If I intended to follow the example of Livy, the prince of Latin
historians, who never suffers a prodigy to escape him, and describes
it perhaps with as much superstition as exactness, I should here make
long narrations how the sun was obscured on the sudden, without the
interposition of any cloud appearing in the sky, with a flaming sword
shooting out from the centre of the body; palpable darkness, like that
of the Egyptians at noon-day; extraordinary tempests, earthquakes, fiery
phantasms in the air, and an hundred other prodigies, which are said to
have been produced and seen in this unhappy year of one thousand five
hundred and eighty-eight, and which were fancied to be so many ominous
presages of those horrible disorders that ensued in it.
But because I am not of the opinion, that much credit ought to be given
to those sorts of signs, which are commonly the effects of natural
causes, though very often unknown to us; nor to the predictions of
astrologers, some of which verily believed they had found in the stars,
that this year should be the conclusion of the world, I will only say,
that the most sure presage of so many misfortunes then impending, was the
minds of men too much exasperated on both sides, to live in peace with
each other; and not rather to be searching out for means of making sure
of those whom they suspected, and disposing of them according to their
jealousies.
In order to this, the Duke of Guise, after he had made an end of ruining
the county of Montbelliard, took his way to Nancy, whither he had invited
all the princes of his house to assemble in the month of January, there
to take their resolutions, in reference to the present condition of
affairs; and of that happy success which they had in the war against the
Reyters. Some of them there were, as it is reported, so swollen with
that victory, and so blinded with their prosperity, that they proposed,
in this conference, the most dangerous and most violent expedients; to
which the Duke of Lorraine, a moderate and wary prince, would by no
means listen. Howsoever it were, (for I find nothing to confirm these
relations, not even in the memoirs of their greatest enemies, who have
written most exactly of that assembly,) it is most undoubted, that if
they proceeded not so far as to those terrible extremities, yet what
was then concluded, passed in the world for a most unjust and unlawful
undertaking, and was condemned by all those who were not blindly devoted
to the League.
It was, that a request should be presented to the king, containing
articles, which, under the ordinary pretence of their desire to preserve
in France the Catholic religion, tended manifestly to despoil him of
his authority and power, and to invest the heads of the League in both.
For those scandalous articles bore this substance in them, that, for
the service of God, and the maintenance and security of religion, the
king should not only be most humbly petitioned, but also summoned, to
establish the Holy Inquisition in his realm; to cause the council of
Trent to be there published, suspending nevertheless that article which
revokes the exemption pretended by some chapters and abbeys against
the bishops; to continue the war against the Huguenots, and to cause
the goods both of them and of their associates to be sold, with which
to defray the charges of that war, and to pay the debts in which the
heads of the League had been constrained to involve themselves for the
prosecution of it; to refuse quarter to all prisoners who should be taken
in that war, unless upon condition of paying the full value of their
goods, and giving caution of living afterwards like good Catholics.
Behold here a most specious appearance of zeal for religion; but, in
the next place, observe the venom which lies hidden under all these
fair pretences: That the king shall unite himself more cordially, and
more openly than before, to this holy League; thereby to keep exactly
all its laws, to which men are obliged by this the most solemn and most
inviolable of all oaths: That, besides the forces which he shall be
obliged to set on foot to wage that war against the Huguenots, he shall
maintain an army on the frontiers of Lorraine, to oppose the German
Protestants, if they should determine once again to enter France: That,
besides those places which the Leaguers already held for their security,
there should be delivered to them other towns of more importance, which
should be specified to him, where they might establish for governors
those of their heads which they shall name, with power of introducing
such garrisons, and making such fortifications, as they shall think
fit, at the charges of the provinces in which they are situate: And, in
conclusion, to secure them, that they shall be no more hindered, as till
this present they have always been, in the executing of those things
which have been promised them for the safety of religion, his Majesty
shall displace from his council, and from the court, and shall deprive
of their governments and offices, those who shall be named to him, as
patrons of heretics, and enemies to religion and the state.
These were those extravagant demands which began to open the eyes of many
good Catholics, who had suffered themselves to be innocently seduced
by the appearances of true zeal, which being little illuminated, was
not “according to knowledge,” as the apostle speaks. For they now more
clearly saw into some of those articles; that the League to engage the
Pope and the king of Spain in their interests, would be content to
abandon those privileges and liberties, which our ancestors have always
maintained with so much vigour and resolution; and to subject to the yoke
of a Spanish inquisition, the French, who have never been able to undergo
it. And in others of them, that they designed to bereave the king of all
the solid and essential parts of royalty, to leave him only the shadow
and appearance of it, and afterwards to dispose even of his person, as
the heads of their party should think fit.
And accordingly when the request was presented to the king on the part
of the associated princes, and the cardinal of Bourbon, whose simplicity
and whose name they abused, and made it a cloak to their ambition, he
conceived an extreme indignation against it, which immediately appeared
in his eyes and countenance. Yet he thought it necessary at that time
to dissemble, not finding himself then in a condition of returning such
an answer to it, as was becoming a king justly provoked against his
subjects, who stood on terms with him like lords and masters. For which
reason, and withal to gain farther time, he contented himself to say,
that he would examine those articles in his council, in order to his
answer; which should be in such sort, that all good Catholics should have
reason to be satisfied.
But in the mean time, the Duke of Guise, who took not fair words for
payment, well understanding the king’s design, and resolving not to
give the Duke of Espernon the leisure to conjure down that tempest
which was raised against him, and to infuse into his master those
vigorous resolutions which were necessary for him to take, pressed the
king continually to give a precise answer to every particular in those
articles. For he doubted not, that, in case it proved favourable, he
should ingross all power in himself; and if it were otherwise, that it
would be thought the king resolved to maintain the Huguenots, and that by
consequence the Catholics would enter into a war against him.
On which considerations, being then retired into his government of
Champaigne, to which place he went after the conference at Nancy, he
plied the king incessantly with messages sent by gentlemen, one after
another, to urge him to a speedy and punctual answer. And this he did
with the more eagerness and importunity, because, on the one side, he
found himself more powerful than ever, having a great part of the gentry,
and almost all the people, and especially the Parisians, for him; and, on
the other side, he observed the party of the Huguenots to be very low,
and infinitely weakened, by the defeat of their great German succours,
and by their late loss of the Prince of Conde, a person of all others the
most strictly tied to their religion, and on whom they more relied than
any man, not excepting the King of Navarre himself.
He deceased on the 5th of March, at St Jean de Angely, of an exceeding
violent distemper, with which he was suddenly seized one evening after
supper, and which carried him off in two days time. The sixteen, with
infamous baseness, made a great rejoicing for it; and their preachers
failed not to roar out in their sermons, that it was the effect of the
excommunication, with which he had been thunderstruck by Pope Sixtus.
But besides that the King of Navarre, who had been struck in the same
manner by the bull, had his health never the worse for it, the king, to
whom that poor creature the Cardinal of Bourbon had been telling the
same story, and making wonderful exclamations in relating it, answered
him with a smile, that it might very well be the occasion of his death,
but withal there was something else which helped him on his journey. And
truly the matter was put beyond all doubt, after the attestation of four
physicians, and of two master chirurgeons, who deposed upon their oaths,
that they had manifestly seen, in almost all the parts of his body, all
the most evident signs and effects of a caustic poison, burning and
ulcerating. A most execrable action, which could not be too rigorously
punished; and yet the laws inflicted what was possible on the person of
one of his domestic servants, who was drawn in pieces by four horses in
the place of St Jean de Angely.
As to the rest, he was a prince, who, excepting only his obstinate
adhering to a religion in which he was born, and whose falsehood he might
have known in time, if he had not been too much prepossessed, had, at
the age of five-and-thirty years, at which he died, all the perfections
which can meet together in one man, to render him one of the greatest
and most accomplished persons in the world; if at least there might not
possibly be discerned in his carriage and customs some of those little
failings, from which the most wise are not exempted, and which may easily
be pardoned, without lessening the esteem which we have for them. And if
fortune, which is not always propitious to merit, was not favourable to
him on some occasions, wherein he had need of her assistance, yet in this
she was his friend, that she gave him the greater opportunity of shewing
his invincible courage in his adversities, in which he raised himself
infinitely above her, by the vigour and greatness of his soul.
Accordingly, the death of this great prince was lamented, not only by
those of his own party, who loved him passionately, but also by the
Catholics, and even by the Duke of Guise himself; who, head as he was
of an infamous and wicked faction, which he made subservient to his
ends, had of his own stock, and the excellency of his nature, which was
infinitely noble, all the generosity which is requisite to love and
respect virtue, even in the person of his greatest and most formidable
enemy.
