AN

HISTORICAL ACCOUNT

OF

THE LIFE AND TRYAL OF NICHOLAS ANTHOINE,

Burnt for Judaism at Geneva, in the Year 1632.

Quarto, containing fifteen pages.

NI

ICHOLAS ANTHOINE was born of Popish parents, at Brieu, in Lorrain. His father took a particular care of his education, and sent him to the college of Luxemburg, where he studied five years. From thence he was removed to Pont-à-Mousson, Triers, and Cologne ; where he went on with his studies under the direction of the Jesuits, till he was about twenty years of age. Being returned to his father's, and disliking the church of Rome, he repaired to Metz, and applied himself to M. Ferry, an eminent divine of that city, who instructed him in the Protestant religion, which he heartily embraced. From that time he professed himself a Protestant, and endeavoured to convert his relations to the reformed religion. From Metz, he was sent to Sedan, in order to study divinity; and from thence to Geneva, where he continued his theological studies. He applied himself particularly to the reading of the Old Testament; and finding several difficulties in the New, which seemed to him unanswerable, he inwardly embraced the Jewish religion, about five or six years before his tryal. His first doubts were occasioned by his comparing the two genealogies of Jesus Christ, as they are related by St. Matthew and St. Luke; but when he came to examine the passages of the Old Testament, that are applied to the Messias in the New, he proved so weak as to renounce his Christianity. And, as new notions of religion frequently make a greater impression, than those wherein men have been bred up from their younger years, he grew so zealous for Judaism, that he resolved to make an open profession of it. Accordingly he left Geneva, and returned to Metz, and immediately discovered his opinions to the Jews of that city, and desired to be admitted into their synagogue: But they refused him, for fear of bringing themselves into trouble; and advised him to go to the Jews of Amsterdam, or Venice. Whereupon he resolved to take a journey to Venice, and earnestly intreated the Jews of that town to circumcise him. But he was again disappointed; for those Jews refused to comply with his desire, and told him the Senate had forbid them to circumcise any body that was not born a Jew. Anthoine, longing to receive the seal of the Jewish covenant, went quickly to Padua, in hopes

that the Jews of that place would be more favourable to him; but they gave him the same answer. The Jews of that city, and those of Venice, told him, that he might be saved, without making an outward profession of Judaism, provided he remained faithful to God in his heart. This made him resolve to return to Geneva, where he had more acquaintances than any where else. M. Diodati, minister and professor of that city, took him into his house, to be tutor to his children. He pretended to go on with his theological studies, and was for some time teacher of the first class. Afterwards he disputed for the chair of Philosophy, but without any success. All that time he lived outwardly like a true Christian; for he confessed at his tryal, that he had constantly received the communion; but, in private he lived, and performed his devotions, like a Jew. At last, being poor, and weary of the condition he was in, and wanting a settlement, he desired a testimonial of the church of Geneva, which was granted him, and went to the Synod of Burgundy, held at Gex, in order to be admitted into the ministry. He was admitted according to custom, promising to follow the doctrine of the Old and New Testament, the discipline and confes⚫ sion of faith of the reformed churches of France, &c. and was appointed minister of the church of Divonne, in the country of Gex.

He had not been long there, when the lord of that place perceived he never mentioned Jesus Christ in his prayers and sermons; that he took his text only out of the Old Testament, and applied to some other persons all the passages of the Old Testament, which the Christians understand of Jesus Christ. This raised great suspicions against him. When he came to hear of it, he was very much perplexed; and, being naturally of a melancholy temper, he fell into a fit of madness, in the month of February, 1632, which was looked upon as a manifest judgment of God, because it happened the very next day after he had expounded the second Psalm, without applying it to our Saviour. He grew so distracted, that he moved upon his hands and feet in his chamber, publickly exclaimed against the Christian religion, and particularly in the presence of some ministers of Geneva, who went to see him. He horribly inveighed against the person of Christ, calling him an idol, &c. and saying that the New Testament was a mere fable. He called for a chafing-dish full of burning coals, and told the divines, who were in his chamber, that he would put his hand into the fire to maintain his doctrine, bidding them do the like for their Christ. His madness increased to such a degree, that he ran away in the night from those under whose custody he was, as far as the gates of Geneva, where he was found the next morning half naked, and lying in the dirt; and, having pulled off his shoes in the name of the true God of Israel, he worshipped him barefooted, prostrated upon the ground, and blaspheming against Christ.

