The party of the _Politicians_, or the Third Estate, was growing. It

was composed of those, who had retained some remembrance of ancient

national honour, and who felt profound disgust for a court filled

with hired assassins, poisoners, astrologers, and prostitutes. The

three sons of the Constable, François de Montmorency, Damville, and

Thoré, the marshals Cossé and Biron, several provincial governors,

magistrates, and members even of the privy council, were among the

number of these politicians or malcontents. Their chief was the Duke

d’Alençon, since known under the name of Duke d’Anjou, the last of

Queen Catherine’s sons. His position as the king’s brother gave him

credit; but this prince, then in his twentieth year, was wanting both

in mental and bodily vigour, he was fickle, presumptuous, faithless

to his word, and ready to throw himself into great enterprises, which

he was incapable of carrying out to a successful issue.

He even circulated among the citizens new maxims of law and

political liberty. It was at this period that La Boëtie published

his treatise on _Voluntary Servitude_, which even now astonishes us

by its boldness; and François Hotman his _Franco-Gallia_, in which

he maintained that the States-General might depose bad princes, and

appoint their successors.

These malcontents opened negotiations with the Calvinists, who had

strengthened their bond of union at Milhau, on the 16th of December,

1573, by promising _fraternity, mutual, perfect, and eternal, in all

things, civil and religious_. They had provided in their act of union

for the regular convocation of their assemblies every six months,

a new judicial code, and the course to be adopted in raising men

and money. This was a state within the state; a sad but inevitable

consequence of the overthrow of all law by the massacre of Saint

Bartholomew. Charles IX. died in the midst of these troubles, beset

by vague and sombre terrors, believing that he heard groans in the

air, starting up out of his sleep at night, and affected with a

strange malady, which caused his blood to ooze through every pore.

“Two days before his death, he had near him,” says D’Estoile, “his

nurse, whom he much loved, _although she was a Huguenot_. As she was

seated upon a box, and was just beginning to doze, she heard the king

murmur, weep, and sigh, which induced her softly to approach his

bed, when, drawing aside the curtains, the king, heaving a profound

sigh, and weeping so much that his sobs interrupted his utterance,

began to say to her: ‘Ah! my nurse, my nurse, what blood and what

murders! Oh! that I should have followed such wicked counsel! O my

God! pardon me, and have mercy upon me, if it please Thee; I know

not where I am. What shall I do? I am lost, I see plain enough.’ The

nurse replied to him: ‘Sire, these murders are upon those, who have

caused you to commit them! And since you did not give your consent,

and you now regret them, believe that God will not impute them to

you, but will cover them with the mantle of His Son’s righteousness,

in which alone you must take refuge.’ After this, she having fetched

him a pocket-handkerchief, because his own was wet with tears, and

his majesty having taken it in his hand, he signed her to retire and

leave him to repose.”[68]

Charles IX. died on the 30th of May, 1574, not having yet attained

the age of twenty-four years, and rejoicing, he said, that he left no

male heir of tender age, inasmuch as he would have had too much to

suffer.

XV.

Catherine de Medicis resumed the regency, which she had never really

abdicated, and endeavoured to negotiate with the Calvinistic party

and the malcontents, until the arrival of her second son, whom we

shall now call Henry III. He escaped from Poland as from a prison.

During his journey he received some good advice from the Emperor

Maximilian, the doge of Venice, and even from the dukes of Savoy, who

recommended him to re-establish peace in his kingdom by equitable

edicts, which should be faithfully observed; but he derived no profit

from these counsels.

Arrived in France in the month of September, 1574, Henry III. was

joined by his mother at Bourgoin, and made with her a triumphal

entry into Lyons. The Duke d’Alençon and the king of Navarre, who

were free in appearance, but in reality captives, followed them.

It was there that the course of conduct to be pursued towards the

Calvinists and the politicians was discussed. Several members

of the council,—Pibrac, Bellegarde, Christophe de Thou, Paul de

Foix,—inclined to the side of moderation and compromise; but

Catherine and her Italian confidants, Retz, Nevers, and Birague,

held opposite views, and their opinion biassed that of Henry III.

This prince, who was but twenty-three years of age, had shown some

marks of courage before the treaty of 1570. He did not want for

ability in business, nor for dignity and grace when he appeared in

public. Unhappily, he had been corrupted by the voluptuousness of the

court. He passed long hours in bedecking himself like a woman, and

dishonoured the dignity of his manhood, and the majesty of a king, by

riotous debauchery. The creatures by whom he was surrounded, led him

into a contemptible and shameful indolence, and the baseness of his

vices was only equalled by the extravagance of his superstition.

On his return to France, he joined the brotherhood of the Flagellants

or _Frères-Battus_ of Avignon; and in a solemn procession, he led the

white, Catherine the black, and Cardinal d’Armagnac the blue order of

these _Frères-Battus_. They went through the city with naked feet,

uncovered heads, with chaplets of death-bones at their girdles, and

making blood spirt from their shoulders with cords. Some historians

have been desirous of discovering political reasons under these

ignoble masquerades. What is the use of going so far to seek for

what is so near? Between the excess of depravity and the extreme of

bigotry, there is a singular and close relationship.

In the month of December, the Cardinal de Lorraine caught a fever,

from the effects of which he died. The queen-mother, whom history

accuses of having been on too intimate terms with him, could not

assume on this occasion her habitual dissimulation. On seating

herself at table the same evening, as they handed her a glass, she

began to tremble so much that it had almost fallen from her hands,

and she exclaimed, “Jesus! it is the cardinal that I see.” During

the night, for more than a month, she would not remain alone, being

incessantly followed by this melancholy apparition, and saying to her

women, “Drive away that cardinal; do you not see that he beckons me

with his finger?” What was it that had passed between her and this

priest that a woman like Catherine de Medicis should have been so

terrified at his death?

At Paris Henry III. continued his devotional practices; his was the

religion not of a king, but of a besotted monk. He caused oratories

(otherwise called _paradis_) to be erected in the churches, where

he took his place every day during Lent. He also followed the

processions dressed in a false wig and ridiculous costume, and in the

company of a fool called Sibillot, “the greatest scoundrel,” says

Jean de Serres, “that could be found in France, who walked between

his master and Cardinal de Ferrara; and whilst the priests sang the

burden of their hymn _Ora pro nobis_, this fool was grinning and

uttering silly jests, and playing ridiculous antics.” After this,

Henry III. would proceed in his carriage with the queen his wife,

through the streets, and by the houses of Paris, purchasing little

dogs, monkeys, and other rare animals, for which he was made to pay

their weight in gold.

At the end of six months he was despised even by the dregs of the

people, and by his domestics. A placard in the following terms was

distributed throughout the city: “Henry, by the grace of his mother,

inert king of France, porter of the Louvre, churchwarden of Saint

Germain l’Auxerrois, harlequin of the churches of Paris, plaiter

of his wife’s collars, and her hair-dresser, guardian of the four

mendicants, conscript father of the Blancs-Battus, and protector of

the Capuchins.”

The number of malcontents still increased, and made more direct

proposals of alliance to the Calvinists. They were divided as

to the course which they ought to adopt. On one side were the

Consistorial Reformed, as they were called, on the other, the nobles,

great personages, magistrates, and councillors of the towns. This

distinction had already been made in the first wars, and it became

more marked in those which followed.

The Consistorials, composed mostly of clergymen, principally occupied

themselves with the interests of the faith, and only wished to

perform their duties quietly. Tradesmen and merchants, for the most

part considering these questions under their most simple aspect,

and deciding upon them in a religious point of view, felt more

repugnance than the others to taking up arms, and only did so at the

last extremity, when they were absolutely prevented from serving God

according to their conscience; nevertheless when they were once on

the battle-field, they would not accept peace without a sufficient

guarantee for the liberty of the church. The nobles, on the contrary,

always on the alert to raise levies, were more ready to compromise

religious differences, and looked mainly to their personal position

in the state. The Consistorials were the strongest in number, but

the weakest in rank; they were habitually compelled to submit to the

domination of the Calvinist nobility, and to share their fortunes.

This was the result of their alliance with the malcontents. It was

concluded in Languedoc, notwithstanding the opposition of the

Consistorials, and the consequences of it were soon apparent. “The

dissoluteness and strange scandals of the politicians, who were

mixed with the religious orders,” says a contemporary, “finished by

extinguishing whatever warmth of affection for piety and discipline

remained to them. Marshal Damville cared but little to observe

the conditions promised by him, and included in the association.

However, he made use of fair expressions to the clergy and others;

but debauchery advanced, and flowed along far and wide, like a

torrent. Exactions and brigandage perceptibly increased.”[69] The

war continued with varying results, and without any decisive battle

being fought. The heroic defence of the small town of Livron, in

Dauphiné, has been related. When Henry III. presented himself before

its gates in the month of January, 1575, the besieged called out from

the ramparts, “Ah! murderers, you shall not stab us in our beds, as

you did the Admiral and others. Bring out these bedaubed and perfumed

favourites; let them see if they can hold up their heads, even

against our women!” Henry III. was compelled to swallow this insult;

two-thirds of his little army perished before the town, and the siege

was raised. The prince of Condé and the king of Navarre, who had

been retained at court since the events of Saint Bartholomew’s day,

succeeded in making their escape, and abjured (one at Strasbourg,

the other at Tours) the (Roman) Catholic faith, which, under fear of

assassination, had been imposed upon them. The Duke d’Alençon himself

took refuge in his appanage of Dreux, and published a manifesto, in

which he took the French of both religions under his safeguard.