All which, notwithstanding, he was content to make what advantage he
could of so lamentable an accident, towards the compassing of his
designs: And as he observed, not only by this, but by a multitude of
concomitant accidents and misfortunes, that the Huguenot party decreased
in strength and reputation, and his own grew more bold and undertaking,
he set himself more vigorously to push his fortune, and to demand an
entire satisfaction to all the articles of his request; which had so
puffed up the spirits of the sixteen, that they forgot all manner of
moderation, and grew daily more and more insupportable. It happened
also at the same time, that the king received several advertisements
of the resolution which had been taken in their council to seize his
person, and to inclose him in a monastery. And the same lieutenant of the
provost-ship of the Isle of Paris, Nicholas Poulain, who had formerly
discovered the like conspiracy, to which belief was not given, told him
so many particular circumstances in relation to this, that though he
was very diffident of that double-dealing man, whose integrity he much
suspected, yet his evidence concurring with the extreme insolence of the
sixteen, which rendered his report more credible, could not but leave
a strong impression on his soul; insomuch, that at last following the
counsel of those who had so long advised him, to employ his power and
justice against those mutineers, he took up a resolution, once for all,
to take that thorn out of his side, to reduce Paris into that state of
submission and obedience which belongs to subjects; and to extinguish the
faction of sixteen, by the exemplary chastisement of the most seditious
amongst them.
The preparations which of necessity he was to make to secure the success
of this undertaking; the three thousand Swissers, whom he caused to be
quartered at Lagny; the companies of guards, which were reinforced; the
troops which were sent him from the Duke of Espernon, who was gone into
his government of Normandy; and all the passages of the river, both
above Paris and below it, being possessed by him,—were so many alarms
to those mutineers, who, believing themselves already lost, implored
the assistance of the Duke of Guise. That prince, who had advanced
from Rheims as far as Soissons, in favour of the Duke of Aumale, his
cousin, who met with trouble and resistance in his government of Picardy,
satisfied himself at first with sending them some of his most experienced
captains, to regulate and manage their militia in case of need. But
some few days after, finding himself still pressed more eagerly by the
solicitations of those people, who were now driven to despair, and
believing that this foundation of the League, on which he had built his
hopes, being once shaken, he himself must perish under its ruins, (for
that being destroyed, the next design was certainly to fall on him,
who was the head and protector of it;) he gave immediate notice to his
friends and creatures to get into Paris, one after another, at several
gates, and ordered some to assure the sixteen in his name, that he would
suddenly be there in person to live and die with them.
The king, who was advertised of this resolution, and who was under great
apprehensions of his coming, lest his presence might hinder the execution
of his enterprise, and arm with a word speaking that great city, which
was entirely at his devotion, sent the President de Bellievre, a man of
great authority and known prudence, to tell the duke from him, that, in
the present juncture of affairs, and just apprehension which he had,
that his coming would produce great troubles in Paris, he thought good
he should not come till he received new orders from him, for otherwise
he would render himself guilty of all those disorders which might thence
ensue.
To this the duke, who was never to be beaten off from any resolution
which he had once taken, answered calmly, but in doubtful terms, that he
was ready to obey the king; that he had never intended to go to Paris,
but in the condition of a private man, and without a train; that he
desired to justify himself from those aspersions with which he knew
his enemies had basely charged him in his absence; that he had reason
to believe there was a design on foot to oppress the good Catholics,
whose protector he had declared himself; and that he humbly besought
his Majesty to give him some security against so just an apprehension.
Bellievre, who well knew that the king would stick at no manner of verbal
satisfaction, in case that would prove sufficient to break his journey,
promised he should have all the security he could possibly desire. In
effect, the king was fully resolved to have given him all manner of
assurances; but, as ill luck would have it, this was not done at the
same time it was determined; insomuch that, without more delay, he got
on horseback, and, crossing the country out of the common roads, that he
might avoid the messengers which he knew would be sent with new orders
to him, entered Paris on Monday the 9th of May, with eight more in his
company, just about noon, by the gate of St Denis.
It may be said in one sort of meaning, that this day was the most
unfortunate, and yet the most glorious of all his life. For whether it
were that the people, who were made to believe by the sixteen that the
city was to be sacked, were advertised by them of his arrival, or that
the report was spread at an instant, when he was first seen to approach
the Fauxbourg, it is most certain that he had no sooner passed it, but
the whole town running together from all parts of it, crowded up the
street, and all the rest through which he passed; the windows were
filled, and even the tiles of houses; the air echoed with a thousand
sorts of acclamations, and the loud cries of _Vive Guise!_ were repeated
with far higher peals than had been formerly of _Vive le Roy!_ for those
loyal shouts were grown out of date, and the League in a manner had
abolished them.
There was a kind of madness in this transport, or rather in this furious
torrent of their joy, which was so extravagant, that it passed even to
idolatry. They haled and tore each other to get nearest to this prince;
those who were borne off by the throng to a farther distance, stretched
out their arms to him, with their hands clasped over their heads; they
thought themselves happy, who could crowd so near as to touch any part
of his cloak or boots. Some there were amongst them who kneeled to him,
when he was passing by; and others who, when they could not reach him
with their hands, endeavoured to touch him with their chaplets, which
they kissed when they had received that honour, as the custom is in
adoration at the shrines of saints. A thousand praises were given him,
and a thousand blessings. He was called aloud the pillar of the church,
the prop of faith, the protector of the Catholics, the saviour of Paris;
and from all the windows, there fell upon him a shower of flowers and of
greens, with redoubled acclamations of _Vive Guise!_
To conclude, no imaginable demonstrations and testimonies of love,
honour, and veneration, but were shewn to the height at this tumultuous
entry, by that sudden overflow of joy; and that wonderful dilatation of
hearts and affections, which was to him a sort of triumph, more pleasing
than any of the Cæsars. Accordingly he enjoyed the full gust of it, with
all the satisfaction of extreme pleasure; passing on horseback very
leisurely through that infinite press of people, bare-headed, beholding
them with a smiling countenance, and with that courteous and engaging
air, which was so natural to him; saluting on the right and on the left,
bowing to those below in the streets, and to those above in the windows,
not neglecting the very meanest, holding out his hand to the nearest,
and casting his obliging glances on the more remote, he passed in this
manner to the queen-mother’s palace, near St Eustache, where he alighted,
and from thence to the Louvre, following her on foot, who had taken her
chair to conduct him to the king, and was witness to those incredible
transports of public joy, and acclamations of that innumerable herd of
people, which beat her ears incessantly with the name of Guise, bellowed
from more than an hundred thousand mouths.
In the mean time, the king, who had heard, with infinite rage, of this
sudden arrival of the duke, was shut up in his closet, where he was in
consultation on that prince’s life or death; who had been so blindly
rash, as to precipitate himself, in his single person, into inevitable
danger, from whence only his good fortune (of which he was not master)
could deliver him. Some there were, and amongst others the Abbot
d’Elbene, and Colonel Alphonso d’Ornano, with the most resolute of those
Gascons, whom the Duke of Espernon had placed amongst the five-and-forty,
to be always near the king’s person, who counselled that irresolute and
wavering prince to dispatch him on the spot, having so fair a pretence,
and the means so ready in his hand, to punish a rebellious subject; who,
in opposition to his express orders, had audaciously presumed to come
to Paris, as it were on purpose to let him know, that he was absolute
master of it. The rest more moderate, and amongst them the Chancellor de
Chiverny, and the Sieurs de Bellievre, de la Guiche, and de Villequier,
governor of Paris, dissuaded him from that attempt, laying before him,
besides the dangerous consequences which this terrible action might
produce in such a juncture, that it always concerned him, both for his
reputation, and for the maintenance of the most inviolable laws of
natural equity, before he passed to extremities, to hear a man who came
to put himself so freely into the hands of his king, and to be answerable
for all that was alleged against him.
