THE LEAGUE.
1585-1589
Formation of the league.--Politics in the pulpit.--The League.--Object
of the League.--The oath.--Influence of the League.--Its
extension.--Vast power of the League.--Alarm of the
Protestants.--Adroit measures of Henry III.--Embarrassment of the
Leaguers.--Excommunication of Henry IV.--Bold retort.--Edict of
Nemours.--Anguish of Henry of Navarre.--Death of Francis.--Redoubled
energies.--Toleration.--The challenge.--Efforts to raise an army.--The
Leaguers baffled.--The hostile meeting.--Appearance of the two
armies.--The charge.--Penitence of Henry of Navarre.--Extraordinary
scene.--The battle of Coutras.--The victory.--Exultation of
the troops.--Magnanimity of Henry of Navarre.--Conduct of
Marguerite.--Court of Henry of Navarre.--Censure by the clergy.--The
flying squadron.--Intrigue and gallantry.--Influences used by
Catharine.--La Reole.--Treachery of Ussac.--News of the loss of La
Reole.--The recapture.--Precarious peace.--Attempt to assassinate
Henry.--The assassin humiliated.
About this time there was formed the celebrated league which occupies
so conspicuous a position in the history of the sixteenth century.
Henry III., though conscious that his throne was trembling beneath
him, and courting now the Catholics and again the Protestants, was
still amusing himself, day after day, with the most contemptible and
trivial vices. The extinction of the house of Valois was evidently
and speedily approaching. Henry of Navarre, calm, sagacious, and
energetic, was rallying around him all the Protestant influences of
Europe, to sustain, in that event, his undeniable claim to the throne.
The Duke of Guise, impetuous and fearless, hoped, in successful
usurpation, to grasp the rich prize by rallying around his banner all
the fanatic energies of Catholic Europe.
Henry III. was alike despised by Catholics and Protestants. His
brother Francis, though far more impulsive, had but few traits of
character to command respect. He could summon but a feeble band for
his support. Henry of Guise was the available candidate for the
Catholics. All the priestly influences of France were earnestly
combined to advance his claims. They declared that Henry of Navarre
had forfeited every shadow of right to the succession by being a
heretic. The genealogy of the illustrious house of Guise was blazoned
forth, and its descent traced from Charlemagne. It was asserted, and
argued in the pulpit and in the camp, that even the house of Valois
had usurped the crown which by right belonged to the house of Guise.
Under these circumstances, the most formidable secret society was
organized the world has ever known. It assumed the name of The League.
Its object was to exterminate Protestantism, and to place the Duke of
Guise upon the throne. The following are, in brief, its covenant and
oath:
THE LEAGUE.
In the name of the Holy Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost, this League of Catholic princes, lords, and gentlemen
shall be instituted to maintain the holy Catholic,
apostolical, and Roman Church, abjuring all errors to the
contrary. Should opposition to this league arise in any
quarter, the associates shall employ all their goods and
means, and even their own persons unto death, to punish and
hunt down those opposing. Should any of the Leaguers, their
associates or friends, be molested, the members of the
League shall be bound to employ their bodies, goods, and
means to inflict vengeance upon those thus offending. Should
any Leaguer, after having taken the oath, withdraw from the
association under any pretext whatever, the refractory
member shall be injured, in body and goods, in every manner
which can be devised, as enemies of God, rebels, and
disturbers of the public peace. The Leaguers shall swear
implicit obedience to their chief, and shall aid by counsel
and service in preserving the League, and in the ruin of all
who oppose it. All Catholic towns and villages shall be
summoned secretly, by their several governors, to enter into
this League, and to furnish arms and men for its execution.
OATH.
I swear by God the Creator, touching the Evangelists, and
upon the pain of eternal damnation, that I have entered
into this holy Catholic League loyally and sincerely, either
to command, to obey, or to serve. I promise, upon my life
and honor, to remain in this League to the last drop of my
blood, without opposing or retiring upon any pretext
whatever.
