In the midst of the contrary movements now agitating Paris, there was a certain number of spectators who, while leaning more to one party than to the other, set about studying the situation. In one of the colleges was a student of Alsace, the son of an ironmonger at Strasburg, who, wishing to give himself a Greek or Latin name, called himself _Siderander_, 'man of iron.' Such, however, was not his nature; he was particularly curious; he had a passion for picking up news, and his great desire to know other people's business made him supple as the willow, rather than hard as the metal. Siderander was an amiable well-educated young man, and he gives us a pretty faithful picture of the better class of students of that day. On Monday, May 26, he was going to hear a lecture on logic by Sturm, who, leaving the paths of barren scholasticism, was showing by example as well as by precept how clearness of thought may be united with elegance of language. Just as the Alsatian was approaching the college of Montaigu, where Sturm lectured, he met with a piece of good-luck. He saw an immense crowd of students and citizens collected in front of the college, where they had been waiting since the morning to witness the departure of the Hercules of the Sorbonne.[329] He ran as fast as he could, his heart throbbing with joy at the thought of seeing Beda, the great papist, going into banishment.... For such a sight, the student would have walked from Strasburg. The rumour had spread through Paris that the three or four disgraced doctors were to leave the capital on that day. Everybody wished to see them: some for the joy they felt at their disgrace; others, to give vent to their sorrow. But, sad misfortune! the lucky chance which had delighted the student failed him. The government was alarmed, and fearing a riot, the exiles did not appear. The crowd was forced to disperse without seeing them, and Siderander went away in great disappointment. The next morning, at an early hour, the four culprits, Beda, Le Picard, Mathurin, and a Franciscan, came forth under guard and without noise. The doctors, humiliated at being led out of the city like malefactors, did not even raise their heads. But the precautions of the police were useless: many people were on the look-out, the news spread in a moment through the quarter, and a crowd of burgesses, monks, and common people filled the streets to see the celebrated theologians pass, dejected, silent, and with downcast eyes. The glory of the Sorbonne had faded; even that of Rome was dimmed; and it seemed to many as if the papacy was departing with its four defenders. The devout catholics gave way to sighs and groans, indignation and tears; but at the very moment when these bigots were paying the last honours to popery, others were saluting the advent of the new times with transports of joy. 'They are sycophants,' said some among the crowd, 'banished from Paris on account of their lies and their traitorous proceedings.'[330]