While these things were in debating, and the king in suspense betwixt his
anger and his fear, uncertain which way to resolve, the duke (who had
passed through the French guards commanded by Grillon, who loved him not,
and through the Swissers, which stood ranked on both sides of the great
stair-case, and afterwards had traversed the hall and the antichamber
filled with people, who made no very ceremonious returns to his
salutations and civilities) entered into the presence chamber, disguising
a sudden fright which seized him, intrepid as he was, with the best face
he could set upon the matter, which yet he could not act so well, but
that it was easy to discern through that affectation of bravery, that
he could have been well contented to have been in some other place, and
not to have engaged himself so far, especially when a certain princess
whispered him in the ear to have a care of himself, and that his life and
death were under consideration in the closet. Yet immediately after, as
his courage was usually raised at the sight of the greatest dangers, he
resumed his wonted boldness, and was not able to hinder himself, perhaps
by a sudden motion purely natural, and arising from the magnanimity of
his heart, from laying his hand on the pommel of his sword, without his
own perceiving it, and from stepping hastily two or three paces forward,
with a haughty walk, as if he were putting himself into a posture of
selling his life as dear as he was able to his enemies. But the king
at that instant coming out of the closet with Bellievre, he changed
posture suddenly, made a low reverence, and threw himself almost at
his feet; protesting to him, that not believing his presence ought to
be displeasing to him, he was come to bring him his head, and fully to
justify his carriage against the calumnies of his enemies; and withal to
assure his majesty, that he had not a more faithful servant than himself.
But the king demanding, in a grave and serious tone of voice, who had bid
him come, and if he had not received an express prohibition from him? the
business was then brought to a scanning, and some little contest there
was betwixt him and Bellievre, the last maintaining that he had delivered
him the king’s commands, and the former, instead of answer, asking
him if he had not engaged himself to return, with all possible speed,
to Soissons, which he had not done, and protesting that he had never
received those letters, which Bellievre justified he had written to him.
Then the queen, who, though she seemed to be in much affliction for the
duke’s arrival, yet held a private correspondence with him, broke off
the discourse, and, taking aside the king her son, she managed his mind
so dexterously, that, whether she made him apprehend a general revolt of
Paris, which she had seen so openly to own the Duke of Guise, or whether
he himself were mollified by the submissive humble way of speaking which
that prince had used, he contented himself for that time to tell him,
that his innocence, which he was so desirous to prove, would be more
manifest if his presence should cause no stirs in Paris; and thereupon
he sate down to table, remitting till the afternoon what he had farther
to say to him, and appointing the queen’s garden for the place. Then the
duke bowing very low, retired, without being accompanied by any of the
king’s servants, but as well attended by all the town, to the Hotel de
Guise, as he had been from the gate of St Denis to the Louvre.
When he had made reflection on the danger into which he had so rashly
thrown himself, and which now appeared more formidable, by considering
it with cooler thoughts, than he could possibly in that agitation of
spirits, and that anxiety wherein he was in spite of all his courage,
when he found himself so far engaged; he resolved he would never hazard
his life in that sort again, and took such order concerning it, that from
the next day, and so onward, he had in his palace four hundred gentlemen,
who assembling there from all parts of Paris, according to his orders,
never afterwards abandoned him. Neither would he adventure to go that
afternoon to the queen’s garden, but well accompanied by the bravest of
his officers, amongst whom Captain St Paul, seeing that after his master
was entered, he who kept the door was going to shut it on him, thrust
him back roughly, and entered by force, followed by his companions,
protesting and swearing, that if the game was there to be played, he was
resolved to have his stake in it.
So that if the king had designed to have him murdered in that garden,
which I believe not, though some have written it, it is easy to see that
the presence of those brave men, who were fully resolved to defend their
master, that of the queen, who made the third in this interview, the
daring countenance of the duke, who from time to time was casting his
eyes towards his sword, and to sum up all, that infinite multitude of
Parisians which encompassed the queen’s palace, and many of which were
got upon the walls, had hindered the execution of such a purpose.
For that which passed betwixt them at this conference, since I find
nothing of it in the most exact memoirs of those times, I shall not
offer to relate it, as Davila has done by a certain poetical licence
which he and some other historians have used, to make men think and speak
without their leave, whatever they please to put into their thoughts and
mouths. What I can deliver for undoubted truth is this, that there was
nothing concluded at this interview; and that the king, who had resolved
beforehand to chastise the most seditious of the sixteen, and to make
himself master of Paris, after a long consultation taken by night, with
those in whom he most confided, continued firm to the same resolution,
and set up his rest to stand by it, in spite of the arrival of the duke.
With this determination, he sent the next morning for the prevost of the
merchants, and the sheriffs, and commanded them, in company of the lords
De Villequier and Francis d’O. to make an exact search for all those
strangers who were come to Paris some few days since, without any urgent
occasion to call them thither, and to cause them forthwith to depart the
town, without respect of persons. This was a manifest endeavour to weaken
the Duke of Guise; to reduce him to those seven or eight gentlemen,
who attended him into Paris; and consequently to give him occasion of
believing, that after they had rid themselves of the others, they would
attack him.
Perhaps the design was so laid, as some have conjectured with probability
enough; but if this were really their intention, there are others, who
believe that, according to the advice which was given by the abbot of
Elbene, they had done more wisely to have begun with the Duke of Guise,
when they had him single, and at their mercy, coopt up in the Louvre:
and they ground this opinion on the meaning of that abbot’s words, who
quoted the scripture to this purpose, “It is written, I will strike the
shepherd, and the flock shall be scattered.” However it was intended,
the Parisians immediately took the alarm, perceiving clearly that those
strangers who were to be sent out of the city, were no others but those
very men whom the Duke of Guise had conveyed into the town for their
defence, and for his own. Insomuch that when they went about to execute
that order, and to search their houses, every one opposed them; and the
citizens set themselves with so much obstinacy to conceal their lodgers,
that the deputies and commissaries, fearing a general insurrection
through all the quarters, durst proceed no farther. And in the mean
time, the Duke of Guise, who was the soul that actuated this great body,
forbore not going to the Louvre, but well accompanied; and the very
evening before the barricades he presented the napkin to the king.
But, as after the flashes of the lightning, and the rattling of the
thunder, comes a furious tempest and lays waste the field; so after those
mutual fears and jealousies, those nightly meetings, those murmurs and
menaces, and those preparations which were made on both sides with so
much tumult, either for assaulting or for defence, they came to the fatal
day of the barricadoes, which was followed by that horrible deluge of
misfortunes, with which all France was overflowed.
For at last the king, more incensed than ever by the resistance which
was made to his orders, and fully resolved to make himself be obeyed one
way or other, caused the French guards to enter Paris, with some other
companies, and the Swissers, which in all made up six thousand men: this
was done on Thursday the twelfth of May, just at day break; he being
present himself to receive them on horseback, at the gate of Saint
Honoré. And after having given out his orders to their officers, to post
them according to his direction, he enjoined them above all things, to be
no ways injurious to the citizens, but only to repress the insolence of
such, who should go about to hinder the search for strangers: after which
himself retiring to the Louvre, the marshals d’Aumont and Biron, who were
at the head of the troops, went to post them with beat of drum, in the
church-yard of St Innocent, and the adjoining places, on the Pont Notre
Dame, on that of St Michael, on the Pont Au Change, at the town-house, at
the Greve, and at the avenues of the place Maubert.
It appeared immediately by what followed, that this was in effect to give
the signal of a mutiny and general revolt to all Paris. For a rumour
being spread, that the king had determined to put to death a great
number of the principal of the League, and a list being also forged of
their names who were to be executed, and shewn openly to the people, the
citizens, according to the order of their captains and overseers of their
wards, were in a readiness to put themselves into a posture of defence,
at the least motion that was made. For which reason, so soon as they
heard the drums and fifes, and that they beheld the Swissers and the
guards advancing through the street of Saint Honoré, they doubted not but
the report, which was noised about by the sixteen, was true; and farther
believed, (as they had been also assured,) that the town would be sacked
and exposed to pillage. The alarm therefore was given round the city:
they began by shutting up their shops, and the church doors on that side
of the town: they rang the tocsin (or alarm, bell) first in one parish,
and then in another; and immediately afterwards through all Paris, as if
the whole city had been on fire.