Having no longer either men or money wherewith to oppose the

confederates, who threatened to march on Paris, the court endeavoured

to gain over the chiefs of the Third Estate, by offering them

personal advantages, and submitting very favourable articles of

peace to the Calvinists—free exercise of their religion throughout

the kingdom, except at Paris, and within a circle of two leagues;

admission to all public offices; equal numbers in the Parliaments:

eight places of surety; the right to open schools and convoke synods;

the restoration of the memory of Coligny; and, in short, the

re-establishment of the king of Navarre, of the prince of Condé, and

of the nobles of the religion in their appanages and governments.

This treaty, called the _Peace of Monsieur_, because it had been

concluded under the guarantee of the king’s brother, was signed at

Chastenoy, on the 6th of May, 1576.

Catherine and Henry III. only proposed, in putting their signatures

to this treaty, to dissolve the alliance of the politicians with the

Calvinists. This accomplished, it was treated as void. The (Roman)

Catholics of Picardy were secretly authorized to repulse the prince

of Condé, who had come to take possession of his government, and

persecution did not cease for a single day.

The Reformed of Paris, to adduce only one example, in obedience to

the edict, which enabled them to worship at two leagues from the

city, held a meeting at Noisy-le-Sec. The populace, on their return,

killed several of them, and wounded a larger number. Complaint was

made to the king, who at this moment was playing at the ring, dressed

as an Amazon (says d’Estoile), but he took no more notice of them

than if these murders had been committed in another part of the world.

One article of this treaty had decreed the early convocation of the

States-General. They eventually assembled at Blois, in the month

of December, 1576; but no longer with the spirit of the States of

Orleans. A great part of the nobility had again joined the (Roman)

Catholic church, and the misfortunes of the kingdom had ulcerated

the heart of the citizens. The deputies of the three orders agreed

to demand the unity of religion. They prayed the king to command

the ministers, deacons, superintendents, schoolmasters, and other

teachers, to quit the kingdom, in default of which they should be

proceeded against as guilty of a capital crime.

Unity, thus expressed, was nothing else than war. But to make war,

money was necessary; and when this was alluded to, each of the three

orders excused itself. The clergy declared that they had been very

much impoverished by the disorders of the kingdom, and could give

nothing; the nobility only offered their swords; and the Third Estate

commissioned its speaker to say, that it contemplated the reunion

of all the king’s subjects by gentle means, without war—a great and

puerile mockery.

The Calvinists, however, at the news of these resolutions, had

again recourse to arms; but, deprived of the aid of the malcontents

of the (Roman) Catholic party, and disunited among themselves,

their plans did not prosper. The Consistorialists, this time, were

the most determined, because with them it had become a question

of losing all, or saving all, in the exercise of their religion.

Earnest remonstrances were therefore addressed to the nobles by the

consistory of La Rochelle. Theodore de Bèze wrote from Geneva: “I

cannot in good conscience see how we can consent to limit the spirit

of God to certain places; above all, to shut it out from the towns,

which do not die and change, like the hearts and houses of princes.

I cannot bring my mind to believe that God either can or will bless

such agreements, and I would counsel you to place your heads on the

block, and to suffer everything without resistance, if it must come

to that, rather than approve of such conditions.” These complaints

of the Consistorials were disregarded, and the nobles of the party

signed a peace at Bergerac, in the month of September, 1577. On the

8th of October following, appeared the Edict of Poitiers, which only

granted to the mass of the Reformed the simple liberty of conscience,

with admission to public offices. The exercise of religion was

limited to the places, in which it was professed when the treaty was

under signature. Henry III. boasted of this edict as his own work; he

liked to say, “_My edict, my treaty_;” but it was no better observed

than those which had preceded it.

XVI.

Catherine de Medicis had conceived a method of overcoming the

Huguenot nobles, during the peace, whom it had been found impossible

to vanquish by arms; and this was by debauching them. She passed

through the provinces with a numerous troop of maids of honour

(sometimes to the number of one hundred and fifty), who were called

her flying squadron. Everywhere throughout her progress, balls,

_fêtes_, gallantries, and intrigues took place, in the midst of which

the former austerity of the companions of Coligny was lost.

It was thus, under the pretext of conducting Margaret of Valois

to the house of her husband, the king of Navarre, that Catherine

set out, in the month of July, 1578, for the southern provinces.

The Béarnese king, who had too soon forgotten the lessons of his

mother during his long residence at the Louvre, could not resist

the seductions with which he was surrounded. “The court of the king

of Navarre,” says Agrippa d’Aubigné, “was renowned for its brave

nobility and virtuous ladies. Idleness attracted vice to it, as heat

draws serpents. The queen of Navarre took the rust off their wits,

and let it gather on their arms. She taught the king her husband that

a cavalier was without a soul when he was without an amour.”[70]

The same historian relates that Catherine de Medicis affected a style

of language borrowed from the Bible. She had composed a vocabulary of

expressions in use among the most rigid of the Reformed, and made use

of them, sometimes as a matter of policy, and sometimes in derision.

“She had learned by heart,” says he, “several phrases, which she

termed Consistorial; as, _to approve of the counsel of Gamaliel_; or,

_beautiful are the feet of those who preach the gospel of peace_; to

call the king, _the anointed of the Lord, the image of the living

God_, with several sentences of the Epistle of St. Peter, in favour

of dominion; she would often exclaim, _Let God judge between you and

us! I call the Eternal to witness! Before God and his angels!_ This

style, which the ladies called among themselves the _language of

Canaan_, was studied in the evening, when the queen retired to rest,

and not without merriment.”[71]

Before and after the _fêtes_, conferences were held, from which

resulted the explicative Treaty of Nérac, signed on the 28th of

February, 1579. It added nothing essential to the Edict of Poitiers.

The king of Navarre obtained only some fresh places of safety in

Guienne and Languedoc, on condition that he should only retain them

for six months.

An intrigue of the court caused arms again to be taken up, and this

ridiculous quarrel was named _the war of the amorous_; but the great

body of the Reformed took no part in it. It terminated by the signing

of a peace at the castle of Fleix, in Périgord, on the 26th of

November, 1580, which treaty confirmed the Edict of Poitiers; the

Béarnese king, however, conquered, the appanage being given as a

dowry to his wife in Agenois and Quercy.

Four or five years elapsed without war being declared, but they

passed neither with security nor repose. Upon different occasions,

the Reformed sent whole volumes of grievances and remonstrances to

the court. Promises of reparation were made, but the next day the

council troubled themselves no more about them.

Another means was invented of weakening the Calvinist party, and it

had better success than all its predecessors. This was to remove or

leave out the Huguenots from public appointments. Although the Edict

of Pacification accorded to them an equal right of admission to all

public offices, a thousand pretexts were made use of to elude this

article. It was an indirect and underhand persecution, but it was

both systematic and constant.

Mézeray pretends that these proceedings converted more of the

Reformed in four years than either the executioner or war had done

in forty. This is saying too much. It is certain, however, that many

nobles yielded to the temptation of holding offices or court favours.

Some, according to the historian Elie Benoît, ashamed of abandoning

their religion themselves, made their children renounce it on the

score of affection and paternal foresight. Others, on the contrary,

declared themselves (Roman) Catholics, that they might enter upon

offices, and caused their children to be brought up in the Reformed

communion, in order, as they said, to tranquillize their conscience.

Has the human heart ever been found deficient in sophisms when

desirous of gratifying its passions?

But the more ardent (Roman) Catholics again complained, and also

accused the leniency of Henry III. and Queen Catherine. Their spirit

of opposition was increased by the death of the duke of Alençon or

Anjou, which took place in 1584. Henry III. had no children, and

his physicians feared that he would not survive the year. The race

of Valois then would become extinct. Who would succeed him? Henry

of Bourbon, according to the ancient laws of the kingdom. He was

the nearest heir male, and no one could contest with him the title

of first prince of the blood. But a heretic, an apostate, one who

had relapsed (for they affected to look in a serious light at the

abjuration, which had been imposed upon him at the massacre of Saint

Bartholomew), one, in short, excommunicated by the Holy See, should

he mount the throne of the most Christian kings? This single thought

shocked three-fourths of the nation, and the League experienced an

immense augmentation.

The _League_ or _Holy Union_ had existed since the year 1576. It

even dated further back, and extended beyond the French frontier.

The Cardinal de Lorraine formed the plan at the Council of Trent;

the Jesuits had adopted and enlarged it; Philip II., the popes, and

Duke Henry of Guise, had successively put their hand to it, and by

degrees the association became developed to such an extent as to

aspire to rouse (Roman) Catholic Europe in order that it might crush

Protestantism. It was in France that the first blow was struck.

After having exterminated the Huguenots, the new crusaders would

have overthrown the rebels of Holland, then they would unitedly have

invaded England, and afterwards Germany and the north, never stopping

until they had either brought back the last of the disciples of

Luther and Calvin to the Church of Rome, or drowned them in their own

blood.

Philip II. was the principal leader of this vast conspiracy. In his

retreat of San-Lorenzo he incessantly revolved, as the published

correspondence of our times attests, these great and dark thoughts.