Such was the character of secret societies in the sixteenth century. A
more atrocious confederacy than this the human mind could hardly have
conceived. It was, however, peculiarly calculated to captivate the
multitude in those days of darkness and blood. Though at first formed
and extended secretly, it spread like wildfire through all the cities
and provinces of France. Princes, lords, gentlemen, artisans, and
peasants rushed into its impious inclosures. The benighted populace,
enthralled by the superstitions of the Church, were eager to manifest
their zeal for God by wreaking the most awful vengeance upon
_heretics_. He who, for any cause, declined entering the League, found
himself exposed to every possible annoyance. His house and his barns
blazed in midnight conflagrations; his cattle were mutilated and
slain; his wife and children were insulted and stoned in the streets.
By day and by night, asleep and awake, at home and abroad, at all
times and every where, he was annoyed by every conceivable form of
injury and violence.
Soon the League became so powerful that no farther secrecy was
needful. It stalked abroad in open day, insulting its foes and
vaunting its invincibility. The gigantic plan it unblushingly avowed
was to exterminate Protestantism by fire and the sword from France;
then to drown it in blood in Holland; then to turn to England and
purify that kingdom from the taint of heresy; then to march upon
Germany; and thus to advance from kingdom to kingdom, in their holy
crusade, until Protestantism should be every where ingulfed in blood
and flame, and the whole of Europe should be again brought back to the
despotism of Rome.
The Duke of Guise was the soul of this mammoth conspiracy, though
Philip II., the bigoted King of Spain, was its recorded
commander-in-chief. The Protestants were justly alarmed by the
enormous energy of the new power thus suddenly evoked against them.
The Pope, though at first hostile, soon, with his cardinals, espoused
the cause of the League, and consecrated to its support all the
weapons which could be wielded by the Vatican. From France, the
demoniac organization spread through all the kingdoms of Europe.
Hundreds of thousands were arrayed beneath its crimson banner. Even
Henry III. in the Louvre, surrounded by his parasites and his
concubines, trembled as he saw the shadow of this fearful apparition
darkening his court.
He immediately perceived that he must mount the car or be crushed by
it. Adroitly he leaped into the seat of the charioteer and seized the
reins. The demands of the League he adopted as his own, and urged them
with energy. He issued a proclamation commending the League to his
subjects, and announcing that he, to set them an example, had signed
its covenant and its oath. The Duke of Guise and his followers were
quite bewildered by this unexpected step.
The League had demanded the assembling of the States-General, a body
somewhat resembling the Congress of the United States. The king
immediately summoned them to meet. They declared war against the
Protestants. The king adopted the declaration as his own decree, and
called loudly for supplies to prosecute the war with vigor. He
outleagued the most violent of the Leaguers in denunciations of the
Protestants, in declaring that but one religion should be tolerated in
France, and in clamoring for arms and munitions of war, that _heresy_
might be utterly extirpated. The Leaguers thus found, to their great
perplexity, the weapon which they had forged wrested from their hands
and wielded against them. They had organized to drive the imbecile
Henry III. from the throne. He had seized upon that organization, and
was using it to establish himself more firmly there.
The situation of Henry of Navarre was now extremely critical. Pope
Sextus V., besides giving the League his Papal blessing, had
fulminated against the King of Navarre the awful thunders of
excommunication.
The bull of excommunication was exceedingly coarse and vulgar in its
denunciatory terms, calling the King of Navarre "_this bastard and
detestable progeny of Bourbons_."
Henry replied to this assault in accents intrepid and resolute, which
caused Catholic Europe to stand aghast.
"Henry," said this bold document, "by the grace of God King
of Navarre, sovereign prince of Bearn, first peer and prince
of France, resists the declaration and excommunication of
Sextus V., self-styled Pope of Rome, asserts it to be false,
and maintains that Mr. Sextus, the self-styled Pope, _has
falsely and maliciously lied;_ that he himself is
_heretic_, which he will prove in any full and free council
lawfully assembled; to which if he does not consent and
submit, as he is bound by the canons, he, the King of
Navarre, holds and pronounces him to be anti-Christ and
heretic, and in that quality declares against him perpetual
and irreconcilable war."