Then the citizens came out in arms, under the overseers of their wards,
and their captains, and other officers of the Duke of Guise, who had
mingled themselves amongst them, to encourage and to marshal them. The
Count of Brissac, who had placed himself at the quarter of the university
towards the place Maubert, (where Crucè, one of the most hot-headed of
the sixteen, caused the alarm to be sounded,) being himself encompassed
with a multitude of students, a rabble of porters, watermen, and
handicraftsmen, all armed, who waited only for the signal to assault
the Swissers, was the first who gave orders to chain the streets, to
unpave them, and erect the barricades, with great logs of timber, and
barrels filled with earth and dung, at the avenues of the palace: and
this word of barricades passing in a moment from mouth to mouth, from the
university into the city, and from the city into the town, the same was
done every where, and that with such exceeding haste, that before noon,
these barricades, which were continued from street to street, at the
distance of thirty paces from each other, well flanked and manned with
musqueteers, were advanced within fifty paces of the Louvre; insomuch
that the king’s soldiers found themselves so encompassed on every side,
that they could neither march forward nor retreat, nor make the least
motion, without exposing themselves unprofitably to the inevitable danger
of the musquet shot, (which the citizens could fire upon them without
missing, from behind their barricades,) or of being beaten down with a
tempest of stones, which came pouring upon their heads from every window.
The marshals d’Aumont and Biron, and Villequier the governor of Paris,
gained little by crying out to the citizens, that they intended them no
harm, for they were too much enraged to give them the hearing; and were
possessed with a belief of what Brissac, Bois Dauphin, and the other
creatures of the Duke of Guise, had told them; who roared out, on purpose
to envenom them against the royalists, that those troops which were
entered into Paris were sent for to no other end, than to make a general
massacre of all good Catholics, who were members of the Holy Union, and
to give up to the soldiers, their houses, their money, and their wives.
Upon this the musquet shot, and the stones from above, were redoubled on
those miserable men, and more especially upon the Swissers, to whom the
citizens were most inexorable.
More than threescore were either slain, or dangerously hurt, as well in
St Innocent’s church-yard, as below on the place Maubert, without giving
quarter, till Brissac (who with his sword in his hand was continually
pushing forward the barricades) arriving there, and beholding those
poor strangers, who cried out for mercy, with clasped hands, and both
knees on the ground, and sometimes making the sign of the cross, in
testimony of their being Catholics, stopped the fury of the citizens, and
commanding them to cry out _vive Guise!_ which they did as loud as they
could for safe-guard of their lives, he satisfied himself with leading
them disarmed and prisoners into the Boucherie of the new market, by the
bridge of St Michael, which he had already mastered.
It cannot be denied, but that this count was he, amongst all the
Leaguers, who acted with the most ardour against the royalists on that
fatal day; as being infinitely exasperated, because the king had refused
him the admiralty, and refused it in a manner so disobliging, as to say
openly he was a man that was good for nothing either by sea or land,
accusing him at the same time, that he had not done his duty in the
battle of the Azores, where the navy of Philippo Strozzi was defeated by
the marquis of Santa-Cruz, he burned inwardly with desire of revenge.
And when he saw the soldiers inclosed on all sides, by the barricades,
which were of his raising, and the Swissers at his mercy, it is reported,
that he cried out, as insulting on the king, with a bitter scoff, and
magnifying himself at the same time; “At least the king shall understand
to day, that I have found my element; and though I am good for nothing,
either at sea or land, yet I am some body in the streets.”
In this manner it was, that the people, making use of their advantage,
still pushed their fortune more and more and seemed to be just upon the
point of investing the Louvre; while the Duke of Guise, by whose secret
orders all things were regularly managed amidst that horrible confusion,
was walking almost unaccompanied in his own house, and coldly answering
the queen, and those who came one on the neck of another, with messages
to him from the king, intreating him to appease the tumult, that he was
not master of those wild beasts which had escaped the toils; and that
they were in the wrong to provoke them as they had done.
But at last, when he perceived that all things were absolutely at his
command, he went himself from barricade to barricade, with only a riding
switch in his hand, forbidding the people who paid a blind obedience to
him, from proceeding any farther; and desiring them to keep themselves
only on the defensive. He spoke also very civilly to the French guards,
who at that time were wholly in his power, to be disposed of as he
thought good, for life or death. Only he complained to their officers, of
the violent counsels which his enemies had given the king to oppress his
innocence, and that of so many good Catholics, who had united themselves
on no other consideration than the defence and support of the ancient
religion. After which, he gave orders to captain St Paul, to reconduct
those soldiers to the Louvre; but their arms were first laid down, and
their heads bare, in the posture of vanquished men, that he might give
that satisfaction to the Parisians, who beheld the spectacle with joy,
as the most pleasing effect of their present victory. He also caused the
Swissers to be returned in the same manner by Brissac, and gave the king
to understand, that, provided the Catholic religion were secured and
maintained in France, in the condition it ought to be, and that himself
and his friends were put in safety from the attempts of their enemies,
they would pay him all manner of duty and service, which is owing from
good subjects to their lord and sovereign.
This, in my opinion, makes it evident, that the duke had never any
intention to seize the person of the king, and to inclose him in
a monastery, as that Nicholas Poulain, who gave in so many false
informations, and many writers, as well of the one religion as of the
other, have endeavoured to make the world believe. For if that had been
his purpose, what could have hindered him from causing the Louvre to be
invested; as he might easily have done the same day, by carrying on the
barricades close to it, while the tumult was at the height; and for what
reason did he return the French guards and Swissers to the king, if his
intention had been to have attacked him in the Louvre? This was not his
business, nor his present aim, but to defend and protect his Leaguers
with a high hand, and to avail himself of so favourable an opportunity,
to obtain the thing which he demanded; and which, doubtless, had put him
into a condition of mounting the throne after the king’s decease, and
becoming absolute master of all affairs even during his life.
In effect, the queen having undertaken to make the reconcilement,
as believing that thereby she might re-enter into the management of
business, from which the favourites had removed her, and having asked
him what were his pretensions, he proposed such extravagant terms, and
with so much haughtiness and resolvedness, speaking like a conqueror, who
took upon him to dispose, at his pleasure, of the vanquished, that, as
dexterous as she was in the art of managing men’s minds, from the very
beginning of the conference she despaired of her success. For, enhancing
upon the articles of Nancy, he demanded, that, for the security of the
Catholic religion in this realm, the king of Navarre, and all the princes
of the house of Bourbon, who had followed him in these last wars, should
be declared to have forfeited for ever their right of succeeding to the
crown: That the duke of Espernon, La Valeite his brother, Francis d’O.,
the marshals of Retz and of Biron, colonel Alphonso d’Ornano, and all
others who, like them, were favourers of the Huguenots, or were found
to have held any correspondence with them, should be deprived of their
governments and offices, and banished from the court, without hope of
ever being restored again: That the spoils of all these should be given
to the princes of his house, and to those lords who had engaged with
him, of whom he made a long list: That the king should cashier his guard
of five-and-forty, as a thing unknown in the time of his predecessors;
protesting that otherwise he could place no manner of confidence in him,
nor ever dare to approach his person: That it would please his majesty
to declare him his lieutenant-general through all his estates, with the
same authority which the late Duke of Guise his father had, under the
reign of Francis the Second; by virtue of which he hoped to give him so
good an account of Huguenots, that in a little time there should remain
no other but the Catholic religion in all his kingdom. To conclude, that
there should be called immediately an assembly of the three estates,
to sit at Paris, where all this should be confirmed, and to hinder for
the future, that the minions, who would dispose of all things at their
pleasure, should not abuse their favour; that there should be established
an unchangeable form of government, which it should not be in the power
of the king to alter.
It is most evident, that demands so unreasonable, so arrogant, and so
offensive, tended to put the government, and the power of it, into the
duke’s hands, who, being master of the armies, the offices, and the
governments of the most principal provinces, in his own person, by his
relations, his creatures, and the estates, where he doubted not of
carrying all before him, especially at Paris, would be the absolute
disposer of affairs; insomuch that there would be nothing wanting to him
but the crown itself, to which it is very probable that at this time he
pretended, in case he should survive the king, to the exclusion of the
Bourbons, whom he would have declared incapable of succeeding to it.
For which reason, the queen seeing that he would recede from no part of
these articles, and beginning to fear that he would go farther than she
desired, counselled the king to get out of Paris with all speed, while
it was yet in his power so to do. And though some of his chief officers,
as amongst others the chancellor de Chiverny, and the Sieurs of Villeroy
and Villequier, who were of opinion that more would be gained by the
negotiation, and who foresaw that the Huguenots and the Duke of Espernon,
whom they had no great cause to love, would make their advantage of this
retreat so unworthy of a king, endeavoured to dissuade him from it, yet
a thousand false advertisements, which came every moment, that they were
going to invest the Louvre, and his accustomed fear, together with the
diffidence he had of the Duke of Guise, whom he considered at that time
as his greatest enemy, caused him at the last to resolve on his departure.
