The name alone of this edict marked a new order of things. It was

no longer a pacification—it was a _grace_, a grace granted by the

good-will of the sovereign to his vanquished subjects. The preamble

spoke of nothing but their _rebellion_, and of the goodness of the

king: “to which we are the more easily disposed,” Louis XIII. was

made to say, “because we have been desirous, by a rare instance of

clemency, after so many relapses, the more advantageously to win the

hearts of our subjects, spare the effusion of blood, the devastation

of the province, and all the disorders and calamities of war; and we

are moved to this solely by compassion for their misery and love for

their well-being.”

The Reformers were reinstated in the possession of their places of

worship, their cemeteries, and the exercise of their religion in the

places they had before used, pending their return to the bosom of the

(Roman) Catholic church, “in which,” adds Louis XIII., “for more than

eleven hundred successive years, the kings, our predecessors, have

lived without interruption or change; there being no possible way of

so well testifying to the affection we bear them, than by desiring

to find them in the same road of salvation that we keep and follow

ourselves.”

There was a threat expressed in this hope, and the priests did not

fail to avail themselves of it at the opportune time. There was

also, as we shall see, a pretence of the Cardinal de Richelieu, who,

aspiring to every kind of glory, flattered himself that he would be

able to unite the two religions.

The conditions of the Edict of Grace were less severe than had been

feared, except as regarded the political guarantees, and some authors

have loudly extolled the clemency of the cardinal. If it be sought to

establish the opinion that he was more tolerant than other churchmen,

because he had more genius, and that he was a better statesman, we

shall accord with such an opinion without difficulty. But it must

not be forgotten that Richelieu, being leagued with the Swedish and

German Protestants for the humiliation of the house of Austria by the

sword of Gustavus Adolphus, could not treat the French Reformers with

excessive rigour. Nor must it be forgotten that, in France itself,

having to combat against the great (Roman) Catholic noblemen, against

the king’s brother, the queen-mother, and the reigning queen, the

prime minister of Louis XIII. would have been mad to have pushed

a whole people to despair, who, in a case of extremity, might have

compromised his fortunes and those of the kingdom itself. Richelieu

was generous perhaps, but he was, above all, prudent.

The town of Montauban was the last to submit. It remembered with

pride the heroic resistance it had opposed to the royal troops, and

its inhabitants, accustomed to self-government from the commencement

of the religious wars, felt a great repugnance to “_return to their

duty_,” as the phrase then was. Two deputies came from Nismes with

an envoy of Richelieu, to exhort them to submission. The people

wished to preserve their ramparts: they obtained nothing, and the

most determined at length perceived that to continue the struggle had

become impossible.

Montauban opened its gates; and on the 21st August, 1629, its

inhabitants witnessed the entry of Marshal de Bassompierre, with

a part of the army, the pope’s nuncio, the first president of the

Parliament of Toulouse, and lastly, Cardinal de Richelieu, who

presented himself as one who had gained a triumph. When the ministers

of the religion came to pay their respects to him, he consented to

receive them, “_not as forming a church body_,” he told them, “_but

as a people following the profession of letters_.” This was indeed

carrying fiction a little too far.

He celebrated mass in one of the churches of Montauban, instituted

convents for the Jesuits and Capuchins, and ordered the demolition of

the walls. Then he resumed his journey to Paris, surrounded with more

homage than Louis XIII. himself ever received from his people.

The Duke de Rohan was the object of the attack of his

co-religionists, who, becoming unjust by reason of their misfortune,

accused him of being the author of all their calamities. He wrote his

apology with the satisfaction of a good conscience, and concluded it

in these terms: “These are my crimes, for which I have been condemned

at Toulouse to be dragged to pieces by four horses, whereof I take

glory to myself.... I wish those who come after me may have the same

affection, fidelity, and patience that I have had; that they may meet

with people more constant, less covetous, and more zealous than I

have done; and that God may bless them with greater prosperity, to

the end that by restoring the churches of France, they may execute

that which I dared to undertake.”

His hopes were realized otherwise than he had any notion of. Henri

de Rohan was the last warrior-chief of the French Reformation; but

that which the sword has not effected, civilization and liberty have

accomplished in the day of God’s destiny.

Rohan offered his sword to the republic of Venice, and afterwards to

Gustavus Adolphus, and died in 1638, on the plains of Germany, for

the same cause, which he had so long and so valiantly defended in his

own country.

