The Missionary by S. N. Haskell

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, Cal. · Nov 1, 1883

The Missionary.

By S. N. Haskell

Trial and Execution of Jean Luis Paschale.

THE Waldenses who had sought an asylum in Calabria felt the need of a revival of the missionary spirit. Their brethren in the valleys also felt that they were losing that spirit which had ever actuated the race in giving the light of truth to others. Finally a young man who was by birth a Romanist and his first profession was that of arms, changed his profession for that of a soldier of the cross. He had completed his theological studies at Lausanne. He was connected with the Protestant movement at Geneva, but was a native of Italy in the plain of Piedmont. He partook of the spirit of the wants of his brethren in southern Italy. He was betrothed to a young Piedmontese Protestant, Camilla Gueriur. When he intimated to her his departure for Calabria she sorrowfully exclaimed, "Alas, so near to Rome and so far from me." They parted never more to meet on earth.

With the energetic spirit of Geneva, and with a devotion to his race, he entered southern Italy. His preaching was with power. The missionary zeal that had so characterized this people was only lying dormant, ready to be aroused at any instant. The light which had been hid under a bushel was openly displayed. Their whole colony became stirred. The priests that had tolerated the heresy which conducted itself so modestly, and paid its tithes so punctually, could be blind no longer. The Marquis of Spinello, who had hitherto been the protector of these colonists, was compelled to move against them. "That dreadful thing, Lutheranism, had broken in and would destroy all things." It must now be rooted from that country.

The bishop of the diocese took the matter into his own hands, and Paschale became the first object of his attack. He was taken and thrown into prison, where he was confined eight months. The pope took an active part in his case, and also in that of the people. He delegated Cardinal Alexandrini, Inquisitor-General, to extinguish the heresy in the kingdom of Naples. Alexandrini ordered Paschale to be conducted to Naples. Handcuffs were placed upon him so tightly that they entered his flesh. Chained to a gang of prisoners, he was subjected to the most terrible sufferings. Nine days were spent upon the road, during which time he slept at night upon the bare earth. When he arrived at Naples he was cast into a deep, damp dungeon, the stench of which almost suffocated him. May 16, 1560, he was taken in chains to Rome, where he was thrust into a cell not less loathsome than that which he had occupied at Naples.

He had a brother, Bartolomeo, who was a staunch Catholic, living at Coni, the native place of Paschale. Learning of the sufferings of his brother, he obtained letters of recommendation and visited Paschale to procure, if possible, some mitigation of his fate. Bartolomeo, relating the interview, says, "It was quite hideous to see him with his bare head, and his hands and arms lacerated by the small cords with which he was bound, like one about to be led to the gibbet. On advancing to embrace him, I sank to the ground." Paschale exclaimed, "My brother, if you are a Christian, why do you distress yourself thus. Do you know that a leaf cannot fall to the ground without the will of God? Comfort yourself in Christ Jesus, for the present troubles are not worthy to be compared with the glory to come." Bartolomeo offered half his fortune if he would only recant and save his life. But nothing could move the noble spirit of the martyr. "Oh, my brother!" said he, "the danger in which you are involved gives me more distress than all I suffer." He writes to his flock in Calabria:

"My state is this, I feel my joy increased every day, as I approach nearer the hour in which I shall be offered, a sweet-smelling sacrifice to the Lord Jesus Christ, my faithful Saviour; yea, so inexpressible is my joy that I seem to myself to be free from captivity; and am prepared to die for Christ, and not only once, but ten thousand times, if it were possible; nevertheless, I persevere in imploring the divine assistance by prayer, for I am convinced that man is a miserable creature when left to himself, and not upheld and directed by God."

This reveals the true spirit of Paschale. In writing to his affianced bride he said that the affection which he bore for her grew with what he felt for God. During this time his flock in southern Italy were being exterminated by sword and fagot, and sent to the Spanish galleys, and some made their submission to Rome. But nothing daunted the spirit of Jean Luis Paschale. On the 8th of September, 1560, he was brought out of his prison to appear before the papal tribunal.

This day is a holiday to Rome. Vast multitudes sought to get a look at him whose noble spirit could not be daunted by any torture or threatening which issued from the Vatican. From every street and piazza eager crowds rushed forth, uniting in one overwhelming and surging stream. The pontiff, Pius IV, had taken a seat in a chair that claims to rise in authority and dignity over the potentates of earth. He was surrounded by ranks of dignitaries. The pontiff was determined to be present at the tragedy of that day. Behind his chair, in scarlet robes, were cardinals and counselors, ranged in circles according to their place in the papal body. "Behind the ecclesiastics, are seated, row on row, the nobility and beauty of Rome. Plumes wave, stars gleam, and seem to mock the frocks and cowls gathered near them, whose wearers, however, would not exchange these mystic garments for all the bravery that blazes round them." A mass of citizens crowded in to witness the spectacle. A scaffold is erected a little way over the sea of human heads, with an iron stake and beside it a bundle of fagots. The historian thus describes the scene: "A slight movement begins to be perceptible in the crowd beside the gate. Some one is entering. The next moment a storm of hissing and execration salutes the ear. It is plain that the person who has just made his entrance is the object of universal dislike. The clank of irons on the stone floor of the court, as he comes forward, tells how heavily his limbs are loaded with fetters. He is still young; but his face is pale and haggard with suffering. He lifts his eyes, and with countenance undismayed surveys the vast assembly, and the dismal apparatus that stands in the midst of it, waiting its victim. There sits a calm courage on his brow; the serene light of deep, untroubled peace beams in his eye. He mounts the scaffold, and stands beside the stake. Every eye is now turned, not to the wearer of the tiara, but on the man who is clad in the sanbenito. 'Good people,' says the martyr—and the whole assembly keep silence—'I am come here to die for confessing the doctrine of my divine Master and Saviour, Jesus Christ.' Then turning to Pius IV, he arraigned him as the enemy of Christ, the persecutor of the people, and the Antichrist of Scripture, and concluded by summoning him and all his cardinals to answer for their cruelties and murders before the throne of the Lamb. 'At his words,' says the historian Crespin, 'the people were deeply moved, and the pope and the cardinals gnashed their teeth.'"

This was more than could be endured by the pontiff and his coadjutors. The signal was hastily given. He was strangled, and the fagots kindled and his body speedily reduced to ashes. So died this Waldensian missionary and pastor of the flock in Calabria. His ashes were thrown into the Tiber, and thus borne to the Mediterranean. "And this was the grave of the preacher-martyr, whose noble bearing and undaunted courage before the pope himself gave added value to his splendid testimony for the Protestant cause." This clearly illustrates the triumph of the gospel in those whose hearts had become imbued with its sacred truths.