He understood but two things in the world,—the sovereign power of the

prince in political matters, and the popes infallibility in questions

of religion. The right of resistance to the temporal power, and the

privilege of search on points of faith, were in his eyes the most

detestable of crimes. All authority, in his idea, was concentrated in

the hands of a few chiefs, and there was no liberty beyond or beneath

them. The two swords were to strike together, to keep the people

enslaved and trembling; and he added the axe of the executioner, with

the fire of the inquisitor, and even the poniard of the assassin; for

this (Roman) Catholic king descended to such a depth of infamy as

to confer letters of nobility on the relations of Balthazar Gérard,

the murderer of the prince of Orange. Philip II. had conceived this

execrable system of terrorism, that it might redound to the profit

of royalty and the pontificate. But it only resulted in the downfall

of Spain and the execration of posterity.

The Holy See entertained implacable resentment at the sight of heresy

raising itself up so pertinaciously, and was desirous of establishing

at any cost, the one faith, under one single spiritual chief.

Cardinals, bishops, priests, Jesuits, and monks of all orders, went

about spreading these maxims of extermination, at the courts and in

the bosom of the people, from the pulpits and in the confessional.

In France, Henry of Guise, _le Balafré_, was the soul of the League.

Keeping himself at first in obscurity, he at length came more

prominently forward, and made himself esteemed by the masses, in

proportion to the contempt which Henry III. inspired. He endeavoured

to be affable to wards the lower orders, was a sure friend, an

inexorable enemy, generous towards those who were serviceable to him,

prodigal of gold to the covetous, and never wanting in promises to

the ambitious; he also showed attentions to the citizens and artisans

of Paris, which were very flattering to their vanity. Capable of

profound dissimulation, he yet assumed the frank and open air of a

soldier. As a great captain he understood still better the art of

gaining victories at the proper time, than that of merely achieving

them. He evinced much zeal for the church of Rome, but without

falling into the abject devotions of Henry III.; and, always watchful

of his fortunes, he thought nothing more of religion than as a means

of improving them.

One of the dependants of his house, Jacques d’Humières, was employed

in 1576 to recruit in the cities of Picardy for adherents to the

League, and that association soon spread through all the provinces.

There was some difference in the articles which were presented

for them to swear to, and to sign, but their ultimate object was

the same—a mutual understanding between the members of the union;

absolute obedience to the secret chief of the League; and an

engagement to sacrifice everything, body and goods, in order to

exterminate heretics and to re-establish the unity of religion.

The association was composed of very different elements. For the

Guises, it was a question of aggrandizement and power; for one

portion of the citizens and magistrature, a means of establishing

public order; for another part, a precautionary measure against the

reprisals, which the Calvinists might adopt towards the murderers

and spoliators of Saint Bartholomew’s day; for the tradespeople,

a manifestation of antipathy against the Huguenots; and for the

priesthood, an affair of religious domination. Among these, as it

always happens, there were conscientious men, who devoted themselves

to the prosecution of an idea; and ambitious or hypocritical

individuals, who thrived upon the sincerity of others. The most

moderate were made to figure in the advance-guard, for fear of

frightening the well-disposed; but those who were high in rank were

resolved to reap all the advantages of the conspiracy.

At Paris, the prebendary Launoy, the curates Prévôt and Boucher,

and adventurers of every description, addressed themselves to the

very lowest orders,—the men of the slaughter-houses, mariners,

horse-dealers, and street-porters,—and told them that the Huguenots

were watching their opportunity to cut the throats of all good

(Roman) Catholics, and that ten thousand of them were concealed in

the faubourg Saint Germain, ready to commence the massacre. The most

violent clubs assembled in the churches, and the preachers, monks,

or doctors of the Sorbonne, hounded on the people to the most bloody

excesses, invoking the will of Heaven. The same provocatives were

repeated throughout the kingdom, and the League became a formidable

combination.

Henry III., not daring openly to oppose the League, thought that he

should perform a master-piece of policy by signing the articles of

the union with his own hand; but he only emboldened the League and

disgraced himself. From being king, he became the second among the

conspirators, and a conspirator despised by his accomplices.

The League demanded that he should declare the king of Navarre

disinherited, and name the Cardinal de Bourbon as his heir, an old

man of upwards of sixty years of age, of limited capacity, of feeble

character, and a priest of little reputation, since he had lived in

habits of effeminate and dissolute luxury. This cardinal would have

made way for the duke of Guise. Henry III. was aware of this, he knew

also that the Lorraines only awaited an opportunity of making him

turn monk, and shutting him up in a cloister, as other do-nothing

kings had been treated in times gone by.

At this critical moment Henry III. displayed some courage, and

refused. The kingdom was then a prey to the greatest anarchy; neither

authority, government, nor law any longer existed. The Leaguers

published manifestoes in the name of the Cardinal de Bourbon, and

by treachery or force obtained possession of Toul, Verdun, Lyons,

Châlons, Bourges, and other important towns. Henry III., who had

no army to oppose to them, contracted a peace with the duke of

Guise, at the expense of the Huguenots. He engaged by the treaty

of Nemours, signed in 1585, to deprive them not only of the public

exercise of their religion, but also of liberty of conscience. It

was ordered that all the Calvinist clergy should quit the kingdom at

the expiration of a month, and that all the Reformed should abjure

or emigrate at the end of six months, under penalty of death and

confiscation of their property. This term was shortly afterwards

reduced to fifteen days, as if it were intended to take away from

these abjurations even the appearance of good faith.

In thus putting an end to war on one side, it again broke out on the

other. It no longer originated in some wretched court quarrel, but it

became a war of liberty, of religion, of fortune, and for existence

itself.

The Edict of Nemours was apparently intended to be so rigorously

executed, that the king rejected the request of some poor women, who

prayed to be permitted to live with their children in some corner of

France, which it might please his majesty to assign to them. Henry

III. would only promise to have them conveyed without injury or

insult to England. Some women were even burned at Paris after the

treaty,—the atrocious laws of Henry II. were again reverted to.

Some timid Calvinists endeavoured to find refuge by the use of

equivocal terms, such as: “Since it pleases the king,” &c., and

in that manner they subscribed, not an abjuration, but an act

of obedience to the royal will. The bishops perceived this, and

were most rigorous with those whom they admitted. One of them,

the Bishop d’Angers, gave directions that none of the Huguenots

should be received until they had undergone a lengthened course of

instruction, and a strict examination on points of faith. Thus the

prince enjoined their conversion in fifteen days, and the bishops

repulsed those, who were not minutely versed in all the details of

the Romish doctrines. Thus there was nothing but contradictions.

Henry III. did not, however, wish to crush the Calvinist party

entirely; he feared lest too much power should be given to the

League, and to the duke of Guise. His most ardent desire was to ruin

each of the two parties by means of the other, and he was frequently

heard to mutter: “I will be revenged upon my enemies by my enemies.”

Seeing that the king was deficient in energy in the prosecution of

the heretics, Pope Sixtus V. lost patience, and fulminated a bull of

excommunication against the Bourbons, which twenty-five cardinals

signed with him. It stated that Henry of Bourbon, formerly king

of Navarre, and Henry, also of Bourbon, Prince de Condé, being

heretics, having relapsed into heresy, and not having repented,

were deprived of all their principalities, they and their heirs for

ever. If any one again dared to obey “this bastard and detestable

race of Bourbons,” and to recognise as his sovereign this former

king of the pretended kingdom of Navarre, he should incur the same

excommunication. Never, even in the most violent invectives against

“the _ci-devant_ king, Louis Capet,” did the Convention of 1793 so

completely fail in decency and modesty.

The Béarnese king replied to this insolent bull, by causing a protest

to be posted up, on the 6th of November, 1585, in all the public

resorts of Rome, commencing thus: “Henry, by the grace of God,

king of Navarre, sovereign prince of Béarn, first peer and prince

of France, protests against the declaration and excommunication of

Sixtus V., calling himself pope of Rome, declares that it is false,

and appeals against the same as slanderous to the court of the Peers

of France. And in that, which touches the crime of heresy, of which

he is falsely accused by the declaration, he says and maintains

that Sixtus, calling himself pope in that behalf, hath falsely and

maliciously lied, and that he is himself a heretic, as shall be made

manifest in full council freely and lawfully assembled.” It is said

that Sixtus, astonished by so bold an act, began from that time

properly to appreciate the character of his adversary.

XVII.

The prince of Condé was first in the field; still young and full

of zeal for religion, he was impatient to vindicate his claim to

the high place, to which his birth entitled him. But he possessed

less military talent than courage; he passed the Loire upon false

intelligence, and having advanced too far, lost at the gates of

Angers the first army, which was raised against the Leaguers.

In Languedoc, the Duke de Montmorency (formerly Marshal Damville)

renewed his alliance with the Calvinist party, and nothing took place

in this province but the encounters of partisans. Lesdiguières, at

the head of the Huguenots of Dauphiny, took possession of several

strong places, and managed to keep all that country quiet. The king

of Navarre maintained his position in Guienne. Henry III. courted

him, and proposed that he should change his religion, in order to

deprive the League of its most formidable argument; and Catherine de

Medicis, always ready to open negotiations, visited and conferred

with the Béarnese king, towards the end of the year 1586, at the

castle of Saint Bris, near Cognac. But her Italian _finesse_ this

time met with no success.