The magistrates of Geneva ordered him to be carried into an hospital, where the physicians took care of him, and he was visited by some divines. His mind was composed by degrees, and then he left off speaking injuriously of Christ, and the Christian religion, but stoutly maintained Judaism. Being thus recovered from his madness, he was committed to jail, where he remained a considerable time before the magis

trates took cognisance of that affair; being only visited by several divines, who used their utmost endeavours to make him sensible of the falsity of his doctrine, and the enormity of his conduct, and to bring him over to the Christian religion; but he persisted in his opinions.

M. Ferry, a minister of Metz, who, as I have said before, had converted Anthoine to the Protestant religion, hearing of the sad condition, and the great danger he was in, writ a letter about him, the 30th of March, to the ministers and professors of the church and academy of Geneva. It contains several particulars relating to the history of that unhappy man; and therefore, I think it necessary to insert it in this place, and I hope no curious reader will blame me for it. The letter runs thus ;

Gentlemen, and most honoured Brethren,

"I beg your pardon for the fault I am going to commit, if you take it to be such: And indeed, I do not pretend to represent any thing to you, but in order to submit it to your censure. I have heard, with an unspeakable grief, what has happened to that poor wretch, who is amongst you; and I beseech you to forgive my freedom in writing to you about it. I do not do it altogether without the request of others, Besides, one must not expect a call to preserve an unfortunate man, who runs himself into destruction; since God and nature, and our ancient acquaintance and friendship, may be a sufficient motive for me to do it. To which I add, that, having been instrumental in bringing him to salvation, I think I have great reason to desire that he may not undo himself, and to endeavour, with your leave, to prevent it. I thank God, since he has thought fit to make him a new example of human frailty, that he has brought him amongst you, that you might prevent his doing mischief, and endeavour to reclaim him. I think, gentlemen, that mildness and patience will be the most proper means to succeed in it. I make no doubt that his illness proceeds from a black and deep melancholy, to which I always perceived he was very much inclined; especially after he had seduced a young man, whom he brought hither from Sedan, in hopes to get something by teaching him philosophy, and then he privately carried him farther, though I had earnestly desired him to send him back, and exhorted the young man to return to Sedan, which was M. Du Moulin's desire, to whom he had been recommended. From that time he could not bear the light in any room of a gentleman's house, where I had placed him, being always uneasy, restless, and silent. Nay, he had much ado to express himself, and it was a hard matter to make him speak, though I earnestly desired him to be more free, and sent for him, and made him dine with me now and then, and took all possible care of him. Which we ascribed to the ill success he had in a Synod of the Isle of France, whither he had been sent with a testimonial, and recommendation of the church and academy of Sedan, notwithstanding which, he did not appear sufficiently qualified for the ministry. After he had enticed away that young man, he writ several letters to me, wherein expressed a great grief for it; and in all of them

A large account of that eminent divine may be seen in the Historical and Critical Diction ary, lately published in English.