This energetic protest was placarded in most of the towns of France,
and by some fearless followers of the prince was even attached to the
walls of the Vatican. The Pope, though at first much irritated, had
the magnanimity to express his admiration of the spirit manifested by
Henry.
"There are but two princes in Europe," said he, "to whom I could
venture to communicate the grand schemes revolving in my mind, Henry
of Navarre and Elizabeth of England; but, unfortunately, they are both
heretics."
Henry III., having no moral principles to guide him in any thing, and
having no generous affections of any kind, in carrying out his plan of
wielding the energies of the League without any scruples of
conscience, issued the infamous Edict of Nemours in 1585, which
commanded every Protestant minister to leave the kingdom within one
month, and every member of the Reformed faith either to abjure his
religion and accept the Catholic faith, or to depart from France
within six months. The penalty for disobedience in either of these
cases was _death and the confiscation of property_. This edict was
executed with great rigor, and many were burned at the stake.
Henry of Navarre was amazed, and, for a time, overwhelmed in receiving
the news of this atrocious decree. He clearly foresaw that it must
arouse France and all Europe to war, and that a new Iliad of woes was
to commence. Leaning his chin upon his hand, he was for a long time
lost in profound reverie as he pondered the awful theme. It is said
that his anguish was so intense, that when he removed his hand his
beard and mustache on that side were turned entirely gray.
But Henry rose with the emergence, and met the crisis with a degree of
energy and magnanimity which elicited, in those barbarous times, the
admiration even of his enemies. The Protestants heroically grasped
their arms and rallied together for mutual protection. War, with all
its horrors, was immediately resumed.
Affairs were in this condition when Francis, the Duke of Anjou, was
taken sick and suddenly died. This removed another obstruction from
the field, and tended to hasten the crisis. Henry III. was feeble,
exhausted, and childless. Worn out by shameless dissipation, it was
evident to all that he must soon sink into his grave. Who was to be
his successor? This was the question, above all others, which agitated
France and Europe. Henry of Navarre was, beyond all question,
legitimately entitled to the throne; but he was, in the estimation of
France, a _heretic_. The League consequently, in view of the impending
peril of having a Protestant king, redoubled its energies to exclude
him, and to enthrone their bigoted partisan, Henry of Guise. It was a
terrific struggle. The Protestants saw suspended upon its issue their
property, their religious liberty, their lives, their earthly all. The
Catholics were stimulated by all the energies of fanaticism in defense
of the Church. All Catholic Europe espoused the one side, all
Protestant Europe the other. One single word was enough to arrest all
these woes. That word was TOLERATION.
When Henry III. published his famous Edict of Nemours, commanding the
conversion, the expulsion, or the death of the Protestants, Henry of
Navarre issued another edict replying to the calumnies of the League,
and explaining his actions and his motives. Then adopting a step
characteristic of the chivalry of the times, he dispatched a challenge
to the Duke of Guise, defying him to single combat, or, if he objected
to that, to a combat of two with two, ten with ten, or a hundred with
a hundred.
"In this challenge," said Henry, "I call Heaven to witness that I am
not influenced by any spirit of bravado, but only by the desire of
deciding a quarrel which will otherwise cost the lives of thousands."
To this appeal the duke made no reply. It was by no means for his
interest to meet on equal terms those whom he could easily outnumber
two or three to one.
Though the situation of Henry of Navarre seemed now almost desperate,
he maintained his courage and his hope unshaken. His estates were
unhesitatingly sold to raise funds. His friends parted with their
jewels for gold to obtain the means to carry on the war. But, with his
utmost efforts, he could raise an army of but four or five thousand
men to resist two armies of twenty thousand each, headed by the Duke
of Guise and by his brother, the Duke of Mayenne. Fortunately for
Henry, there was but little military capacity in the League, and,
notwithstanding their vast superiority in numbers, they were
continually circumvented in all their plans by the energy and the
valor of the Protestants.
The King of France was secretly rejoiced at the discomfiture of the
Leaguers, yet, expressing dissatisfaction with the Duke of Guise, he
intrusted the command of the armies to one of his petted favorites,
Joyeuse, a rash and fearless youth, who was as prompt to revel in the
carnage of the battle-field as in the voluptuousness of the palace.