VII.

The Calvinist party had definitively ceased to exist after the taking

of La Rochelle, and the history of the Reformers is no longer mixed

up with the great affairs of the kingdom, until the Revocation of the

Edict of Nantes.

It was in vain that persons of the highest birth, who belonged to

the (Roman) Catholic communion, provoked them to resort to arms;

Huguenots were no longer to be found in the ranks of the adversaries

of royalty.

In 1632, the Duke Henri de Montmorency, supported by Gaston

d’Orléans, brother of Louis XIII., essayed to re-awaken the religious

passions in Languedoc, where he was governor. He addressed himself

to the noblemen of the religion, to the pastors, the consistories,

and the synods, and met with nothing but refusals. He had five or six

bishops in his party, but not a single Reformer. The second consul

of Nismes preserved the town for the king, by expelling the bishop

and the first consul, who was a (Roman) Catholic. The inhabitants of

Montauban offered to march against the troops of Montmorency, and,

memorable fact! the miserable remnants of the population of Privas

defended their town for the service of the king, and Cardinal de

Richelieu could but say of the Reformers, “They have done more than

all the rest.”

About twenty years afterwards, during the troubles of the Fronde, the

great Condé, counting upon the old associations of his house, sought

to attract them to his standard, and employed emissaries, who sowed

sinister rumours. They went from church to church, saying that the

regent Anne d’Autriche, had promised the clergy that the Edict of

Pacification should be revoked, that her first minister, Mazarin, was

an Italian cardinal without good faith, that it was force alone which

would preserve the Reformers from utter ruin, and that the Prince de

Condé would guarantee full liberty of conscience and of worship. But

these appeals were also fruitless.

The people of La Rochelle took the side of the regent against their

own governor. Those of Montauban exhausted their men and wealth

for the same purpose. The town of Saint Jean d’Angély, which had

nothing but dismantled walls, defended itself against the rebels. The

province of the Vivarais and the Cevennes furnished devoted soldiers,

and nearly all the Reformed nobility of the southern provinces,

rising against the Prince de Condé, kept Languedoc, Saintonge, and a

part of Guienne for the king.

These services were of great importance; Mazarin said, “I have no

cause to complain of the little flock; if they browse on bad herbage,

at least they do not stray away.” When he mentioned the pastors of

Montauban, he styled them his good friends, and the Count d’Harcourt

said to the deputies of the same town, “The crown tottered on the

king’s head, but you have fixed it there.”

Louis XIV. expressed his gratitude more than once, but particularly

in his declaration of the 21st of May, 1682, in which he said,

“Forasmuch as our subjects of the pretended Reformed religion have

given us proofs of their affection and fidelity, notably in the

present circumstances, of which we rest well satisfied, we make

known that for these causes they be maintained and guarded, as now

we maintain and guard them, in the full and entire enjoyment of the

Edict of Nantes.”

But it was this very same king, who made those who had fixed the

crown upon his head, to suffer the longest and the more odious

persecutions! It was he who in 1685 signed the fatal Edict

of Revocation! What were the causes of so many violences and

misfortunes? We are about to enter on one of the most interesting

problems of this history.

The most implacable enemy of the Reformed was the spiritual power.

In the foremost rank the Jesuits figured, who had purposely been

created for the extirpation of Protestantism in Europe, the born

adversaries of the Huguenots, monks doubly redoubtable by their

office of confessors to kings, and because their code of morality

authorized them the use of any and every means. Lying, deceit,

iniquity, the traffic of consciences, brutal force, spoliations,

exile, even murder,—all things were lawful, provided they only

conduced to their ends.

After the Jesuits came the secular clergy, who—except a few,

such as Richelieu and Mazarin, who were rather politicians than

ecclesiastics—were never weary of inventing new measures of

oppression and persecution against heretics. They had the advantage

over the poor and humble ministers of the French Reformation, of

number, birth, position, authority, fortune, and high offices, and

might do anything to crush them without fear of reprisals.