The war continued without any important engagement until the battle

of Coutras. The two armies met on the 20th of October, 1587. They

presented a striking contrast. On the side of the Calvinists there

were from five to six thousand men, badly attired, with buffalo-skins

in tatters, and having no other ornaments than their faithful swords

and good cuirasses. On the side of the (Roman) Catholics, who were

commanded by the Duke de Joyeuse, there were from ten to twelve

thousand men, the flower of the courtiers, dressed in silk and

velvet, with arms chased with silver and enamel, their lances adorned

with large streamers, floating plumes, and bearing on their scarfs

the mottoes of their mistresses. The former were soldiers fashioned

in trouble and hardship; the latter elegant cavaliers, who seemed as

if they had assembled to assist at a tournament.

Some days before the battle, at the instance of the faithful Mornay,

Henry publicly expressed his repentance for having brought dishonour

upon a family of La Rochelle. Upon being told that the clergy were

very severe towards him, “A person cannot,” said he, “humiliate

himself too much before God, nor too boldly brave mankind.”

At the commencement of the battle the Reformed kneeled down, and

sang the 118th Psalm:—“This is the day that the Lord hath made,” &c.

“S’death,” cried the nobles in Joyeuse’s camp, “they tremble—the

poltroons—they confess!” “Gentlemen,” said an old officer, “when the

Huguenots are in this vein they are ready to fight well.”

They fought bravely, in truth, and the rout of the (Roman) Catholics

was complete. The Duke de Joyeuse fell, together with half his army.

The Béarnese king showed great humanity after the victory; he gave

orders that the wounded should be cared for, dismissed nearly all the

prisoners without ransom, and deplored that so much French blood had

been shed.

At the news of this defeat, the indignation of the League was

redoubled against Henry III., and the doctors of the Sorbonne decided

at a conventicle, that the crown might be taken from an incapable

prince, as a worthless guardian is deprived of the charge intrusted

to him. All eyes were now turned towards the duke of Guise, who had

just cut in pieces a numerous army of German troopers that had been

sent to aid the Huguenots.

In consequence of this success, the popularity of the Balafré had

greatly increased. The pope sent him a sword which he had blessed;

Philip II. and the duke of Savoy congratulated him; and the

Parisians, excited by the voice of the priesthood, proclaimed him the

saviour of the Church.

He showed himself grateful for the assistance of the clergy; for, at

a meeting held at Nancy, it was by his means decided that a proposal

should be made to the king to publish the canons of the Council of

Trent, and to institute the Holy Inquisition in France;—“a worthy

means,” said the manifesto, “of exterminating heresy, provided the

officers of the Inquisition be strangers.”

From the enthusiasm of the priests and people sprung the day of the

Barricades, the 12th of May, 1588. Henry of Guise was carried in

triumph to the Louvre; and the king, whose personal liberty was

endangered, fled disguised as a countryman, accompanied by some

footmen, swearing in his heart, death to him whom he called “_the

king of Paris_.”

Five months afterwards, he opened the second States-General of Blois,

which were entirely composed of Leaguers. He protested by the most

solemn oaths that he was desirous of labouring to accomplish the

total extirpation of heresy, and that no one should be more ardent

in the work than himself. But he was not believed. The duke of Guise

alone possessed the confidence of the States, and had only another

step to ascend in order to seat himself upon the throne of France.

Henry III. prevented this by causing him to be assassinated on the

23rd of December, by some of his nobles. “Ah! my friends, ah! my

friends,” exclaimed the Balafré, when he felt that he was pierced

by a dagger, “have mercy!” When all was over, the king came out of

his closet, and asked one of the murderers, “Do you think that he is

dead, Loignac?” “I believe that he is, sire; he has the hue of death

upon him,” was the answer. Henry having for a moment looked at his

victim, kicked him in the face. Had the duke retained a last breath

of life, he could but then have remembered the murdered Coligny.

Henry III. left the room and visited his mother, who was ill in bed.

“The king of Paris exists no longer, madam,” said he; “henceforth I

shall reign alone; I have now no rival.” “It is a clean cut, my son,”

replied Catherine, “but it must be sewn up again; have you taken

proper precautions?”

Twelve days after this event Catherine died, leaving her last son

with an insecure crown, the kingdom inflamed, and the whole nation

discontented. She descended to the tomb amid the execration of the

Calvinists, and the disdain of the (Roman) Catholics. “There were

none to care for her, her malady, or her death,” says L’Estoile, “and

no more notice was taken of her than of a dead she-goat.” Lincestre,

one of the preachers of the League, in announcing this news to the

people, said, “A difficulty presents itself to-day, and that is

whether the Church should pray for one, who has lived so ill, and

so often countenanced heresy; upon which I would say, that if you

should think it worth while to venture upon giving her a _Pater_ or

an _Ave_, as an act of charity, it will be as useful to her as it can

be.” Here then were the fruits of thirty years of intrigue, treason,

and crime.

The murder of the duke of Guise interposed an abyss between the king

and the Leaguers. Seventy theologians of the Sorbonne, after having

attended mass, absolved the people from their oath of fealty. The

priests formed a procession of one hundred thousand children, who

carried lighted tapers, and extinguished them by trampling them

underfoot, whilst repeating, “God grant that the race of Valois may

soon become utterly extinct!” From the pulpits, dreadful imprecations

were denounced against Henry III.; the duty of regicide was openly

proclaimed, and one of the preachers declared that France could only

recover from its malady by a potion of French blood.

Reduced to the greatest extremity, and compelled to shut himself up

in the city of Tours as a last resource, Henry III. made advances to

the Calvinists, who were in possession of the country on the other

side of the Loire.

The latter had undertaken no enterprise of importance. They had

lost, in the month of March, 1588, Henry of Condé, their second

chief in rank, but the first perhaps in the confidence with which he

inspired them. This prince died at Saint Jean d’Angély, at the age of

thirty-four years. His early death, and the mysterious circumstances

attending it, gave rise to suspicion that he had been poisoned, which

was confirmed after the body had been opened. His wife, Princess

Charlotte de la Trémoille, a recent convert, and surrounded by a

(Roman) Catholic family of high rank, was accused of the crime. This

affair, however, which was subsequently brought before the Parliament

of Paris, has never been properly cleared up.

Whilst the League held its States-General at Blois, the Calvinists

convoked a political assembly at La Rochelle. It was opened on

the 14th of November, 1588, in the town-hall. The king of Navarre

attended with Viscount de Turenne, Prince de la Trémoille, and the

other nobles of their party. There was more order and respect for

authority displayed in this assembly than at that at Blois. Rules

were determined upon in reference to the administration of justice,

the finances, the levy of soldiers, military discipline, and to all

those objects, which were of interest to the common weal. Before

separating, the deputies addressed a memorial to Henry III., in which

they prayed for the re-establishment of the Edict of January.

After the death of the duke of Guise, the Béarnese king addressed a

manifesto to the three estates of France, in which he protested his

fidelity to the crown, and invited the French nation to put an end to

their differences. “I conjure you all, then,” said he, in conclusion,

“Catholics, servants of the king, as well as those who are not so; I

appeal to you as Frenchmen; I beseech you to have pity on this state

and on yourselves. We have all committed and suffered evil enough. We

have been intoxicated, senseless and furious, for four years. Is not

this sufficient? Has not God visited all enough to make us wise now,

and to appease our wrath?”

Although the two kings had a common interest in coming to an

understanding, long hesitation was manifested on both sides. Could

Henry tender his hand to his oldest enemies? Would he not, in calling

them to his aid, justify all the reproaches of the Leaguers, who

accused him of never having ceased to hold secret correspondence with

the Huguenots? And the Calvinists on their side, did they not know

that the hatred of Henry III. against heresy was inveterate, and that

he could never become sincerely reconciled to the brothers and sons

of those, whom he had massacred on Saint Bartholomew’s day? Could

they so forget that inconceivable, that shameful speech of Henry III.

before the Estates of Blois, that even when he promised by the most

sacred oaths to spare the heretics, he was not to be believed? But

notwithstanding these mutual dislikes, they were forced to yield to

necessity.

On the 30th April, 1589, the two kings had a first interview at the

castle of Plessis-les-Tours, an old manor of Louis XI. The Béarnese

king caused a portion of his nobility to cross the water, and entered

the boat with his guards. During the passage, he only said to Marshal

d’Aumont, who had been sent to him by the king, “Marshal, I go upon

your word.” Arrived at the other bank, he kneeled before Henry III.,

who raised and embraced him.

On the same day he wrote to Mornay: “The ice has been broken, not

without numerous warnings, that if I ventured, I was a dead man.”

His faithful minister replied to him, “Sire, you have acted as you

should, but as no one ought to have counselled you.”

From this period the affairs of Henry III. took a favourable turn.

The Leaguers were defeated in several encounters. An army of

forty-two thousand men, commanded by the two kings, advanced to the

gates of Paris and prepared to commence a general assault. The Duke

de Mayenne had only eight thousand disheartened troops. The leaders

of the League began to lose all hope, the priests were cast down;

the Reformed looked forward to a better future, when the knife of a

Dominican monk, Jacques Clément, disconcerted at the same time the

hopes and the fears of each party.

Henry III. died of his wound, at the end of eighteen hours, on the

10th August, 1589. With him the race of Valois became extinct.

