of the Protestants still remaining
in France, wandering like sheep without shepherds, deprived of
guidance, books, and worship--the prey of ravenous wolves,--and it
occurred to him whether the Protestant pastors had done right in
leaving their flocks, even though by so doing they had secured the
safety of their own lives. Accordingly, in 1686, he wrote and
published a "Letter to the Pastors of France at present in Protestant
States, concerning the Desolation of their own Churches, and their own
Exile."

In this letter he says:--"If, instead of retiring before your
persecutors, you had remained in the country; if you had taken refuge
in forests and caverns; if you had gone from place to place, risking
your lives to instruct and rally the people, until the first shock of
the enemy was past; and had you even courageously exposed yourselves
to martyrdom--as in fact those have done who have endeavoured to
perform your duties in your absence--perhaps the examples of
constancy, or zeal, or of piety you had discovered, might have
animated your flocks, revived their courage, and arrested the fury of
your enemies." He accordingly exhorted the Protestant ministers who
had left France to return to their flocks at all hazards.

This advice, if acted on, was virtually condemning the pastors to
death. Brousson was not a pastor. Would _he_ like to return to France
at the daily risk of the rack and the gibbet? The Protestant ministers
in exile defended themselves. Benoit, then residing in Germany,
replied in a "History and Apology for the Retreat of the Pastors."
Another, who did not give his name, treated Brousson's censure as that
of a fanatic, who meddled with matters beyond his vocation. "You who
condemn the pastors for not returning to France at the risk of their
lives," said he, "_why do you not first return to France yourself?_"

Brousson was as brave as his words. He was not a pastor, but he might
return to the deserted flocks, and encourage and comfort them. He
could no longer be happy in his exile at Lausanne. He heard by night
the groans of the prisoners in the Tower of Constance, and the noise
of the chains borne by the galley slaves at Toulon and Marseilles. He
reproached himself as if it were a crime with the repose which he
enjoyed. Life became insupportable to him and he fell ill. His health
was even despaired of; but one day he suddenly rose up and said to his
wife, "I must set out; I will go to console, to relieve,