Every five years the secular clergy held assemblies, which were never

dissolved, as we have already remarked, without the repeal of some

portion of the laws of toleration. “The clergy,” says Rulhières,

“gave the king money. His servants negotiated with this first body of

the state, to obtain for the requirements of the kingdom, what was

called the _gratuitous gift_; and the Protestants, on the contrary,

wanted money from the king for the maintenance of their ministers

and the holding of their synods. Each time they wished to meet, it

was a pecuniary favour they solicited, and each time that the clergy

assembled, it was a kind of favour that they conferred upon the

state. Consequently each assembly of the clergy was distinguished

by some advantage gained over the Reformed, while each synod, on

the contrary, received from the court some mark of disfavour....

The demands of the clergy were in a degree moderate, so long as the

Calvinists were to be feared; but they extended to open persecution

as soon as the Calvinists had become peaceable citizens.”[80]

Lastly, after the Jesuits and the (secular) clergy, swarmed legions

of Capuchins, Recollets, Carmelites, Franciscans, and others; an

ignorant and reckless horde, who fanned the fanaticism of the

populace, and were ever ready to attack heresy.

So much for the spiritual authority! As for the men of the temporal

power, the foremost adversaries of the Reformation were the kings

themselves, who had received a false and imperfect education. Their

preceptors had placed them as much as possible under the yoke of a

narrow and intolerant devotion, that was full of little scruples

upon certain points, and easy of relaxation upon others. Louis XIII.

had neither greatness of mind, nor dignity of character. A weak,

hypochondriac prince, putting his kingdom under the protection of the

Virgin, after assassinating the favorites of his mother, he possessed

no other merit than that of allowing himself to be governed by

Richelieu. Louis XIV., with a proud genius and true kingly qualities,

united gallantry to bigotry, and we shall have occasion to see that

in his strange compromises with his conscience, the more scandal he

occasioned to his court by his licentiousness, the more he made it a

point to edify it by his severity against the Reformed.

Each of these kings held the policy of weakening Calvinism as a state

maxim, as if men and circumstances were the same as they had been

under Charles IX. These princes had been taught that the Reformation

was the enemy of thrones, and they thought they could never do enough

against this vain phantom of their imagination.

The result was, that the chief employments at court and in the army,

of the magistracy and the finances, were systematically refused to

the Calvinists, except in extraordinary cases. Turenne and Duquesne

broke through this barrier by the splendour of their services; the

others were left disregarded, or condemned to grow grey in inferior

situations. The Edict of Nantes had, no doubt, made the Reformed

admissible to office, but it did not guarantee to them the favours

of the court; “and royalty,” to use the expression of Louis XIV.

himself, “restricted them to the narrowest limits that justice and a

regard for appearances would permit.” Even these conditions, however,

were not long respected.

Louis XIV. has, moreover, said, in the memoirs which he dictated for

the instruction of the dauphin: “As for the favours that depended

upon me alone, I resolved, and I have punctually kept that resolution

ever since, not to grant any to the people of that religion, and this

out of kindness, and not from hatred, that they might be obliged

thereby to consider from time to time by themselves, and _apart from

violence_, whether they were acting wisely in voluntarily depriving

themselves of the advantages they might enjoy in common with my other

subjects.” Nothing can be more _naïf_ and instructive than these

avowals.

The ministers of state naturally followed the bent of the prince.

No favour [was to be allowed] to heretics; ill-will [was to be

accorded,] when it was possible [to manifest it] without too open an

attack upon acquired rights; and a constant inequality of treatment,

that urged the lukewarm and the ambitious to change their religion.

The intendants of the provinces—the new creation of a government,

that aspired to a stronger national unity—anxious to make themselves

agreeable to the court and the council, did not omit to pronounce

for the Jesuits against the pastors, and for the bishops against the

provincial synods or the consistories, whenever there was a pretext,

however frivolous, that could be made available.

Nearly all the Parliaments pursued the same course, not through

religious fanaticism, but through that spirit which in all ages,

among the Pagans as in Christendom, has constituted the magistracy

the guardians of ancient laws and traditional customs. The

advocate-general, Omer Talon, said, in the great days of Poitiers, in

1634, that the pretended Reformed, being only suffered by toleration,

the matters regarding them ought not to be counted as _favourable_,

and that the most rigorous interpretation ought, on the contrary, to

be applied against them.

Thus in the questions brought before the tribunals, they could only

count upon the strict right, or rather upon what it was not possible

to deny to them without flagrant injustice. Out of every severe

decree, a hostile law immediately arose against them, and by one

restriction and another, they successively lost what the Edict of

Nantes had conceded to them.