Francis I. met with a shameful death; Henry II. was mortally wounded

in a tournament; Francis II. did not attain the age of manhood;

Charles IX. expired in the convulsions of an unknown malady; the

Duke d’Alençon prematurely expired in debauchery and disgrace; and

Henry III. perished by the knife of an assassin. The Valois carry

on their forehead the ineffaceable brand of the massacre of Saint

Bartholomew.[72]

If history ought not to be a mere object of curiosity, it is still

desirable to tell what were the ideas of religion and the manners of

this court, where such fanatic intolerance was paramount.

After the celebration of mass, astrologers were visited at their

houses, in order to procure philtres and poisons. All the magic arts,

all the witchcraft imported from Italy by Catherine de Medicis, were

in vogue. The courtiers kept small wax figures in their cabinets,

and pierced their hearts with pins, pronouncing at the same time

cabalistic words, in order, as they believed, to cause the death of

their enemies.

Religious ceremonies were made use of to rouse the vilest and most

sanguinary passions. The sermons of priests connected with the

League, like torches, inflamed the whole kingdom. Processions were

projected to excite the ferocity of the populace, and frequently

presented spectacles of indecency and impiety. At Chartres, after

the day of the barricades, a Capuchin represented before Henry III.

the Saviour ascending Calvary. He had painted drops of blood, that

appeared to ooze from his head, which was crowned with thorns; he

seemed to drag along with difficulty a cross of painted cardboard,

and fell down at intervals, uttering piercing cries. At Paris, after

the assassination of the duke of Guise, men, women, and young girls,

covered only with a chemise or sheet, formed night-processions; and

in the midst of sacred songs gave themselves up to Saturnalia, worthy

of the pagan world in its most vicious days.

The soldiers of the League, who bore arms which had been blessed by

the priests, committed acts of infamy, even on the steps of altars.

The atrocities perpetrated in the churches of Saint-Symphorien, in

that of D’Arquenay, and in a crowd of others, cannot be related.

Religion of the king, religion of the court, religion of the clergy,

religion of the people and of the soldiers,—what wretched mockery was

it all! Manners were on the same level; the cardinal of Lorraine,

and the greater part of the prelates, impudently violated all the

laws of chastity. The Balafré was leaving a night debauch when he

was assassinated. Margaret of Valois, the princess of Condé, the

duchesses of Nemours, of Guise, of Montpensier, of Nevers, led a life

of the foulest immorality. Two of them having caused the heads of

their lovers to be cut off, kissed and embalmed them, and each kept

that of her own lover among her love-tokens. It is well known in what

manner the duchess of Montpensier, sister of Henry of Guise, nerved

the arm of Jacques Clément.

Everywhere there was a hideous admixture of blood and superstition.

The great nobles employed hired assassins and duellists, who killed

each other as a pastime, without remorse or pity; every day two were

pitted against two, four against four, a hundred against a hundred;

and the address of an assassin or poisoner could then be as easily

procured as that of an hotel-keeper in the present day.

As a last instance, the assassin, the regicide, Jacques Clément,

was canonized from all the pulpits as “_the most blessed child of

Dominique, the holy martyr of Jesus Christ_.” His portrait was placed

on the altars with these words: “_Saint Jacques Clément, pray for

us._” When his mother came to Paris, the nuns addressed her in the

language of the Evangelist: “Blessed is the womb that bare thee, and

the paps which thou hast sucked.” And Pope Sixtus V., more infamous

still, declared in full consistory, that the action of the martyr

Jacques Clément might be compared, as regarded the safety of the

world, to the incarnation and resurrection of Jesus Christ.[73]

A church that has uttered such blasphemies by the mouth of its chief,

should for ever seek pardon both from God and man. It should moreover

bless that principle of tolerance, which has imposed upon it both the

Reformation and philosophy; for it is this alone, which prevents its

relapse into the degraded condition of former times.

XVIII.

Religion was but a secondary matter in the war between Henry IV. and

the League, and in the other events of this epoch. We need not relate

them, since they belong to the general history of the country, and

not to our special subject.

Thirty years earlier, the advent of a Calvinist prince to the throne

of France would perhaps have made the Reformed the dominant religion;

but in 1589 all was changed. Far from deriving advantage, the affairs

of the Reformed were compromised by the event. Henry of Navarre,

as lieutenant of Henry III., could dictate his own conditions; it

was necessary that as king, he should accept those of the (Roman)

Catholics. He had their desertion to dread, whilst he did not fear

that he should be abandoned by his co-religionists. He therefore

did little for his own party, but much for that of his adversaries,

according to that old court maxim, that “enemies should be gratified

at the expense of those friends whose support may be depended upon.”

Before taking an oath of fidelity, the (Roman) Catholic nobles

demanded that he should again enter the communion of the Romish

church. It was the Marquis d’O, superintendent of the finances,

who conveyed to him this message—a singular choice for a religious

mission! This former creature of Henry III., one of the most

contemptible and despised of men, had disgusted the courtiers

themselves by the barefaced double-dealing of his language and

conduct. He, however, protested in the name of the nobility, that

he would rather throw himself upon his sword than allow (Roman)

Catholicism to be ruined in France.

Henry IV. refused to change his religion all at once. “Would it be

more agreeable to you,” said he to the (Roman) Catholic nobles, “to

have a king without a God? Could you place confidence in the faith

of an atheist? And in the day of battle would you follow the banner

of a perjurer and an apostate with alacrity?” After long discussions

he only promised that he would seek instruction during the next six

months.

These words were regarded in two very different ways. The promise of

seeking instruction seemed to the (Roman) Catholics equivalent to his

re-entering the pale of the church of Rome; to the Reformed, on the

contrary, it appeared that they only related to the duty of examining

anew the points of controversy and the sincere adoption of the side

of truth. As to Henry IV. it appears that he had already determined

to become instructed, not by the doctors, but by the course of events.

At the end of some weeks, his army was almost dissolved. Of forty

thousand men he only retained from six to seven thousand, and was

compelled to fall back upon Normandy. The Duke d’Epernon and other

(Roman) Catholic chiefs, retired with their troops, on the ground

that they could not serve under a Huguenot chief. Those who remained,

demanded that their aid should be paid for by great personal favours.

The Calvinist chiefs were more faithful and less exacting. Among them

were the Duke de Bouillon, sovereign of the principality of Sédan;

François de Châtillon, son of the Admiral Coligny; the Duke Claude

de la Trémoille, Jacques Caumont de la Force, Agrippa d’Aubigné,

Lanoue, Rosny, and Mornay. The last held a high position in the

confidence of his master.

Philippe de Mornay, lord of Plessis, was born at the castle of Buhi,

in the old French Vexin, in 1549, and was brought up by his mother

in the doctrines of the Reformation. He had not attained the age of

twelve years, when he replied to a priest who cautioned him against

Lutheran opinions: “I am determined to remain firm in what I have

learned in the service of God, and when I shall have doubts upon any

point, I will diligently read the Evangelists and the Acts of the

Apostles.”

His uncle, the bishop of Nantes, and afterwards archbishop of Rheims,

advised him to study the Fathers of the Church, and offered him, with

the revenue of a rich abbey, the prospect of becoming his successor.

Mornay read the Fathers, who, far from estranging him from his faith,

confirmed him in it; and he said to his uncle on refusing the abbey:

“I trust in God for what I shall want.”

In after-life he did not belie the disinterestedness of his youth.

Animated by strong and firm convictions, modest in prosperity,

patient in adversity, always ready to risk his property and his

life in the service of his faith, Duplessis-Mornay has displayed to

the world one of the greatest and most upright characters that ever

honoured the Christian church. He has been called the pope of the

Huguenots; it would have been better to have said that he was their

model.

His talents equalled his piety. A warrior, a doctor of theology, a

counsellor, diplomatist, orator and author, a skilful writer, working

fourteen hours a day, and displaying an equal superiority in the

most opposite pursuits, it would be difficult to indicate one order

of merit, in which he did not excel, if we except the talent of

advancing his own fortunes.

Escaped as by a miracle from the massacre of Saint Bartholomew,

Mornay took refuge in England, where he met with a gracious reception

from Queen Elizabeth. The Duke d’Anjou, on becoming king of Poland,

wishing to give a proof of his tolerant intentions towards the Polish

Protestants, offered Mornay a place in his council; but he answered:

“I will never enter the service of those, who have shed the blood of

my brethren.”

The invitation of the Béarnese king was better responded to. Mornay

joined this prince, who was then poor and weak, at his small court

at Agen; and these two men, so different in character, habit, and

conduct, contracted a friendship, which was on more than one occasion

interrupted, but never entirely destroyed. Henry stood in need of

Mornay, of his prudence, his devotion, and even of his severity; and

Mornay, notwithstanding his reproaches, saw in his master a man who

had been raised by Heaven to defend the cause of the Reformation.

His functions at the court of Agen and Nérac were as multifarious

as his genius was versatile. During the less important wars, which

were continually springing up between Henry III. and the Béarnese

king, he acted at different times as captain, engineer, camp-master,

and chief financier of the army; and instead of gaining by these

employments, he more frequently contributed to the cause. When in the

tent, he would take his pen and draw up diplomatic notes, memorials,

manifestoes, replies to the (Roman) Catholics, and remonstrances to

the Reformed, with admirable promptitude. In council he prepared the

speeches of the king of Navarre, and furnished him with suitable

arguments to satisfy men of jealous or suspicious temperament.