Accordingly, about noon the next day, while the queen-mother went to the
duke with propositions only to amuse him, the king making shew to take a
turn or two in the Thuilleries, put on boots in the stables, and getting
on horseback, attended by fifteen or sixteen gentlemen, and by ten or
twelve lacqueys, having caused notice to be given to his guards to follow
him, went out by the Pont Neuf, riding always on full gallop, for fear
of being pursued by the Parisians, till, having gained the ascent above
Challiot, he stopt his horse to look back on Paris. It is said, that then
reproaching that great city, which he had always honoured, and enriched
by his royal presence, and upbraiding its ingratitude, he swore he would
not return into it but through a breach, and that he would lay it so low,
that it should never more be in a condition of lifting up itself against
the king. After this he went to lodge that night at Trappes, and the next
morning arrived at Chartres; where his officers, those of his council,
and the courtiers, came up to him, one after another, in great disorder;
some on foot, others on horseback without boots, several on their mules,
and in their robes, every man making his escape as he was best able,
and in a great hurry, for fear of being stopped; in short, all of them
in a condition not unlike the servants of David, at his departure from
Jerusalem, travelling in a miserable equipage after their distressed
master, when he fled before the rebel Absalom.
The Duke of Guise, who, on the one side, had been unwilling to push
things to an extremity, to the end he might make his treaty with the
king, and that it might not be said he was not at liberty; and on the
other side, not believing that he would have gone away in that manner, as
if he fled from his subjects, who, stopping short of the Louvre by fifty
paces, seemed unwilling to pursue their advantage any farther, was much
surprised at this retreat, which broke the measures he had taken; but
as he was endued with an admirable presence of mind, and that he could
at a moment’s warning accommodate his resolutions to any accident, how
unexpected or troublesome soever, he immediately applied himself to put
Paris in a condition of fearing nothing, to quiet all things there, and
restore them to their former tranquillity, and withal to give notice to
the whole kingdom how matters had passed at the barricades, as much to
his own advantage as possibly he could.
To this effect he possessed himself of the strongest places in the city,
of the Temple, of the Palace, of the town-house, of the two Chastelets,
of the gates where he set guards, of the arsenal, and of the Bastille,
which was surrendered to him too easily by the governor Testu; the
government of which he gave to Bussy Le Clerc, the most audacious of
the sixteen. He obliged the magistrates to proceed in the courts of
judicature as formerly; he made a new provost of merchants, and sheriffs,
a lieutenant civil, colonels, and captains of the several wards, all
devoted to the League, in the room of those whom he suspected; he
retook, without much trouble, all the places both above and below on the
river, that the passages for provisions might be free; he wrote at last
to the king, to the towns, and to his particular friends, and drew up
manifests (or declarations) in a style, which had nothing in it but what
was great and generous; while he endeavoured to justify his proceedings,
and at the same time to preserve the respect which was owing to the
king, protesting always that he was most ready to pay him an entire
obedience, and that he proposed nothing to himself, but that provision
should be made for the safety of religion, and of good Catholics, which
were designed to be oppressed through the pernicious counsels of such as
held intelligence with heretics, and projected nothing but the ruin of
religion and the state.
These letters, together with those which the Parisians wrote to the
other towns, exhorting all men to combine with them for their common
preservation in the Catholic faith, and those of the king, which on the
contrary were written in too soft a style, and where there appeared
more of fear and of excuse than of resentment and just complaint for so
sacrilegious an attempt, had this effect, that the greatest part of the
people, far from being scandalized at the barricades, approved them,
loudly praising the conduct of the Duke of Guise, whom they believed to
be full of zeal for the Catholic faith, for the good of the kingdom, and
for the service of the king. And as he desired nothing so much as to
confirm them in that opinion, he was willing that the body of the city
should send their deputies to the king, humbly to beseech his majesty,
that he would forget what was passed, and return to his good town of
Paris, where his most loyal subjects were ready to give him all the
highest demonstrations of their obedience and devotion to his service.
He permitted that even processions should be made in the habit of
penitents, to desire of God, that he would please to mollify the king’s
heart; and this was performed with so much ardour, that there was one
which went from Paris as far as Chartres, in a most extraordinary
equipage, under the conduct of the famous friar Ange. This honest
father was Henry de Joyeuse, Count of Bouchage, and brother to the late
duke. He had given up himself to be a capuchin about a year before this
time; having such strong impressions made upon him, by the death and
good example of his wife, Catharine de Nogaret, sister to the Duke of
Espernon, that he was inflamed with a desire of repentance; insomuch,
that neither the tears of his brother, nor the intreaties and favours
of the king, who loved him exceedingly, nor the ardent solicitations
of all the court, were able to remove him from the resolution he had
taken of leading so austere a life. This noble friar, having put a
crown of thorns upon his head, and carrying an overgrown cross upon
his shoulders, followed by his fraternity, and by a great number of
penitents, and others who represented in their habits the several persons
of the Passion, led on that procession, singing psalms and litanies.
The march of these penitents was so well managed, that they entered the
great church of Chartres, just as the king was there at vespers. As they
entered, they began to sing the _Miserere_, in a very doleful tone; and
at the same time, two swinging friars, armed with disciplines, laid
lustily on poor friar Ange, whose back was naked. The application was not
hard to make, nor very advantageous to the Parisians; for the charitable
creature seemed evidently to desire the king, that he would please to
pardon them, as Jesus Christ was willing to forgive the Jews for those
horrible outrages which they had committed against him.
A spectacle so surprising produced different effects in the minds of the
standers by; according to the variety of their tempers, some of them
were melted into compassion, others were moved to laughter, and some
even to indignation; and more than all the rest, the Marshal de Biron,
who, having no manner of relish for this sort of devotion, and fearing,
besides, that some dangerous Leaguers might have crowded in amongst them,
with intention to preach the people into a mutiny, counselled the king
to clap them up in prison every mother’s son. But that good prince, who,
notwithstanding all his faults, had a stock of piety at the bottom, and
much respect for all things that related to religion, rejected wholly
this advice. He listened to them much more favourably than he had heard
all the harangues of the former deputies; and promised to grant them
the pardon they desired for the town, which he had so much favoured,
on condition they would return to their obedience. And truly, it is
exceeding probable, that he had so done from that very time, if they had
not afterwards given him fresh provocations, by proposing the terms on
which they insisted for the peace, which they desired.
For the Duke of Guise, to whom all these fair appearances were very
serviceable, and could be no ways prejudicial, and who always pursued his
designs in a direct line, knew so well to manage the disposition of the
queen-mother, who had seemed at first to be much startled at his demands,
that he recalled her with much dexterity into his interests, by working
on those two passions which were rooted in her soul. She desired to raise
to the throne, after the death of the king her son, her grandson Henry
de Lorrain, Marquis du Pont; and believed that the Duke of Guise would
contribute to it all that was in his power. But as cunning as she was,
she saw not into the bottom of that prince, who fed her only with vain
hopes of that succession for another, to which he personally aspired.
She infinitely hated the Duke of Espernon; and believing he was the
man, who, having possessed himself of the king’s soul, had rendered her
suspected to him, longed to turn him out of court; promising herself,
by that means, to be re-established in the management of affairs, from
which the favourites had removed her. And the Duke of Guise, who had as
little kindness as herself for the Duke of Espernon, concurred in the
same design with at least as much earnestness, but for a much different
end, for he desired to be absolute himself. In this manner, this subtle
prince, always dissembling, and artificially hiding the true motives by
which he acted, drew the queen at last to consent to all that he desired;
and, above all, to give her allowance, that a request should be presented
to the king, in the name of the cardinals, the princes, the peers of
France, the lords, the deputies of Paris, and the other towns, and of
all the Catholics united for the defence of the Catholic, Apostolic, and
Roman religion.
This request, which, in the manner of its expressions, was couched in
most respectful terms, contained, notwithstanding, in the bottom of it,
certain propositions, at least as hard as the Articles of Nancy; and
even as those, which, not long before, were proposed to the queen by the
Duke of Guise. For after a protestation in the beginning of it, that in
whatsoever had passed till that present time, there had been nothing
done, but by a pure zeal for God’s honour, and for the preservation of
his church, they demand of the king, that he would make war with the
Huguenots, and that he would conclude no peace till all heresies were
rooted out: That it would please him to use the service of the Duke of
Guise, in so just and holy an undertaking: That he would drive out of
the court, and despoil of all their offices, all those who held a secret
correspondence with the Huguenots, and principally the Duke of Espernon,
and his brother La Valette; against whom there are recited, in that
request, all imaginable crimes that could be thought most capable of
rendering them odious and insupportable to the whole kingdom: That he
would deliver the nation from the just apprehensions it had, of falling
one day under the power and dominion of heretics: And (that there might
be given to the city of Paris a full assurance henceforth to enjoy a
perfect tranquillity without fear of oppression,) he would not only
please to confirm the new provosts and sheriffs, but that also the said
city may have full and entire liberty for the future, to make choice of
such as shall succeed in those places, and in those of city colonels and
captains.