The king knew not whether to choose victory or defeat for his
favorite. Victory would increase the influence and the renown of one
strongly attached to him, and would thus enable him more successfully
to resist the encroachments of the Duke of Guise. Defeat would weaken
the overbearing power of the Leaguers, and enable Henry III. more
securely to retain his position by the balance of the two rival
parties. Joyeuse, ardent and inexperienced, and despising the feeble
band he was to encounter, was eager to display his prowess. He pressed
eagerly to assail the King of Navarre. The two armies met upon a
battle-field a few leagues from Bordeaux. The army of Joyeuse was
chiefly of gay and effeminate courtiers and young nobles, who had too
much pride to lack courage, but who possessed but little physical
vigor, and who were quite unused to the hardships and to the
vicissitudes of war.
On the morning of the 20th of October, 1589, as the sun rose over the
hills of Perigord, the two armies were facing each other upon the
plains of Coutras. The Leaguers were decked with unusual splendor, and
presented a glittering array, with gorgeous banners and waving plumes,
and uniforms of satin and velvet embroidered by the hands of the
ladies of the court. They numbered twelve thousand men. Henry of
Navarre, with admirable military skill, had posted his six thousand
hardy peasants, dressed in tattered skins, to meet the onset.
And now occurred one of the most extraordinary scenes which history
has recorded. It was a source of constant grief to the devout
Protestant leaders that Henry of Navarre, notwithstanding his many
noble traits of character, was not a man of pure morality. Just before
the battle, Du Plessis, a Christian and a hero, approached the King of
Navarre and said,
"Sire, it is known to all that you have sinned against God, and
injured a respectable citizen of Rochelle by the seduction of his
daughter. We can not hope that God will bless our arms in this
approaching battle while such a sin remains unrepented of and
unrepaired."
The king dismounted from his horse, and, uncovering his head, avowed
in the presence of the whole army his sincere grief for what he had
done; he called all to witness that he thus publicly implored
forgiveness of God, and of the family he had injured, and he pledged
his word that he would do every thing in his power to repair the
wrong.
The troops were then called to prayers by the ministers. Every man in
the ranks fell upon his knees, while one of the clergy implored God to
forgive the sin of their chieftain, and to grant them protection and
victory.
The strange movement was seen from the Catholic camp. "By death,"
exclaimed Joyeuse, "the poltroons are frightened. Look! they kneel,
imploring our mercy."
"Do not deceive yourself," replied an old captain. "When the Huguenots
get into that position, they are ready for hard fighting."
The brilliant battalions of the enemy now began to deploy. Some one
spoke of the splendor of their arms. Henry smiled and replied, "We
shall have the better aim when the fight begins." Another ventured to
intimate that the ministers had rebuked him with needless severity. He
replied, "We can not be too humble before God, nor too brave before
men." Then turning to his followers, with tears in his eyes, he
addressed to them a short and noble speech. He deplored the calamities
of war, and solemnly declared that he had drawn arms only in
self-defense. "Let them," said he, "perish who are the authors of this
war. May the blood shed this day rest upon them alone."
To his two prominent generals, the Prince of Conde and the Count de
Soissons, he remarked, with a smile, "To you I shall say nothing but
that you are of the house of Bourbon, and, please God, I will show you
this day that I am your elder."
The battle almost immediately ensued. Like all fierce fights, it was
for a time but a delirious scene of horror, confusion, and carnage.
But the Protestants, with sinewy arms, hewed down their effeminate
foes, and with infantry and cavalry swept to and fro resistlessly over
the plain. The white plume of Henry of Navarre was ever seen waving in
the tumultuous throng wherever the battle was waged the fiercest.
There was a singular blending of the facetious with the horrible in
this sanguinary scene. Before the battle, the Protestant preachers, in
earnest sermons, had compared Henry with David at the head of the
Lord's chosen people. In the midst of the bloody fray, when the field
was covered with the dying and the dead, Henry grappled one of the
standard-bearers of the enemy. At the moment, humorously reminded of
the flattering comparison of the preachers, he shouted, with waggery
which even the excitement of the battle could not repress,
"Surrender, you uncircumcised Philistine."