He visited the court of France in order to defend the interests of

his co-religionists. Henry III. asked him one day, how a man of his

science and capacity could be a Huguenot; “Have you never read,” he

asked, “the Catholic doctors?” “I have not only read the Catholic

doctors,” was Mornay’s reply, “but I have read them with earnestness;

for I am flesh and blood, like another man, and was not born without

ambition. I should have been very glad to have discovered what would

have quieted my conscience, in order that I might have participated

in the wealth and honours which you distribute, and from the

enjoyment of which my religion excludes me. But everywhere I have

found arguments to fortify my belief; and worldly considerations

should always yield to those of conscience.” Noble words, and passing

strange to have been spoken at the court of the Valois, and of

Catherine de Medicis!

After the death of Henry III. Mornay was, near Henry IV., as the

organ of those whose faith was the most decided, and whose intentions

were the purest of the Consistorial Reformed.

The Baron de Rosny, afterwards Duke de Sully, represented the

political Calvinistic party, or those who advocated measures of

compromise. A great minister of state, an able and upright financier,

he repaired, more than any other person, the unhappy consequences

of the civil wars under the reign of Henry IV.; and if the people

measured glory by benefits, his should be immense. He would also

display a manly courage when it became necessary, to hinder the king

from compromising the dignity of his crown by his weaknesses. But

in matters of religion his convictions were not strong, and without

leaving the Reformed church himself, he powerfully contributed to its

being abandoned by his king. “He was,” says a French historian, “one

of those strong-minded men, who place themselves above all prejudices

where the service of God is concerned; so that his religion consisted

only of superficial forms.”[74]

The old Huguenot chiefs were assembled round Henry IV. at the battle

of Ivry in large numbers, and he remembered in the hour of danger

the lessons of his pious mother. Lifting up his eyes to heaven, he

called God to witness his right: “But, O Lord,” said he, “if it has

pleased Thee to order otherwise, or if I should be one of those kings

whom Thou givest in Thy wrath, take my life with my crown, and may my

blood be the last shed in this quarrel.”

The battle was gained. The Calvinists, nevertheless, remained in

an unsettled and critical position. With no legal security, they

maintained, in fact, simple possession of those places where they

were strong enough to defend themselves, but they held nothing by

law. No edict, given in regular form, had abolished the decrees of

extermination pronounced against them. The Parliaments could, by the

terms of these ordinances, decree that the Calvinists could be taken,

judged, and condemned to banishment or capital punishment. The king

celebrated the Reformed worship in his camp; at two leagues’ distance

it was punished as a crime. Duplessis summed up their position in

two words: “They had the halter always round their necks.”

Many complained of this; and seeing that their requests were received

with disdain, they proposed, at a meeting convened at Saint Jean

d’Angély, to choose another protector for the Church. Henry IV. was

much distressed at this course; but the faithful Mornay replied to

him by energetic representations: “What! is it not intended to revoke

the edicts of proscription, and yet do they counsel the Reformed

to be patient? Have they not been patient during fifty years? and

does the service of the king require that they should be patient

in things of this nature? Ought not children to be baptized? shall

not marriages be consecrated? Each hour’s delay brings troubles and

sufferings. If three families pray together for the prosperity of the

king, if an artisan sings a psalm in his shop, or should a bookseller

sell a French Bible, here are grounds for persecuting decrees. Our

judges answer that such is the law. Well! let the law be changed. To

such evils prompt remedies should be applied.”

The king knew that it would be doubly perilous for him to persist in

his denial of justice; from within, because the Reformed at length

sought other protection than his own; from without, because the

Protestant powers would refuse him their aid. He therefore caused an

edict of toleration to be adopted at his council, in the month of

July, 1591, known as that of Nantes, which reinstated the Reformed in

the same position which they held in 1577; a very meagre concession,

since no more was granted than had been given by Henry III. Moreover,

this ordinance did not pass without difficulty, and was never well

observed, especially in those matters which related to admission to

public employment.

We may judge from the following occurrence what was the amount of

fanaticism which reigned in the camp even of Henry IV. Several

Calvinists having been killed at the siege of Rouen, had been buried

indiscriminately with the bodies of (Roman) Catholics, but the

priests caused the bodies to be disinterred, and ordered that they

should be thrown as food to the beasts of the field. Thus, men who

had fought under the same banner were not permitted to sleep together

in the same dust.

XIX.

The League, however, in proportion as it felt its strength

decreasing, redoubled its violence. It had called to Paris bands of

Spanish and Neapolitan soldiers and preachers, and with obscene or

atrocious language, had demanded millions of heads. The prior of the

Sorbonne, Jean Boucher, taught that it was necessary to take the

knife in hand to kill and exterminate all; the bishop Rose argued

that another bleeding like that of Saint Bartholomew was again

necessary, and that by such means the disease would be cut short; the

Jesuit Commolet said that the death of the politicians was life to

the (Roman) Catholics; and the curé of Saint André asserted that he

would march foremost to slay them.

Pope Gregory XIV. at the same time sent monitions to the (Roman)

Catholics of France, threatening with severe pains those who had

taken the oath of fidelity to Henry of Béarn, the heretic and the

excommunicated. These bulls, which were worthy of the age of Robert

the Devout, appeared so monstrous, that the Parliaments of Tours and

Châlons, having declared them scandalous, seditious, and contrary to

the rights of the Gallican church, caused them to be burned by the

hands of the executioner.

But the six months, at the expiration of which Henry IV. had promised

to make himself acquainted [with the difference of the two creeds],

had long since expired. He had been in the field nearly four years

without having made any sensible progress in this respect. All the

(Roman) Catholics who had attached themselves to his fortunes,

pressed him warmly to change his religion; the bishops, because they

were blamed at Rome, and were desirous of freeing themselves from the

reproach of infidelity; the nobility, because they were impatient to

receive the reward of their services; the members of the Parliament,

no less than those of the privy council, because they better

understood state exigencies than conscientious scruples. The greater

number of the other portions of society felt disposed to content

themselves with form only; it was sufficient for them that they could

tell the populace that the king of France attended mass.

The Abbé Duperron, afterwards bishop of Evreux and cardinal, an

intriguing and cunning person, as well as an eloquent orator, spoke

with these views to Henry IV., introducing into his arguments few

theological, but many political considerations.

Gabrielle d’Estrées added to this the weight of a more direct

and more intimate influence. She had no love for the Calvinists,

who had frequently addressed severe expressions to her. The

Béarnese, moreover, vanquished by fond passion, had led her to see

in perspective the half of a throne. But to re-marry, it became

necessary to be unmarried, and this, without exciting scandal, the

pope alone could permit.

The king himself, whose “soul was steeped in voluptuousness,”

according to the energetic expression of a contemporary, and who

never had any solid religious principles, waited only for the

proper time and opportunity. The single question for him, since his

accession to the throne, was to abjure wisely, that is to say, that

in gaining the (Roman) Catholics he might not lose the Reformed.

Among these, many of the nobility, wearied with war, showed

themselves well disposed. Sully set them the example. “That I should

advise you to attend mass,” said he to Henry IV., “is a thing you

should not, as I think, expect from me, being of another religion;

but I tell you frankly, that it is the most prompt and easy mode of

overturning all these malignant projects. You will no longer have to

encounter so many enemies, troubles, and difficulties in this world;

as to the other,” he continued, laughing, “I will not answer for

that.” On which the king laughed also.

Sully relates, in his “_Economies Royales_,” how he had conceived

a theory, which admitted of passing in conscientious security from

the Reformed communion to the Roman (Catholic) church. The king

having caused him to be called very early one morning, requested him

to sit down near his bed, and demanded his advice. Sully at first

invoked political reasons, and as “the king was scratching his head

in great perplexity,” he continued in these terms: “I hold it to be

infallible, that of whatever kind of religion men make an external

profession, if they die having observed the Decalogue, with a belief

in the Apostles’ Creed, if they love God with all their heart, are

charitable towards their neighbour, hope in the mercy of God, and to

obtain redemption by the death, the merit, and the righteousness of

Jesus Christ, they cannot fail to be saved.”

It was thus that Henry IV. became furnished with his famous argument

of the most safe course, the (Roman) Catholics affirming that there

was no safety out of their communion, and the Calvinists admitting

that it is possible to be saved out of theirs. It will be seen at

the first glance that the question had been improperly stated by

Sully; it was a matter not of faith only, but of good faith; and

when in speaking of dying in the observance of the Decalogue, which

forbids us to bear false witness, he advised the king to commit an

act of fraud and hypocrisy, one-half of his argument overturned the

other half. Clearly it could only carry conviction to a mind already

convinced by reasoning of a totally different nature.

Duplessis gave opposite advice, for he had seriously taken up the

instruction of the king. He was desirous that the several points

of religion should be discussed before him by the most celebrated

doctors, and of recommencing in some manner the conference of Poissy.

He invited each of the principal theologians of the Reformation

to study one of the questions of controversy, in order that they

might all come well armed before their adversaries. Henry IV., “the

most cunning, and the most subtle prince in the world,” as Agrippa

d’Aubigné, who had lived thirty years in his confidence, called him,

permitted Mornay to take his own course, and enjoined him even to

select his champions without delay.

The (Roman) Catholic nobles were deceived by this, and offered

Mornay twenty thousand crowns on condition that he should not again

awaken the king’s scruples. “The conscience of my master is no more

to be sold,” said he to them, “than my own!” A beautiful reply, but

unhappily only true on one side.