This request was extremely displeasing to the king, who saw but too
clearly, that their intention was to give the law to him hereafter whom
they had first so haughtily affronted. He therefore caused it to be
examined in his council, where there was but small agreement, because
the members of it were divided in their interests. There were but two
methods to be taken on that subject; either for the king to join with the
League against the Huguenots, as the request demanded, or to make war
against the League with all his power, in conjunction with the Huguenots;
for unless he espoused one of these interests, it was impossible for
him to succeed. Those of the council who loved not the Duke of Espernon,
who were many, and who feared that the acting of the king’s forces, in
combination with the Huguenots, would prove of great prejudice to his
reputation, and of greater to religion, were for the former proposition
and council, that all differences should be accommodated in the best
manner they could with the Duke of Guise,—which was also the desire of
the queen-mother; but the rest, who, for the most part, consisted of
those persons whose disgrace and banishment was demanded in the request,
insisted strongly on the second, and gave their voice for a war to be
made against the duke to the uttermost; fortifying their opinion by
the number of forces which the king might raise promiscuously, both
from Catholics and Protestants, because this was not a war of religion,
but that the sovereign only armed himself to quell and chastise his
rebellious subjects.
It would be a matter of much difficulty to tell precisely, what was
the true resolution which the king took betwixt the extremes of these
different counsels; but it may be told for a certain truth, that having a
long time deliberated, and that much more in his own breast than with his
council, he seemed at length, all on the sudden, to pitch upon the first;
whether it were, that being, as he was, a good Catholic, and hating the
Huguenots, he could not yet come to a resolution of uniting himself to
them; or were it, that he thought not himself at that time strong enough,
even with the king of Navarre’s assistance, to destroy the League, which
was grown more powerful than ever since the barricades, and headed by a
man so able, so bold, and so successful, as the Duke of Guise; or lastly,
as many have believed, that being strongly persuaded he should never be
in safety, nor be master in his kingdom, while that prince, whom he hated
mortally, was living, he took up, from that very moment, a resolution
within himself to dispatch him out of the world; and, that he might draw
him into the net which he was spreading for him, was willing to grant in
a manner whatsoever he desired, as if it were done in contemplation of a
peace.
Whatsoever were his true motive, (for I desire not that random guesses
should be taken for truths,) it is certain, that though the king was
highly exasperated against the League, yet he answered their request with
much gentleness and moderation, assuring them that he would assemble the
three estates at Blois, in the month of September, there to advise of the
means to give them satisfaction, and to deliver them from the jealousy
they had of falling one day under the dominion of a Huguenot prince;
that for what related to the Duke of Espernon, he would do them justice,
like an equitable king, and would make it manifest that he preferred the
public welfare before the consideration of any private person.
Accordingly, in the first place, that duke was despoiled of his
government of Normandy, commanded to depart from court, and retire
himself to Angouleme. Not long time afterwards, the king concluded a
treaty with the lords of the League, to whom, besides the places which
they had already in possession, the towns of Montreuil, Orleans, and
Bourges, were given for six years. A publication of the Council of Trent
was promised, with provision against that part of it which was contrary
to the liberties of the Gallican church. There was given to the Duke of
Guise, instead of the title of constable, that of head of the French
Gendarmerie, which signifies the same thing. Two armies were promised
to be raised against the Huguenots; one in Dauphine, under the command
of the Duke of Mayenne; and the other in Saintonge and Poitou, which
should be commanded by a general of the king’s own choice: For the new
constable, under another name, would not be so far from court, lest
his absence from thence might be of ill consequence to his party. In
conclusion, the king caused to be published the famous edict of July,
which he commanded to be called the Edict of the Reunion, where he did
more in favour of the League, than the League itself desired from him.
For, after having declared in that edict, that he would have all his
subjects united to himself; that, in like manner as their souls are
redeemed with the same price, by the blood of our Lord and Saviour Jesus
Christ, so also they and their posterity should be one body with him,—he
swears, that he will employ all his forces, without sparing his proper
life, to exterminate from his realm all heresies condemned by councils,
and principally by that of Trent, without ever making any peace or
truce with heretics, or any edict in their favour. He wills, that all
princes, lords, gentlemen, and inhabitants of towns, and, generally, all
his subjects, as well ecclesiastical as secular, should take the same
oath: That farther, they should swear and promise, for the time present,
and for ever, after it shall have pleased God to dispose of his life,
without having given him issue male, not to receive for king, any prince
whatsoever who shall be a heretic, or a promoter of heresy. He declares
rebels, and guilty of high treason, and to have forfeited all privileges
which have formerly been granted to them, all persons and all towns which
shall refuse to take this oath, and sign this union. He promises never
to bestow any military employment, but on such as shall make a signal
profession of the Roman Catholic religion; and prohibits, in express
terms, that any man whosoever shall be admitted to the exercise of any
office of judicature, or any employment belonging to the treasury,
whose profession of the Roman Catholic religion appears not under the
attestation of the bishop, or his substitutes, or at least of the curates
or their vicars, together with the deposition of ten witnesses, all
qualified and unsuspected persons. He also swears to hold for his good
and loyal subjects, and to protect and defend, as well those who have
always followed the League, as those others who have formerly united and
associated themselves against the heretics; and that at this present he
unites them to himself, to the end they may all act together in order
to one common end: And that he holds for null, and as never done, that
which seems to have been done against him, as well in the town of Paris
as elsewhere; particularly since the twelfth of May to the day of the
publication of this edict; without future molestation, or bringing into
trouble any person whomsoever, for any thing relating to the premises.
But he also wills, that all his subjects, of what quality soever, swear,
that they will and do renounce all leagues and confederations, as well
without as within the realm, which are contrary to this union, on pain of
being punished as infringers of their oath, and guilty of high treason.
This edict was verified in parliament the one-and-twentieth of July, and
published immediately after; being received with extraordinary transports
of joy by the Leaguers, who believed, that by it they had obtained a
clear victory against the king, whom they beheld entirely subjected to
the will and good pleasure of their heads. He himself also, as it is
reported, with profound dissimulation, endeavoured all he was able to
confirm them in that opinion, by making public demonstrations of his
joy and satisfaction for the peace. He was very solicitous to cause his
edict to be signed by all the princes and lords who were then at court:
He proclaimed the convention of the three estates at Blois, which was to
be at the beginning of October following: He procured the letters patent
for the Duke of Guise’s commission of intendant-general over all his
armies, with the same power which is annexed to that of constable, to be
verified in parliament: He received him at Chartres, with such particular
tokens of esteem, affection, and trust, that it was believed the tender
friendship which was betwixt them, when the king was then but Duke of
Anjou, was once more renewed: He favoured all his creatures, on whom
he bestowed considerable employments; and, at last, to satisfy him in
that point which of all others was most nice, he caused the cardinal of
Bourbon to be solemnly declared the next of blood to him, by allowing him
all the privileges and prerogatives which belong to the heir presumptive
of the crown. After all, as it is almost impossible that a violent
passion in the soul, what care soever be taken to conceal it, should not
discover itself by its consequences, and by some indications which break
out even from the closest men; so this prince, as great a master as he
was in the art of dissimulation, could not act his part so well, but
that he gave occasion to those who were more clear-sighted, to believe,
or at leastwise to suspect, that all which at that time was done by him,
to testify his joy, was only to cover his indignation and his hatred,
which urged him incessantly to revenge himself on those from whom he had
received such unworthy usage.
For, being departed from Chartres, and going thence to Rouen, where he
made the edict of reunion, he would never be persuaded to go to Paris
at his return, what instance soever the deputies of the parliament, and
those of the town, could make to him; always alleging faint excuses,
which he grounded only on the preparations which he was to make in order
to his meeting the estates at Blois. He still retained near his person
his guard of the five-and-forty, which the Duke of Guise had requested
him to dismiss. He gave the command of the army designed for Poitou to
the Duke of Nevers, whom the Duke of Guise, his brother-in-law, could
never endure since his renunciation of the League. He admitted none
to his private friendship but the Marshal d’Aumont, the Lord Nicholas
d’Angennes de Rambouillet, Colonel Alphonso d’Ornano, and some few
others, who were no friends to the Duke of Guise.