In the course of one hour three thousand of the Leaguers were
weltering in blood upon the plain, Joyeuse himself, their leader,
being among the dead. The defeat of the Catholics was so entire that
not more than one fourth of their number escaped from the field of
Coutras.
The victors were immediately assembled upon the bloody field, and,
after prayers and thanksgiving, they sung, with exultant lips,
"The Lord appears my helper now,
Nor is my faith afraid
What all the sons of earth can do,
Since Heaven affords its aid."
Henry was very magnanimous in the hour of victory. When some one asked
what terms he should now demand, after so great a discomfiture of his
foes, he replied, "_The same as before the battle_."
In reading the records of these times, one is surprised to see how
mirth, festivity, and magnificence are blended with blood, misery, and
despair. War was desolating France with woes which to thousands of
families must have made existence a curse, and yet amid these scenes
we catch many glimpses of merriment and gayety. At one time we see
Henry III. weeping and groaning upon his bed in utter wretchedness,
and again he appears before us reveling with his dissolute companions
in the wildest carousals. While Henry of Navarre was struggling with
his foes upon the field of battle, Marguerite, his wife, was dancing
and flirting with congenial paramours amid all the guilty pleasures of
the court. Henry wrote repeatedly for her to come and join him, but
she vastly preferred the voluptuousness of the capital to the gloom
and the hardships of the Protestant camp. She never loved her husband,
and while she wished that he might triumph, and thus confer upon her
the illustrious rank of the Queen of France, she still rejoiced in his
absence, as it allowed her that perfect freedom which she desired.
When she saw indications of approaching peace, she was so
apprehensive that she might thus be placed under constraint by the
presence of her husband, that she did what she could to perpetuate
civil war.
It will be remembered that several of the fortified cities of France
were in the hands of the Protestants. Henry of Navarre held his
comparatively humble court in the town of Agen, where he was very much
beloved and respected by the inhabitants. Though far from
irreproachable in his morals, the purity of his court was infinitely
superior to that of Henry III. and his mother Catharine. Henry of
Navarre was, however, surrounded by a body of gay and light-hearted
young noblemen, whose mirth-loving propensities and whose often
indecorous festivities he could not control. One evening, at a general
ball, these young gentlemen extinguished the lights, and in the
darkness a scene of much scandal ensued. Henry was severely censured
by the Protestant clergy, and by many others of his friends, for not
holding the members of his court in more perfect control. His
popularity suffered so severely from this occurrence, that it even
became necessary for Henry to withdraw his court from the town.
Catharine and Marguerite, accompanied by a retinue of the most
voluptuously-beautiful girls of France, set out to visit the court of
Henry of Navarre, which had been transferred to Neruc. Henry, hearing
of their approach, placed himself at the head of five hundred
gentlemen, and hastened to meet his mother-in-law and his wife, with
their characteristic and congenial train. These were the
instrumentalities with which Catharine and Marguerite hoped to bend
the will of Henry and his friends to suit their purposes. Catharine
had great confidence in the potency of the influence which these
pliant maidens could wield, and they were all instructed in the part
which they were to act. She was accustomed to call these allies her
_flying squadron_.
There then ensued a long series of negotiations, intermingled with
mirth, gallantry, and intrigue, but the result of which was a treaty
highly conducive to the interests of the Protestants. Various places
were designated where their religion should be freely tolerated, and
in which they were to be allowed to build conventicles. They were also
permitted to raise money for the support of their ministers, and
fourteen cities were surrendered to their government. Several
incidents occurred during these negotiations very characteristic of
the corrupt manners of the times.
Marguerite devoted herself most energetically to the promotion of the
success of Henry's plans. Catharine found herself, notwithstanding all
her artifice, and all the peculiar seductions of her female
associates, completely foiled by the sagacity and the firmness of
Henry. She had brought with her Monsieur de Pibrac, a man very
celebrated for his glowing eloquence and for his powers of persuasion.