The universities and colleges, where clerical influence was dominant,

invented difficulty upon difficulty, against conferring academic

degrees upon the _religionists_, and at length these degrees were

only granted upon certificates of attendance at mass.

As for the relations between private individuals of the two

religions, there is a distinction to be drawn. The men of letters,

and the people of the middle class, the _respectable folks_—to use

the language of the period—generally lived on good terms with each

other. We know that the French Academy was founded by members of both

communions. Such was also the origin of many learned societies, at

Nismes and elsewhere. “Long before the Revocation of the Edict of

Nantes,” says Segrais, “the (Roman) Catholics and Huguenots lived

here [at Caen] on good terms; they ate, drank, played, and took their

amusements together, and left each other freely, some for the mass,

others for the sermon, without any scandal on one side or the other.”

But in the body of the people, more subjected to the teaching of

the priesthood, prejudices and hatreds were rife. Whence resulted

vexatious interferences with the rights of freedom, local privileges,

as the corporations of trades, and in the small appointments in the

gift of the municipal councils. Whence also arose acts of violence

on the least pretence, against the places of worship, against the

property, against the persons; and when it was dared, attacks became

more regular and more general, and were habitually headed by some

ignorant parish vicar, or some abject monk.

By what has been said, we may judge of the condition of the Reformed

after the Edict of Grace. They had, at intervals, days of repose,

which permitted them to apply themselves to theological learning, to

develop their ordinary instruction, and to cultivate the industrial

arts. But this rest was uncertain, this calm unquiet, so to speak,

and persecution soon went on increasing, until the favourable moment

appeared for the annihilation of the French Reformation. We shall

only relate what is most important.[81]

VIII.

Cardinal de Richelieu, who had written a method of controversies, in

the leisure moments of his youth, was bent upon the execution of his

plan of reunion. He thereupon sounded the pastors and the provincial

synods, by means of his confidant Father Joseph, a mysterious

personage, an emissary at once intriguing, active, and unscrupulous;

he was seconded in his work by a certain Théophile de la Milletière,

an equivocal Calvinist, and a writer of but little learning, who was

ambitious to gain a name by promoting designs of which he did not

comprehend the object.

Among the persons who were captivated by this project, were the

prudent and skilful, who were desirous of abandoning a religion—if

they could do so without dishonour—so little agreeable to [those in]

power, as well as simple people, who foolishly believed that (Roman)

Catholicism was willing to make serious concessions, no less than

some other good folks, who treated the whole matter as a question of

charity. In the number of these last, a man of merit, Petit, pastor

and professor of theology at Nismes, was for some time found.

However, it soon appeared, that under the pompous word reunion,

nothing else was dreamed of than an act of repentance on the part

of the Calvinists, and of gracious amnesty on that of the (Roman)

Catholics—a no more considerable change than that of a few terms,

which shocked the ear of the disciples of Calvin. Certain pastors

were to be gained beforehand, who, for form’s sake, should hold a

disputation with (Roman) Catholic doctors in the king’s presence,

and should oppose no strong objection. Then they were to demand

admittance as penitents, and the Church of Rome, like a good mother,

would receive them with open arms. Lastly, a meeting, filled with

people of this easy mould, was to be got together in a national

synod; and when once the project of reunion was officially announced,

material force was to be employed to compel the submission of the

recalcitrants, or to expel them from the kingdom.

The plan was skilfully conceived: the only flaw, however, was the

omission to take honourable and faithful consciences into the

account. It failed. The pastors displayed _obstinacy_, and, what is

remarkable, the laity were even more obstinate than their ministers.

Not one provincial synod entered into the plot. Petit acknowledged

his error; La Milletière was excommunicated, and immediately became

a (Roman) Catholic; Richelieu had other matters to attend to, and the

idea of the reunion was abandoned, to be again attempted on two or

three occasions before the Revocation.

The clergy went a different way to exterminate heresy, namely, by

means of missionaries, ambulating controversialists, otherwise called

_converters_, or _propagators of the faith_, whom we find at work

from the year 1630. Some of them were monks, Capuchins and Recollets,

of whom Fénélon somewhere says, that they had drawn universal

contempt upon themselves by their ignorance and their fanatical rage.

The others were laymen of the lowest condition—cordwainers, brokers,

tailors, itinerant grinders, little shopmen—who, without any study,

abandoned their trade for the championship of the (Roman) Catholic

faith.