Despairing of being able to seduce Mornay, the politicians prayed

Henry IV. to remove him from his person. But coming upon them

unexpectedly at one of their meetings, “It is hard, gentlemen,” said

he, “to prevent a master from speaking to a faithful servant. The

proposals which I make to him are of such a nature that I can state

them to him aloud, before you all. I propose to him that he should

serve God with a good conscience, that he should have Him constantly

before his eyes in every action, that he should appease the schism

which is in the state, by a sacred reformation of the Church; that

he should be an example to all Christians and to all posterity. Are

these things to be said in secret? Would you wish that I should

counsel him to attend mass? You do him wrong to imagine that he would

profit by doing so. With what conscience can I advise him, if I do

not first go there myself? and what religion is that which we may

throw off like our shirts?”

Astonished by so much courage and virtue, Marshal d’Aumont cried,

“You are more estimable than we are, Monsieur Duplessis; and if I

said, two days since, that it was necessary to shoot you through the

head, I say to-day, on the contrary, that you merit a statue.”

It will be surprising that the judicious Mornay, who had so closely

and for so long a time observed the king, should have entertained so

good an opinion of his firmness. But he had the sublime ingenuousness

of men of great faith; and moreover, Henry IV. displayed in this

matter—it is with regret that we say so of the most popular of the

French kings—the most consummate duplicity. He went so far as to

invite the Reformed of France to fast, and pray that God would bless

the pretended conferences, which were about to be opened; and he

said to the pastors assembled at Saumur, “If you learn that I have

committed some excess, you may believe that there is some foundation

in the report, for I am a man subject to great infirmities; but if

they should tell you that I have been seduced from my religion,

do not believe it; I would die first.” Three months afterwards he

abjured at Saint Denis.

On the 22nd July, 1593, the archbishop of Bourges and other

dignitaries of the (Roman) Catholic clergy, repaired to the king.

It had been arranged that they alone should speak. We meet with a

curious proof of this from a letter in which the bishop of Chartres

was informed, that “he might come in full confidence, without

troubling himself about theology.” For greater safety, Mornay had

been sent away.

At a later period, Henry IV. explained the exclusion of the ministers

by the following position. His mind was made up beforehand, he said.

Why, then, expose the advocates of the Reformation to a certain

defeat? Had they attended the conference, the bishops would have

boasted of having vanquished them; in not attending, the ministers

preserved the right of saying that they had not been heard. It is

thus that sometimes the most serious matters are dealt with in this

world.

On the 23rd July, the archbishop of Bourges delivered a discourse

before the king, which lasted from six until eleven o’clock in the

morning. The Béarnese only interrupted it from time to time, in

order to ask for some explanation; or, if he raised an objection, he

took care to add that he submitted himself entirely to the authority

of the (Roman) Catholic church—conduct more worthy of a mocking

philosopher than of a king. It was a ceremony arranged beforehand.

Henry IV. had written to Gabrielle d’Estrées: “I commence this

morning to speak to the bishops. It will be to-morrow that I shall

make the perilous leap.”

An act of abjuration had been prepared, in which the king rejected,

one after the other, all the doctrines of the Reformed faith. But

he would not sign it, and they [the clergy] were contented with a

vague adhesion in six lines to the articles of the Roman church.

Nevertheless, by a cheat, very much resembling an act of forgery,

and which paints the manners of the age, Loménie counterfeited the

king’s signature on the first of the two formularies which it became

necessary to send to the pope.

On Sunday, the 25th July, 1593, at eight o’clock in the morning,

the king presented himself at the great gate of the church of Saint

Denis, accompanied by the princes and the officers of the crown.

At the entrance were the prelates, who awaited his arrival with

the cross, the book of the Evangelists, and holy water. “Who are

you?” said the archbishop of Bourges. “I am the king.” “What do you

demand?” “I demand to be received within the pale of the Catholic,

apostolic, and Roman church.” “Do you desire it _sincerely_?” “Yes,

I wish it and desire it.” Then kneeling, he pronounced the formulary

agreed upon, and the archbishop gave him absolution, and the

benediction. The priests sang a grand mass, and at the termination of

the ceremony, Cardinal de Bourbon carried to the king the book of the

Evangelists to kiss.

This is what has been termed the conversion of Henry IV.—a matter of

policy, through the influence of women, a lie of the priests, and a

falsehood from beginning to end!

XX.

The act of abjuration did not immediately bring back the Leaguers

to submission. The Spanish ambassador distributed gold with lavish

hands. The legate pretended that to the pope alone belonged the

right of reconciling one, who had been excommunicated by the Church,

and the States-General of the League swore to obey the decrees of

the Holy See. Boucher delivered nine sermons against the simulated

conversion of the Béarnese, saying that the bishops of St. Denis

were traitors, their prayers anathemas, and the mass sung before the

heretics a miserable farce. All the preachers of the faction of the

Sixteen (_de la faction des seize_) declared openly for regicide; and

the fruit of their provocation was soon apparent. Jean Banière in

1593, and the year following Jean Châtel, attempted to assassinate

the king. A decree of the Parliament drove the society of Loyola from

the kingdom; it returned to give birth to Ravaillac.

But the mass of the nation accepted the abjuration of Henry IV. as

real and sincere, because it thirsted for repose. The chiefs of the

League, having lost all hope of vanquishing, now only thought of

selling themselves as dearly as possible. It cost the king enormous

sums, and the Reformed were nearly everywhere sacrificed in the

capitulations. Rouen, Meaux, Poitiers, Agen, Beauvais, Amiens, Saint

Malo, and many other cities, both large and small, stipulated, in

making submission, that the preaching of the Huguenots should be

banished from within their walls and their suburbs. Paris claimed an

extension of the interdict to ten leagues from its gates. The king

opposed some resistance to these demands, but he finished by granting

all of them.

The least mark of attachment which the Béarnese might show towards

his old co-religionists, was watched with an eye of jealousy, and he

was unable openly to press the hand of those faithful servants, who

had defended his crown at the expense of their blood.

A new _protector_ was again begun to be spoken of, notwithstanding

the energetic expressions of Henry IV., who called himself the

natural and legitimate protector of his subjects. Duplessis loyally

supported the remonstrances of the king; however, he, in his turn,

preferred to him heavy complaints: “See, sire,” he wrote to him, “by

what steps you have been conducted to the mass. Those, who do not

believe in God, have made you swear by images and relics, purgatory

and indulgences. Your poor subjects see you go further still, by

this same road. They see you send to make your submission to Rome.

They know that there cannot be absolution without penance. The pope,

on the first opportunity, will send you the sacred sword, and will

impose upon you the law of making war against heretics; and under

this name will be comprehended the most Christian and the most loyal

of the French.”

Clement VIII., in truth, demanded as the price of absolution, the

abrogation of the edicts of toleration, the exclusion of heretics

from all offices, and the promise of exterminating them, so soon

as peace should be concluded with the League and with Spain. On

this occasion Henry IV. rebelled. He caused a reply to be returned

by D’Ossat and Duperron, to the effect that he should be accused

of indecency and ingratitude, if, after having experienced so many

services from those of the (Reformed) religion, he reduced them to

extremity, and forced them to take arms against his person.

The pope and the king, by the aid of equivocation, finished with

a mutual understanding, and on the 16th September, 1595, the two

ambassadors of Henry IV. were kneeling under the portico of Saint

Peter. They sang the _Miserere_, and at each verse they received

for their master blows from a rod or switch, on the shoulders. The

Spaniards ridiculed them, and the more estimable of the French

papists were indignant at this humiliation.

The king continued to give the Reformed nothing but fair words.

He told them privately that he trusted in them more than in the

others, and he endeavoured even to justify the privileges which he

had granted to the (Roman) Catholics, by the parable of the prodigal

son, for whom the father caused the fatted calf to be killed: “It

is well,” replied the deputies of the churches, “but treat us also

as the son who has always been faithful, and to whom the father

said, ‘All my goods are thine.’ To despoil the obedient son of his

legitimate rights, in order to give them to him who has trodden

underfoot the paternal authority, is not the spirit of Christ’s

parable.”

To this the king could only reply by new exhortations to patience.

“You shall have satisfaction,” said he to them, “when I am master

at home.” Truly it was very difficult to exercise patience in the

unhappy condition of the Reformed. Excluded from all offices,

maltreated, persecuted, without anywhere being able to invoke the

Almighty in peace, without security in their own houses, having no

longer their ancient protector, and forbidden to name another, they

at length resolved, with the tacit authority of the king, to manage

their own affairs, and convoked political assemblies. The first was

held at Sainte Foy, in the month of May, 1594.

These assemblies must not be confounded with the synods. In the

synods, the clergy and laity were equal in number, and were always

occupied with the interests of the Church. In the political

assemblies, the laity were greatly in the majority, and they treated

also concerning state affairs.

Assemblies of this kind had been held during the religious wars, but

they then took a more regular organization, and adopted the plan of

uniting at periodical intervals.

France was divided into ten departments, each of which named a deputy

to form the _General Council_. Their distinction of three orders

was borrowed from the States-General. The General Council was to be

composed of four noblemen, four members of the Third Estate, and of

two pastors. When the number of members was raised to thirty, there

were twelve delegates of the nobility, twelve representatives of the

Third Estate, and six clergymen. The president was to be a layman,

the vice-president an ecclesiastic. One half of the council was

re-elected every six months. Dukes, lieutenant-generals, and other

personages of high rank, took part in the deliberations without being

deputies, provided they were not objected to by the assembly.