In fine, that which made the greatest noise, was, that the Chancellor
de Chiverny, the Presidents Bellievre and Brulart, and the Sieurs de
Villeroy and Pinart, (the two secretaries of state, who had given him
advice to accommodate matters with the Duke of Guise,) were absolutely
disgraced. The queen-mother, who had managed that accommodation, had
little or no part in business, and was wholly excluded from the cabinet
council. The seals were given to Francis de Monthelon, a famous advocate,
a man of rare integrity, and of inviolable fidelity to the king’s
service, who raised him to that high employment, without his own seeking,
at the recommendation of the Duke of Nevers, who was known to be on very
ill terms with the Duke of Guise.
All this was sufficient, without doubt, to alarm that prince, and give
him caution to look about him, or at least to suspect the king’s
intentions towards him; but the flourishing condition wherein he was
placed, the applauses which were given him both by the people and by the
court itself, which admired both his conduct and his perpetual felicity,
and regarded him as arbitrator and master of affairs, and the certain
opinion which he had, that all things would go for him in the estates,
had so far blinded him, that he believed it was not in the power of
fortune to do him any prejudice, not so much as to shake him, or to give
the smallest stop to the full career of his success. Thus he entered as
it were in triumph into Blois at the end of September; and the king came
thither about the same time, to order the preparations for the estates.
He commanded, that all future proceedings should be as it were sanctified
by two solemn and conspicuous acts of piety; which were a most devout and
magnificent procession made on the first Sunday of October, the second
day of that month, and by a general communion, taken by all the deputies
on the Sunday following, the ninth of the same month; on which the king,
in token of a perfect reconcilement, received, with the Duke of Guise,
the precious body of Jesus Christ from the hands of the Cardinal de
Bourbon, in the church of Saint Saviour. After which, all those who were
expected being at length arrived, the assembly of the states was opened
on Sunday the sixteenth of that month, in the great hall of the castle of
Blois.
As it is not my business to say any thing of this assembly, which relates
not precisely to the history of the League, I shall not trouble myself
with every particular which passed in it. I shall only say, that the
king, who was naturally eloquent, opened the assembly with an excellent
oration; wherein, after he had, in a most majestic manner, and with most
pathetic words, exhorted the deputies to their duty, he either could
not, or would not, conceal from them, that he had not so far forgotten
the past actions, but that he had taken up a firm resolution, to inflict
an exemplary punishment on such who should persist in acting against
his authority, and continue to be still possessed with that spirit of
leaguing and caballing, which was upon the point of ruining the state;
neither would he henceforth spare those who should have any other union
than that which the members ought to have with their head, and subjects
with their sovereign.
This touched so sensibly the Leaguers of that assembly, and principally
their head, who looked on this speech as particularly addressed to
himself, that they proceeded even to threatening, that they would break
off the estates by their departure, if the king, who had commanded his
speech to be printed, would not give order to suppress it, or at least
correct that passage. There are some who affirm, that, after a rough
dispute concerning it, the king permitted at last that something should
be altered, and the harshness of his expressions a little mollified;
but there are others, and even of their number, who heard it spoken,
who assure us, that it came out in public in the same terms it was
pronounced. However it were, it is certain, that this complaint of theirs
much exasperated the king’s mind, who saw clearly by this proceeding,
that the League, notwithstanding its reunion with him, had still a
separate interest of its own, and extremely opposite to his.
I will adventure to say farther, that he was then fully persuaded of it,
when he perceived, that the Duke of Guise, who was the true head of it,
was evidently more powerful than himself in those estates. For besides,
that the greatest part of the deputies had been elected by the factious
intrigues of his dependants in the provinces, those who were chosen to
preside over the several orders, that is to say, the Cardinals of Bourbon
and of Guise for the clergy; the Count of Brissac and the Baron of Magnac
for the nobility; and the provost of merchants, La Chapelle Martau, for
the third order, were all of them entirely at the duke’s devotion.
Insomuch, that at the second session, after the edict of reunion had been
solemnly confirmed, sworn to again, and passed into a fundamental law
of the state, when the petitions of the three orders were read, he saw,
that, under pretence of desiring to reform some abuses which were crept
into the state, they were filled with an infinite number of propositions,
which tended to the manifest diminution, or rather the annihilation, of
the royal authority; and to reduce the government to that pass, that
there should remain to the king no more than the empty name and vain
appearance of a sovereign monarch; and that all the real and essential
part of sovereignty should be in the League, which absolutely depended on
the Duke of Guise.
Yet, farther, they were not satisfied barely to propose these things;
leaving to the king, according to the ancient laws and constitution of
the monarchy, the power of either passing or refusing them, according to
his pleasure, after they had been well examined in his council; but they
pretended, that after they had been received by the consent of the three
orders, they should become laws of course, and be inviolable, so that
the king should not have the power either to change or abrogate them in
his council. Then they would have an abatement of taxes and imposts; but
so much out of measure, that they took away from the king the means of
making that war in which themselves had engaged him. They would also,
that the council of Trent should be received absolutely, and without
modification. And the famous attorney-general Jaques de Faye d’Espesses,
who, in a great assembly held on that occasion, maintained, with strength
of reason, against some decrees of that council, the prerogatives of the
king (or regalia,) and the immunities of the Gallican church, was so
ill treated there, though he had baffled the archbishop of Lyons, who
undertook to destroy those privileges, that the king, who was affronted
in the person of his attorney, was not a little displeased at their
proceedings.
But above all things they were urgent with him, and pressed it with
incredible obstinacy, that the king of Navarre, who at the same time
had assembled the estates of his party at Rochelle, and from thence had
sent to those at Blois, intimating his desire of a general council to
be summoned, where all things might be accommodated, should from that
time forward be declared incapable of ever succeeding to the crown. They
had made a decree concerning this, by consent of the three orders, at
the particular instance of the order of the clergy. And the king, who
clearly foresaw the terrible consequences of this unparalleled injustice,
and who was plyed incessantly to subscribe it, was not able to defend
himself otherwise, than by amusing them with delays, and rubs which he
dextrously caused to be thrown in their way, on sundry pretences. It
was not doubted, but that the Duke of Guise, (who, having two thirds
of the estates for him, was consequently the master there,) was author
of all these propositions, so contrary to the true interests and
authority of the king, especially when it was evident, that he employed
all his managers, to cause himself to be declared in the estates,
lieutenant-general through the whole kingdom, as if he would possess
himself of that supreme command, without dependance on the king, and that
he pretended his prince to be no more his master, as not having power to
deprive him of a dignity which he was to hold, from a commission given
him by others.
All these things, so unworthy of the majesty of a great king, at the
length quite wearied out his patience; which, after so long dissembling
his injuries, on the sudden broke out into the extremity of rage;
insomuch, that those among his confidents, who ardently desired the
destruction of the duke for their own advantage, found not the least
trouble in passing on the king for truths, many reports, and oftentimes
very groundless rumours, which ran of the duke; adding to them, that it
was he, who underhand had drawn the Duke of Savoy to possess himself
of the marquisate of Saluces, as he had lately done. And this they
confidently affirmed, though the duke, by his own interest in the
estates, had procured them to vote a war against the Savoyard. Thus,
whether it were that the king had long since resolved to rid his hands
of the Duke of Guise, in revenge of some ancient grudge and sense of
the affronts he had received from him, particularly on that fatal day
of the barricades; or were it, that, being sincerely reconciled to him,
he had taken, or perhaps resumed, that resolution when he saw him act
against him in the estates, of which he had made himself the master, and
believing his own condition desperate, if he made not haste to prevent
him, most certain it is, that he deliberated no more, but only concerning
the manner of executing what he had determined.
He had only two ways to chuse; the one by justice, first committing
him, and afterwards making his process; the other by fact, which was to
have him slain. He managed this consultation with exceeding secrecy,
admitting only four or five of his confidents, on whom he most relied.
One of these was Beauvais Nangis, who, having served the king well, in
his army against the Reyters, was restored so fully to his favour, that
in recompence of the command of colonel of the French infantry, which the
Duke of Espernon had got over his head, he made him afterwards admiral
of France, though he never enjoyed that great dignity, which he had only
under the signet.
