Foxe - The Book of Martyrs
The mystery of history is not completely dark, since it is a veil which only partially conceals the creative activity and spiritual forces and the operation of spiritual laws. It is commonplace to say that the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church yet what we are asserting is simply that individual acts of spiritual decision bear social fruit …For the great cultural changes and historic revolutions that decide the fate of nations or the character of an age is the cumulative result of a number of spiritual decisions … the faith and insight, or the refusal and blindness, of individuals. No one can put his finger on the ultimate spiritual act that tilts the balance, and makes the external order of society assume a new form… Persecution, powerless to destroy or even to shake this new community, made it only the more sensible of its own strength, and pressed it into a more compact body.
The mystery of history is not completely dark, since it is a veil which only partially conceals the creative activity and spiritual forces and the operation of spiritual laws. It is commonplace to say that the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church yet what we are asserting is simply that individual acts of spiritual decision bear social fruit …For the great cultural changes and historic revolutions that decide the fate of nations or the character of an age is the cumulative result of a number of spiritual decisions … the faith and insight, or the refusal and blindness, of individuals. No one can put his finger on the ultimate spiritual act that tilts the balance, and makes the external order of society assume a new form… Persecution, powerless to destroy or even to shake this new community, made it only the more sensible of its own strength, and pressed it into a more compact body.
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<strong>Foxe</strong>’s <strong>Book</strong> <strong>of</strong> <strong>Martyrs</strong><br />
jwith one <strong>of</strong> those wretches the following dialogue:<br />
Satellite. "If all the Protestants, without one exception, are to be killed, I will cheerfully<br />
join; but as you have so <strong>of</strong>ten deceived me, unless they are all to go I will not stir."<br />
Trestaillon. "Come along, then, for this time not a single man shall escape."<br />
This horrid purpose would have been executed had it not been for General La Garde, the<br />
commandant <strong>of</strong> the department. It was not until ten o'clock at night that he perceived the<br />
danger; he now felt that not a moment could be lost. Crowds were advancing through the<br />
suburbs, and the streets were filling with ruffians, uttering the most horrid imprecations. <strong>The</strong><br />
generale sounded at eleven o'clock, and added to the confusion that was now spreading<br />
through the city. A few troops rallied round the Count La Garde, who was wrung with distress<br />
at the sight <strong>of</strong> the evil which had arrived at such a pitch. Of this M. Durand, a Catholic<br />
advocate, gave the following account:<br />
"It was near midnight, my wife had just fallen asleep; I was writing by her side, when we<br />
were disturbed by a distant noise; drums seemed crossing the town in every direction. What<br />
could all this mean! To quiet her alarm, I said it probably announced the arrival or departure<br />
<strong>of</strong> some troops <strong>of</strong> the garrison. But firing and shouts were immediately audible; and on<br />
opening my window I distinguished horrible imprecations mingled with cries <strong>of</strong> Vive le Roi!<br />
I roused an <strong>of</strong>ficer who lodged in the house, and M. Chancel, Director <strong>of</strong> the Public Works.<br />
We went out together, and gained the Boulevarde. <strong>The</strong> moon shone bright, and almost every<br />
object was nearly as distinct as day; a furious crowd was pressing on vowing extermination,<br />
and the greater part half naked, armed with knives, muskets, sticks, and sabers. In answer to<br />
my inquiries I was told the massacre was general, that many had been already killed in the<br />
suburbs. M. Chancel retired to put on his uniform as captain <strong>of</strong> the Pompiers; the <strong>of</strong>ficers<br />
retired to the barracks, and anxious for my wife I returned home. By the noise I was convinced<br />
that persons followed. I crept along in the shadow <strong>of</strong> the wall, opened my door, entered, and<br />
closed it, leaving a small aperture through which I could watch the movements <strong>of</strong> the party<br />
whose arms shone in the moonlight. In a few moments some armed men appeared conducting<br />
a prisoner to the very spot where I was concealed. <strong>The</strong>y stopped, I shut my door gently, and<br />
mounted on an alder tree planted against the garden wall.<br />
What a scene! A man on his knees imporing mercy from wretches who mocked his agony,<br />
and loaded him with abuse. 'In the name <strong>of</strong> my wife and children,' he said, 'spare me! What<br />
have I done? Why would you murder me for nothing?' I was on the point <strong>of</strong> crying out and<br />
menacing the murderers with vengeance. I had not long to deliberate, the discharge <strong>of</strong> several<br />
fusils terminated my suspense; the unhappy supplicant, struck in the loins and the head, fell<br />
to rise no more. <strong>The</strong> backs <strong>of</strong> the assassins were towards the tree; they retired immediately,<br />
reloading their pieces. I descended and approached the dying man, uttering some deep and<br />
dismal groans. Some national guards arrived at the moment, and I again retired and shut the<br />
door. 'I see,' said one, 'a dead man.' 'He sings still,' said another. 'It will be better,' said a third,<br />
'to finish him and put him out <strong>of</strong> his misery.' Five or six muskets were fired instantly, and the<br />
groans ceased. On the following day crowds came to inspect and insult the deceased. A day<br />
after a massacre was always observed as a sort <strong>of</strong> fete, and every occupation was left to go<br />
and gaze upon the victims." This was Louis Lichare, the father <strong>of</strong> four children; and four years<br />
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