These vagabonds received a fixed sum _per_ head, for every proselyte,

and the rate varied according to the importance of the convert. They

were careful to take certificates duly legalized, of their conquests,

so that they might insure the receipt of their money. Fraud soon

entered into the transaction, as might have been expected. There were

wretches who joined the Reformed communion for the express purpose

of deserting it, or feigned to belong to it that they might abjure,

and afterwards share [the proceeds of their iniquity] with their

accomplices.

The converters had learned a catalogue of ridiculous subtilties and

gross quibbles by heart, which they retailed on all occasions. The

refutation of what was least ignoble in these polemics, was made

with a master’s hand by the pastor Drelincourt, in his _Abrégé des

Controverses_, whence he was called the scourge of the propagators of

the faith.

One of their favourite arguments consisted in putting this question:

“Do you believe that the king is idolatrous and damned?” If the

answer was “yes,” the result became a serious affair, pregnant with

grave consequences, particularly for those who held any public

appointment. If the reply was in the negative, they then asked how it

was that any one could refuse to enter a church that opened the door

of salvation. Or, again, if they encountered a strong resistance,

they pushed their interlocutor to utter irreverent words against the

Virgin and the saints; and as the laws punished what was then styled

blasphemy, they denounced the offenders.

As they had the priests and the Jesuits for their protectors, the

majority of these “converters” were no less insolent than illiterate.

They ran from town to town, knocking at the doors of consistories

and synods. They even made their way, by force, into private houses,

sometimes by the assistance of the judges of the district, and

commenced a controversy, according to rule. So long as they were

civilly invited to withdraw, they held firm. But if in a moment of

anger they were thrust out, they sought to excite their unwilling

host to some act of violence before witnesses, in the open street,

and immediately carried their complaint before a tribunal.

Many carried their impudence to such an extent as to interrupt

the pastors in full assembly, and to give them the lie. These

unworthy excesses exposed them to no more than murmurs and words of

reprehension. People dared not chastise them as they deserved. If an

assembly, less enduring than others, thrust them into the street and

a tumult resulted, the consequence was the interdiction of religious

worship, or even the imprisonment of the pastor.

Stalls were erected at the crossways; and there these new

mountebanks, with piles of great books at their sides, of which they

had not read a word, blattered away upon points of controversy,

parodied the ministers, and diverted or excited the populace by their

vociferations.

The most remarkable of these “converters” was one Véron, or Father

Véron. He had worn the habit of a Jesuit, and had been presented

with the curacy of Charenton, that he might more conveniently

importune the Reformed. This Véron frequently attended the sermons

of the pastors, and at the end of the service refuted them on

a kind of stage he had caused to be erected at the door of his

church. He wearied the most learned doctors of the Reformation with

his challenges. The celebrated Bochart had on one occasion the

complaisance to open a regular disputation with him. But Véron fled

before the questions, which he had himself placed upon the table,

were examined, and the pastors ended by opposing him with the silence

of contempt.

All these endeavours after conversions had but little success.

Not only studious men, but artisans, women, nay even children of

the Reformed communion, made themselves masters of controversial

subjects, and easily confounded the self-styled propagators of the

faith. So also, after the pacific mission came the armed mission—the

_booted_ mission, of which we shall speak in its place.

From 1631 to 1645 three national synods were held. The court strove

to render them less and less frequent, until it might succeed wholly

in suppressing them. The first of these assemblies was opened at

Charenton, on the 1st of September, 1631. The commissioner Galland

took his seat without opposition. Pastors and laity, all were of a

sorrowful heart, and [maintained an] humble attitude: they felt they

were at the mercy of their opponents.

The king disgraced the general deputies, whose nomination would

be agreeable to himself, and the synod obeyed. Later, one single

deputy only was required, the formality of whose re-election was

even dispensed with. This high office was concentrated in the family

of the Marquis de Ruvigny, and the churches vainly sought to join a

general deputy from the _Tiers-état_ with him. The liberal spirit of

the Reformation did not suit Louis XIV.

The synod of Charenton declared itself against any projects of

reconciliation with the (Roman) Catholics; but it offered the hand of

fellowship to the Lutherans, who until then had not been admitted to

the Supper of the Calvinists. “Because the churches of the Confession

of Augsburg,” it said, “agree with the other Reformed churches in the

fundamental points of true religion, and because there is neither

superstition nor idolatry in their worship, the faithful of the said

confession, who through a spirit of friendship and peace, shall join

the communion of our churches in this kingdom, may, without making

any abjuration, be received at the table of the Lord.”