This lord, who was as prudent and temperate in council, as prompt and
daring in execution, concluded for the methods of justice, maintaining
that they were not only the more honest, but also the more safe, because
the fear alone which would possess the duke’s party, lest they should
kill him, in case they attempted to deliver him by force, and by that
means hinder the course of justice, would stop all manner of such
proceeding, and restrain them within the terms of duty: That after all,
if he were once made prisoner, which might be done without noise or
tumult, it would be easy to give him such judges, as should soon dispatch
his trial, and that afterwards he might be executed in prison, according
to the laws. But if, on the contrary, they should enter crudely on so
bloody an execution, there was danger lest that action, which was never
to be well justified, and which the Leaguers would certainly cause to
pass in the world for tyrannical and perfidious, might raise a rebellion
in the greatest part of France, which had already declared so loudly for
that prince, whom they regarded as the pillar of religion, and would
afterwards look on as the martyr of it. But the rest, who believed it
impossible on that occasion to observe the ordinary forms of law and
justice, and thought that, the head being once cut off, the body of the
League would immediately fall like a dead body, were of opinion, that he
should be dispatched with all possible speed, which was easy to perform,
especially in the castle, where the Duke was almost hourly in the king’s
power, whom he had in no manner of distrust, as sufficiently appeared by
his lodging there.
In the meantime, it is most certain, that this secret was not kept so
close, but that he received advertisement from more than one of his
imminent danger, and that his death already was resolved. And he slighted
not so much these informations, as intrepid as he was, or as he affected
to appear, by replying continually, they dare not, but that two or three
days before his death, he consulted on this affair, which so nearly
concerned him, with the cardinal of Guise his brother, the archbishop
of Lyons, the president de Neuilly, the provost of the merchants, and
the Sieur de Mandrevile governor of St Menehoud, on whom he principally
relied. In weighing those proofs which in a manner were indubitable,
that a design was laid against him, they were unanimously of opinion,
that the safest course was to be taken, and that under some pretence or
other he should instantly retire. Excepting only the archbishop, who
continued obstinate to the contrary, fortifying his opinion with this
argument, that since he was upon the point of carrying all things in
the estates according to his wish, he ran the hazard of loosing all by
leaving them; and, that for the rest, it was not credible that the king
should be so ill advised, as to incur the manifest danger of ruining
himself, by striking that unhappy blow. To which Mandrevile replied,
swearing, that for a man of sense, as he was, he was the worst arguer he
ever knew. “For,” said he, “you talk of the king, as if he were a wary
and cool-headed prince, looking before him at every step; and will not
understand that he is only a hot-brained fool, who thinks no farther than
how to execute what his two base passions, fear and hatred which possess
him, have once made sink into his imagination, and never considers what
a wise man ought to do on this occasion. It were a folly, therefore, for
the duke to hazard himself in such a manner, and to be moved by so weak a
reason, to lose all in a moment.”
It is wonderful to observe, that the most clear-sighted men, who have
it in their power if they will use the means before them, to avoid that
which is called their destiny, after the misfortune is happened, should
suffer themselves to be dragged and hurried to it as it were by force,
in spite of their understanding and their foresight, which their own
rashness, and not a pretended fatality, renders unprofitable to them.
It is reported, that the Duke of Guise confessed that this discourse
of Mandrevile carried the greater force of reason; yet nevertheless,
he added, that having gone so far forward as he then was, if he should
see death coming in at the windows upon him, he would not give one step
backward to the door, though by so doing, he were certain to avoid it.
Nevertheless, it is very probable, that the encouragement he had to
speak with so much loftiness and resolution, was the assurance, which he
thought he had, that the king, whose genius he knew, particularly since
the day when he entered into the Louvre, where the duke gave himself for
lost, would never afterwards dare to take up so bold a resolution as to
kill him.
It is certain, that when the Sieur de Vins, one of his greatest
confidents, had written to him from Provence, that he should beware of
keeping so near the king, and not rely on those large testimonies of his
affection, which he said he had received; the duke answered him, that he
reposed not the hopes of his own safety on the king’s virtue, whom he
knew to be ill natured, and a hypocrite, but on his judgment and on his
fear; because it was not credible, but he must needs understand, that he
himself was ruined in case he made any attempt against his person. But
he learned, at his own cost, by the unhappy experiment which he made,
that it had been better for him to have followed the wise advice which
was given him, and which he himself had approved, than a bare conjecture,
and the impulse of his inborn generosity, which his bloody and lamentable
death, as things are commonly judged by their event, has caused to pass
in the world for an effect of the greatest rashness.
It ought not here to be expected, that I should dwell on an exact and
long description of all the circumstances of that tragical action, which
has been so unfortunate to France, and so ill received in the world.
Besides that they are recounted, in very different manners, by the
historians of one and the other religion, according to their different
passions, and that the greatest part of them are either false, or have
little in them worth observation; the thing was done with so great
facility and precipitation, and withal in so brutal a manner, that it
cannot be too hastily passed over; this then is the plain and succinct
relation of it.
After that the brave Grillon, Maitre de Camp of the regiment of guards,
had generously refused to kill the Duke of Guise, unless in single duel,
and in an honourable way, the king had recourse to Lognac, the first
gentleman of his chamber, and captain of the forty-five, who promised him
eighteen or twenty of the most resolute amongst them, and for whom he
durst be answerable. They were of the number of those whom the Duke of
Guise, who had always a distrust of those Gascons, as creatures of the
Duke of Espernon, had formerly demanded that they might be dismissed,
from which request he had afterwards desisted; insomuch that it may be
said he foresaw the misfortune that attended him, without being able to
avoid it. For, on Friday the twenty-third of December, being entered
about eight of the clock in the morning into the great hall, where the
king had intimated on Thursday night, that he intended to hold the
council very early, that he might afterwards go to _Nostre dame de
Clery_; some came to tell him that his majesty expected him in the old
closet, yet he was not there, but in the other which looks into the
garden. Upon this, he arose from the fireside, where, finding himself
somewhat indisposed, he had been seated; and passed through a narrow
entry, which was on one side the hall, into the chamber, where he found
Lognac, with seven or eight of the forty-five; the King himself having
caused them to enter into that room very secretly before daybreak: the
rest of them were posted in the old closet, and all of them had great
poniards hid under their cloaks, expecting only the coming of the Duke of
Guise, to make sure work with him, whether it were in the chamber or in
the closet, in case he should retire thither for his defence.
There needed not so great a preparation for the killing of a single
man, who came thither without distrust of any thing that was designed
against him; and who, holding his hat in one hand, and with the other
the lappet of his cloak, which he had wrapt under his left arm, was in
no condition of defence. In this posture he advanced towards the old
closet, saluting very civilly, as his custom was, those gentlemen who
made show of attending him out of respect, as far as the door. And as
in lifting up the hangings, with the help of one of them, he stooped to
enter, he was suddenly seized by the arms, and by the legs; and at the
same instant struck into the body before, with five or six poniards, and
from behind, into the nape of the neck, and the throat, which hindered
him from speaking one single word of all that he is made to say, or so
much as drawing out his sword. All that he could do, was to drag along
his murderers, with the last and strongest effort that he could make,
struggling and striving till he fell down at the beds-feet, where some
while after, with a deep groan, he yielded up his breath.
The cardinal of Guise, and archbishop of Lyons, who were in the council
hall, rising up at the noise, with intention of running to his aid, were
made prisoners by the marshals D’Aumont and de Retz; at the same time,
the cardinal of Bourbon was also seized in the castle, together with Anne
d’Este Duchess of Nemours, and mother of the Guises, and the Prince of
Joinville, the Dukes of Elbeuf, and Nemours, Brissac, and Boisdauphin,
with many other lords, who were confidents of the Duke, and Pericard his
secretary. And in the meantime the grand prevost of the king’s house went
with his archers to the chamber of the third estate, in the town-house,
and there arrested the president Neuilly, the prevost of merchants, the
sheriffs Compan and Cotte-Blanch, who were deputies for Paris, and some
other notorious Leaguers.
This being done, the king himself brought the news of it to the
queen-mother; telling her that now he was a real king, since he had cut
off the Duke of Guise. At which that princess being much surprised and
moved, asking him if he had made provision against future accidents, he
answered her in an angry kind of tone, much differing from his accustomed
manner of speaking to her, that she might set her heart at rest, for he
had taken order for what might happen, and so went out surlily to go to
mass; yet before he went, he sent particularly to cardinal Gondi, and to
the cardinal Legat Morosini, and informed them both of what had passed,
with his reasons to justify his proceedings.