord. So long, therefore, as I was thus bound hand and foot, I preferred to suffer even to the uttermost extremity, than for one moment to entertain those thoughts that were apt to arise in my mind of changing my place of abode,—thoughts which often stole in upon me unawares. But now that by the favour of God I am delivered, should I be unwilling to plunge myself once more into the gulf and whirlpool which I have already found to be so dangerous and destructive, who would not excuse me? Yea, forsooth, where shall you find any one who will not plainly accuse me of being over easily persuaded, when knowingly, and with free consent of will, I rashly surrender at discretion? But then, even supposing that I may be nowise alarmed at my danger, how can I have any reasonable expectation that my ministry can be of any use to them? For you know with what a quickness of apprehension the most of them thereaway are gifted. They will neither be bearable by me, nor shall I be endurable by them. Besides all this, take into your consideration that the battle which I shall have to fight will be fully stouter and more difficult with my colleagues than with those who are without. Of what avail will be the exertions of a single individual, hampered by so many lets and hindrances on every side? And in addition to all, to say truth, even although everything was laid ready very much to my hand, from disuse I have somehow become oblivious of those arts which are required for the guiding and the direction of the multitude. Here, at Strasbourg, I have only to take the oversight of a few, and the greater number hear me, not so much as a pastor, as with the attention and reverence due to an instructor. You allege that I am too nice and delicate, and after having been daubed with these flatteries, cannot now bear with patience to hear any harsher sound.

You will find yourself mistaken, however, if you allow yourself really to think so; but when I do find it an arduous work to superintend and oversee as I ought those few who in some sort may be called teachable, willing to be trained and disciplined, how shall I ever be able to restrain and keep within due bounds so great a multitude? Whatever may be their design in recalling me, I scarcely dare venture to contemplate; for if they are led to do so with a sincere and honest purpose, why do they recall me rather than the man whose ministry was not less needed for the renewal and upbuilding of their Church than even it was at the first for founding it? What if they only recall me that they themselves may not become a laughing-stock to the other party, because they have been left destitute by those persons, trusting in whom for assistance they have ventured to banish us? And yet all these considerations are of no avail to prevent my acquiescence in the call; for the more that I feel disposed to turn away with abhorrence from that province of labour, on that very account I am the more inclined to suspect myself. Therefore I do not allow myself to deliberate on the matter at all; and I request of our friends that they would not take me at all into consultation along with them. That they may determine all the more freely and sincerely, I conceal for the most part from others these heart-burnings. What else could I do? For I much prefer to be entirely blind, that I may suffer myself to be guided by others, than to go astray by trusting to my own purblindness. If, in these circumstances, I shall ask your advice as to whose judgment I ought chiefly to defer to, you will reply, if I am not mistaken, that there are none more proper to be consulted than Capito and Bucer. What they think upon the matter you have heard from themselves. I wish that you would explain the whole case fully to the brethren, and that divesting themselves of prejudice on either side, they would seriously consider what ought to be done.

This is the sum of the whole: That I am not in this affair actuated by craft or cunning—the Lord is my witness; neither do I search about for loopholes whereby to make my escape. Certainly, indeed, it is my desire that the Church of Geneva may not be left destitute; therefore, I would rather venture my life a hundred times over than betray her by my desertion. But forasmuch as my mind does not induce me spontaneously to return, I am ready to follow those who, there is some good hope, will prove safe and trusty guides to me. There need, however, be no trouble taken about receiving me until the Diet of Worms is over, since they have sent no deputy. On next Lord's-day there will be public prayer in every church. On Monday we set out. Do you also pray for us in the Spirit, that we may be strengthened to sustain the contest. It is quite evident what it is that our adversaries are endeavouring to bring about. They would have all the States of the empire leagued together and armed for our destruction. But what the artifices are by which they are resolved to attack us is less certain. By and by, however, they will unfold more clearly whatever craftiness there may be in this latter. Adieu; salute all in the most friendly manner,—Cordier, Thomas, Fatin, Le Clerc, and the rest. All our friends here do kindly entreat you, both you and them.

[Lat. orig. autogr.—Library of Geneva. Vol. 106.]