he used many words, which shewed his mind was very much dejected, being above all things sensible of the reproofs he had received for it. So that I thought myself obliged to write to him now and then, to clear his mind of those needless scruples, and of such an unreasonable and dangerous vexation, and to exhort him to apply himself to his study with chearfulness, and a resolution to do better for the time to come. It is therefore highly probable that his melancholy has been heightened by those cloudy thoughts, and likewise by the poverty and want of many things, into which he fell soon after, and whereof he complained to me in his letters, so far as to mention the temptations under which his mind was almost ready to sink. To this I may add the nature of his studies bent upon the Old Testament, on which he writ to me, that he was drawing up a concordance. However, though those things were not the true cause of his illness, you know, gentlemen, that there is a sort of melancholy, in which the physicians acknowledge 9 Ti, which is neither a crime nor a divine punishment, but a great misfortune. Certainly, that which he lies under, is very deplorable; but, gentlemen, I think I may say that, though nature is the instrument of God's Providence, yet all accidents ought not to be looked upon as punishments, or signs of a wicked life, nor the madness of that poor wretch as a formal chastisement for his error; there being so many reasons to believe that it proceeds from the disorder of the brain, and from melancholy. His madness seems to be only an exorbitant fit of melancholy, which being allayed by remedies, he appears now in his former state: And, though he errs only in the single point, for which he is prosecuted, there is no reason to infer from it, that he speaks in cold blood, and with a sound mind. For it is the property of that sort of melancholy, to have but one object, leaving the mind free in all other things, as you know better than I. There are some who speak upon any subject with great learning and sedateness, and have but one grain of madness, which they discover only by intervals, to those who hit upon it. I am the more willing to compare that unfortunate man to them, because, in that very thing, wherein he pretends to be wise, he appears most ridiculous; for he says what he would be ashamed of out of his fit, though he were no Christian; since he denies, as I hear, what the very Heathens and Jews acknowledge. And therefore it is not a heresy, but a blasphemy, which proceeds from a mind rather distempered than perverted. His usual frights and horrors are, in my opinion, a certain sign of it; and there is no reason to ascribe them to a divine judgment, and to infer from thence that he is a reprobate. After all, gentlemen, it is certain he imposes upon you, when he tells you that he believed, eight or ten years ago, what he believes now: For, since that time, he has not only given all manner of proofs of his Christianity, but also brought over to the reformed religion his eldest brother, who lives honestly among us; and he has endeavoured to work the same effect upon his father, to whom he has writ many letters, several of which I have opened; wherein he expressed a great zeal, and a wonderful love for Jesus Christ, and the Christian truths, that are taught in our churches. And, in order to bring over his relations to our religion, he writ to them, that he was ready to die for it, if God required it of him. Nay, when he was ad

mitted into the ministry, he acquainted me with it, in a letter from Geneva, dated the twenty-ninth of November; being used to call me, as he did then, his dear ghostly Father, whom God had been pleased to make use of, in order to bring him to the knowledge of the true religion: And he desired me to acquaint his relations with it, being fully resolved for the future to lead a better life, and to perform his duty to the utmost of his power. And therefore, gentlemen, and most honoured brethren, I think he ought not to be believed in what he says, during such a disorder of his mind; and I hope, that, if you allow him some time to recover from his phrensy, as I understand you do, he will no longer blaspheme, and God will give you comfort after your labour and patience. To that end, I wish none may have access to him, but such as are familiarly acquainted with him, or for whom he has a particular respect and veneration, and by whom he may be gently used; lest his mind be exasperated by too many visitants, or by an unseasonable, though just severity.

'Gentlemen, give me leave to tell you, that it seems highly necessary, for the edification of the church, that this affair should be managed with great prudence. If you make an example of him, it will, doubtless, prove extremely prejudicial. I intreat you to consider the great scandal it will occasion, far and near, and what might be said against the office and profession of a man converted from Popery, who has learned to judaize among us, in the most famous academies, conversing every day with several pastors. Besides, Judaism being no dangerous sect, it does not seem necessary to prevent the ill consequences of it by a publick punishment; nay, perhaps every body would not approve of it. There are some extraordinary crimes, for which when the guilty person is to be punished, it is not done in publick; and the proceedings are suppressed, to clear the present age from such an infamy, and to leave no marks of it to posterity. However, there is no need of being too hasty in a thing, that may be done as well in time, and when a delay cannot be prejudicial, but rather useful. Servetus had a long time allowed him for his amendment, though he had dogmatised above twenty years in cold blood, and in several places, both by word of mouth, and in written and printed books, about things much more subtle and dangerous; and yet, gentlemen, you know the various discourses, that were occasioned by his execution. I do not say this, because I find fault with it; on the contrary, I think such pernicious errors could not be better suppressed, than by committing the author to the flames. But this man cannot be compared to Servetus, I pray God to give him a better end. And I beseech you, gentlemen and most honoured brethren, not to grow weary in this work of your great charity, wherein he will direct you to use such remedies, as are necessary to reclaim that unfortunate man, and to preserve the church from such an infamy. This is the design of this letter, which I humbly beseech you not to be offended with; otherwise I should be sorry to have writ it, excepting the wishes I have just now made, and my further prayers to God, that he would plentifully bless you and your holy labours, increase your church, and ever keep you under his protection. I beg of you