The provincial councils were next in authority to the General

Council, and were composed of from five to seven members, chosen

equally from the three orders. They were to include at least one

resident governor and a clergyman.

These councils were to promote peace between those of their own

religion, to levy rates for the necessities of the cause, and to

regulate the disposal of them, to watch over the stores and munitions

of fortified towns; in a word, to do everything that was necessary

for the defence of their common interests. The deputies took the oath

of obedience, and the members of the Church were obliged to respect

the decisions of the general and private assemblies. A permanent fund

of forty-five thousand crowns was supplied by the contributions of

the faithful.

The General Council received memorials and complaints from the

provincial councils, sent them to court, discussed the terms of

the new edicts with the commissioners of the king, and sought to

establish the free exercise of religion upon a more solid basis.

Judging according to present ideas, nothing could be more contrary

to good order than this organization; it was, as we have already

remarked, a state within a state. But to appreciate as we ought the

institution of these political assemblies, we must recollect that

the Reformed were excluded in France from the common right. The

intolerant dogmas of (Roman) Catholicism did not recognise them as

Frenchmen. They were looked upon as foreigners, or rather as enemies,

and were treated as such. The king was obliged to capitulate with

some of his subjects at the expense of the others. The pope demanded

their extermination. The bishops had forced Henry to say at his

coronation, “I will, in good faith, do all in my power to drive

all heretics, denounced by the Church, out of my jurisdiction and

territory;” and this was only a mitigated formula, that the priests

had sanctioned after much hesitation. Public authority attacked and

condemned the Reformed as malefactors. If then they established a

distinct society amongst themselves, it is because they were cut off

from society in general; and it would be absurd, as well as odious,

to accuse those in the name of the law, who had been put out of its

pale.

The Leaguers had also formed a state within the state, but with this

difference, that they were associated together in order to oppress

the Calvinists, whilst the latter united that they might not be

oppressed; and cruel experience proved to them, under the reign of

Louis XIV., that in losing their political organization, they were

exposed to the loss of everything.

The council of the king heard with astonishment of the decision of

the assembly of Sainte Foy. It had imagined that the great Calvinist

body, deprived of its ancient protector, would be destroyed.

Catherine of Medicis and Charles IX. fell into the same error after

the massacre of Saint Bartholomew. Seeing the Reformed rise up under

the strokes of persecution to take a firmer attitude than ever,

statesmen began to think that it was necessary to temporize with them.

The king feigned to be discontented, but secretly encouraged the

political assemblies. He preferred them to a protector, who might

have made himself too conspicuous in the kingdom, and he made use

of them with the Leaguers, and even with his advisers at Rome, to

grant more favourable conditions to his former friends. The Edict of

Nantes, one of the most glorious acts of Henry IV., would never have

been agreed to in council, nor registered by Parliament, if it had

not been for the assemblies of the Reformed.

The negotiations were long, laborious, and intermixed with incidents

which would offer little or no interest [to be here related].

Political assemblies were held at Saumur, Loudun, and Vendôme, and

again at Saumur and Châtellerault in the years 1595, 1596, and 1597.

The court addressed them with menaces or words of encouragement,

according to circumstances. Commissioners were appointed to treat

with the Calvinists; but they only possessed limited powers, and even

within these limits they were not authorized to conclude a definitive

arrangement. There was a perpetual interchange of communications,

much playing at cross-purpose, between the two parties; some were

only willing to grant the Edict of Poitiers, with amendments of no

importance; others demanded the full and free exercise of their

religion; the former alleging state reasons, the latter principles of

justice and conscience.

In the midst of these sterile disputes, persecution continued to be

violent in some places, and vexatious in others. At Châtaigneraie,

upon the confines of Poitou and Brittany, the Leaguers, encouraged

by the Duc de Mercœur, had fallen suddenly upon the faithful, whilst

they were at prayers, in 1595. Two hundred persons, of every age, men

and women, had been cowardly butchered. It was a repetition of the

massacre at Vassy.

Amongst the victims was an infant brought to be baptized A poor

boy, eight years of age, in the simplicity of his heart, offered

eightpence, the contents of his little purse, in the hope of

ransoming his life; but the murderers loved his blood better; whilst

the Lady of Châtaigneraie afterwards amused herself with the butchers

in counting the dead.

This cold-blooded butchery revolted even the most violent of Henry

IV.’s advisers, and the authors of the massacre were expressly

exempted in cases of amnesty. Nevertheless, it may be seen in a

publication of 1597, under the title, _Complaints of the Reformed

Churches of France_, how much oppression, injustice, and violence,

had to be submitted to. These grievances would alone fill a volume;

but we will only cite a few examples.

The Reformed were forbidden the free exercise of their religion

throughout such provinces as Burgundy and Picardy; they had but

a solitary place of worship in Brittany, and two in Provence;

they were ill-treated, stoned, or thrown into the river on their

return from worship; cannons were fired against their meetings; the

king’s own sister was constrained to set out for Rouen, to take the

sacrament, because the legate disapproved of her receiving it in

the city; Bibles and the Book of Psalms were burnt by the hand of

the executioner; they were forbidden to comfort the sick; and at

Saint Quentin, for example, a man was outlawed for having relieved

one infected with the plague in the street; children were carried

off or baptized by force in the houses by priests, accompanied by

officers of justice. The curate of Saint Etienne starved an old

man in prison to extort an abjuration, and forced him to sign a

deed in the presence of a notary, by which he condemned himself to

banishment if he renounced the (Roman) Catholic faith; cities, given

as hostages, were taken away or ransacked; the poor were neglected

and driven away, even where the Reformed contributed the most to the

common fund; there was systematic exclusion from all appointments,

even from the magistracy of the city, from the freedom of companies,

from the offices of notary and attorney; there was no justice before

the tribunals; exorbitant fines and imprisonments [were inflicted]

for the slightest cause; [as well as] disinterment of the dead, even

of those who had been buried in the tombs of their ancestors, &c. &c.

&c.

In terminating this long list of grievances, the Reformed said to the

king, “But, sire, we have amongst us neither Jacobins nor Jesuits,

who aim at your life, nor Leaguers, who desire your crown. We have

never presented the points of our swords instead of petitions. We are

paid by political considerations. They tell us the time is not yet

come for granting an edict. And this, great God, after thirty-five

years of persecutions, ten years of banishment by the edicts of the

League, eight years of the king’s reign, and four years’ entreaty. We

only ask of your majesty an edict which would permit us to enjoy that

which is common to all your subjects. The glory of God, the safety of

our property and lives, would be the summit of our wishes and the end

of our petitions.”

The king and his council were again for temporizing with them;

however, the fresh dangers which menaced the kingdom, the surprise of

Amiens by the Spaniards, the resolution of many Huguenot noblemen to

remain inactive, instead of drawing their swords for a king who had

abandoned them, the conscience of many of their most celebrated men,

which at last began to trouble them, caused the Edict of Nantes to

be granted in the month of April, 1598, which took its name from the

place where it was first published.

In the preamble of this celebrated act, the king acknowledged that

God is adored and worshipped by all his subjects, if not in the same

form, at least with the same intentions, in such manner that his

kingdom will always merit and preserve the glorious title of “very

Christian.” The edict was declared perpetual and irrevocable, as

being the principal foundation of the union and tranquillity of the

state.

This great charter of the French Reformation briefly consisted of

what follows under the ancient _régime_—entire liberty of conscience

in the domestic circle; the public exercise of religion in all

places where it was established in 1597, and in the suburbs of the

towns; permission to lords of high rank to have service performed

in their castles, and to noblemen of second rank, the right of

admitting thirty persons to their private worship; the admission

of the Reformed to public employment, of their children to the

schools, of their invalids to the hospitals, of their poor to partake

of the alms; the right of printing their books in certain towns;

equal representation in some of the Parliaments; a chamber of the

edict at Paris, entirely composed of (Roman) Catholics, except a

single member, but offering sufficient guarantee by its particular

object; four academies for scientific and theological instruction;

authorization to convoke synods according to discipline; and lastly,

a certain number of places of surety.

The (Roman) Catholic church had also its share in this edict. The

property of the clergy was to be everywhere restored, tithes paid,

and the exercise of (Roman) Catholicism re-established throughout the

kingdom. This last article, which restored the mass in two hundred

and fifty towns, and two thousand country parishes, narrowly missed

exciting an insurrection at La Rochelle.

Yet this was not religious liberty, nor even simple toleration, as

we understand it now; it was still a treaty of peace between two

people juxtaposed upon the same soil. There was a twofold law; there

were two armies, two judicial establishments, and each party had its

places of hostage. Henry IV., the head of the whole state, had filled

the office of arbitrator between the two camps. But this was already

a great step in advance of the past.

The false maxim that there should be only one faith, as there are

only one king and one government, had cost France three millions

of actual money, and two millions of men. It had erected the

scaffold and the stake during sixty years, kindled civil war during

thirty-five years, provoked the massacres of Mérindol, of Vassy,

and of Saint Bartholomew, and inspired spoliations and murders,

and crimes without number. At the termination of the wars, half of

the towns and castles were in ashes, commerce destroyed, and the

country so devastated that thousands of the peasantry had resolved

to emigrate, having no longer the wherewithal to live upon the soil

which had nourished their forefathers.

Humanity has achieved the principle of religious liberty through

rivers of blood and over heaps of ruins: it has been too dearly

purchased to be lost.