The oratory of Pibrac, combined with the blandishments of the ladies,
were those co-operative influences which the queen imagined none would
be able to resist. Marguerite, however, instructed in the school of
Catharine, succeeded in obtaining entire control over the mind of
Pibrac himself, and he became a perfect tool in her hands. Catharine,
thus foiled, was compelled to grant far more favorable terms to the
Protestants than she had contemplated.
La Reole was one of the towns of security surrendered to the
Protestants. There was, however, so little of good faith in that day,
that, notwithstanding the pledge of honor, possession of the place
could only be retained by vigilance. The government of the town had
been conferred upon a veteran Protestant general by the name of Ussac.
His days, from early youth, had been passed on fields of battle. He
was now far advanced in years, in feeble health, and dreadfully
disfigured by wounds received in the face. One of the most fascinating
of the ladies of the queen-mother lavished such endearments upon the
old man, already in his dotage, that he lost his principles and all
self-control, and made himself very ridiculous by assuming the airs of
a young lover. Henry had the imprudence to join in the mockery with
which the court regarded his tenderness. This was an indignity which
an old man could never forget. Instigated by his beautiful seducer, he
became entirely unmindful of those principles of honor which had
embellished his life, and in revenge invited a Roman Catholic general
to come and take possession of the town.
Henry was informed of this act of treachery while dancing at a very
brilliant entertainment given in his palace. He quietly whispered to
Turenne, Sully, and a few others of his most intimate friends,
requesting them to escape from the room, gather around them such armed
men as they could, and join him at a rendezvous in the country. They
all stole unperceived from the mirthful party, concealed their swords
beneath their cloaks, traveled all night, and arrived, just as the day
began to dawn, before the gates of the city. They found the place, as
they had expected, entirely unprepared for such a sudden attack, and,
rushing in, regained it without difficulty. The Catholic soldiers
retreated to the castle, where they held out a few days, and many of
them perished in the assault by which it was soon taken.
Such was the character of the nominal peace which now existed. A
partisan warfare was still continued throughout France. Catharine and
her maids did every thing in their power to excite dissensions between
the Protestant leaders. In this they succeeded so well that the Prince
of Conde became so exasperated against Turenne as to challenge him to
single combat.
Such a peace as we have above described could not, of course, be
lasting. Both parties were soon again gathering all their forces for
war. There is a tedious monotony in the recital of the horrors of
battle. Cities bombarded, and sacked, and burned; shells exploding in
the cradle of infancy and in the chambers of mothers and maidens;
mutilated bodies trampled beneath the hoofs of horses; the cry of the
maddened onset, the shrieks of the wounded, and the groans of the
dying; the despair of the widow and the orphan; smouldering ruins of
once happy homes; the fruits of the husbandman's toils trodden into
the mire; starvation, misery, and death--these are ever the fruits of
war.
During the short interval of peace, many attempts had been made to
assassinate Henry of Navarre by the partisans of the Duke of Guise.
Henry was, one fine morning, setting out with a few friends for a ride
of pleasure. Just as the party were leaving the court-yard, he was
informed that an assassin, very powerfully mounted, was prepared to
meet him on the way and to take his life. Henry apparently paid no
heed to the warning, but rode along conversing gayly with his friends.
They soon met, in a retired part of the way, a stranger, armed
according to the custom of the times, and mounted upon a very
magnificent steed, which had been prepared for him to facilitate his
escape after the accomplishment of the fell deed. Henry immediately
rode up to the assassin, addressed him in terms of great familiarity
and cordiality, and, professing to admire the beautiful charger upon
which he was mounted, requested him to dismount, that he might try the
splendid animal. The man, bewildered, obeyed the wishes of the king,
when Henry leaped into the saddle, and, seizing the two loaded pistols
at the saddle-bow, looked the man sternly in the eye, and said,
"I am told that you seek to kill me. You are now in my power, and I
could easily put you to death; but I will not harm you."
He then discharged the two pistols in the air, and permitted the
humiliated man to mount his horse and ride away unharmed.