The king would vouchsafe no answer to the list of grievances drawn up

at Charenton, until after the separation of the synod: “In order,”

he said, “that he might treat with his subjects more suitably to

his sovereign dignity and the sacred authority of his word.” We may

recognise in this (answer) both the genius and accent of Richelieu.

Another national synod was opened in the month of May, 1637, in

the town of Alençon. M. de Saint Marc, a councillor of state and a

royal commissioner, addressed it in a high tone: “I am come to your

synod to make known to you the will of his majesty. All authority is

of God, and consequently, on this immoveable basis, you are bound

to obey. Besides that the goodness of his majesty obliges you to

obedience, as well as the care he takes of you, his clemency and his

power are the firmest supports you can have. I have not the slightest

doubt that you have often reflected upon the admirable providence

of God, which has so ordered that the royal authority is your

preservation.” The moderator, Basnage, replied to M. de Saint Marc,

that the churches had never had the least thought of departing from

that submission, to which the Word of God bound them.

The king (now) forbade the pastors and elders to correspond between

synod to synod, or with foreign ecclesiastical bodies; and as many

letters had arrived from Geneva and Holland, they were given up

sealed to the commissioner, who, after having ascertained their

contents, permitted that they should be read to the meeting. These

letters treated upon some points of doctrine raised by Amyrant, a

professor of the academy of Saumur. We shall return to them by-and-by.

The synod engaged itself upon the question of negro slavery, a matter

little agitated in the seventeenth century, and which did not at

all excite the attention of the assemblies of the (Roman) Catholic

clergy. If it was of opinion that the Word of God does not prohibit

the buying and keeping of slaves, it at least laid down conditions

very far in advance of that epoch: “This assembly, confirming the

canon framed by the provincial synod of Normandy, exhorted the

faithful not to abuse this liberty in a manner contrary to the rules

of Christian charity, and not to replace these unbelievers in the

power of the barbarians, who might treat them inhumanly, or in that

of those who were cruel; but to give them to kind-hearted Christians,

who might chiefly be in a condition to take care of their precious

and immortal souls, by endeavouring to instruct them in the religion

of Christ.”

A third national synod was held at Charenton, at the end of the

year 1644, shortly after the death of Cardinal de Richelieu and of

Louis XIII. The king’s commissioner took the singular part of being

the first to complain of the encroachments and usurpations of the

Reformed churches, in order, apparently, to prevent the Reformed

from making reclamations against the injustice and indignities which

they suffered. He then made known the wishes of the king, among

which was the order to exclude any from the ministry of the Gospel

who had studied at Geneva, in Holland, or in England, because of the

republican spirit which prevailed in those countries. This was the

period of the struggles of Cromwell and the Puritans against Charles

I.

There was, on the reports of some deputies from the maritime

provinces, a question about the _Independents_, who had come from

England and settled in France. They were accused of teaching that

each flock ought to be self-governed, without any regard to the

authority of conferences and synods. The assembly, considering this

opinion to be prejudicial to the interests of the Church of God, and

to those of the state, enjoined upon the maritime provinces, that

they should prevent this evil from taking root in the kingdom.

IX.

From 1652 to 1656, the situation of the Reformed was satisfactory.

Mazarin was pleased with the fidelity they had shown during the

troubles of the Fronde. He was also desirous, by treating them well,

to conciliate the friendship of Cromwell, who by inclining to the

side of France or of Spain, then at war with each other, might throw

a decisive weight into the scale.

The free exercise of religion was therefore re-established in many

places where it had been suppressed, contrary to the texts of the

edicts. The Reformed were restored to municipal offices; some were

intrusted with important appointments in the finances and the army.

The declaration of 1652, which we have already had occasion to

mention, confirmed the Edict of Nantes, and regulations, articles,

and patents passed in favour of the Reformed. Never since the

reign of Henry IV. had they breathed so freely, or enjoyed greater

protection.

This time was to be of short duration. The assembly of the clergy,

which met in 1656, pronounced, through their organ, the archbishop

of Sens, bitter complaints against what they called the _oppression_

of the (Roman) Catholic church. As the priests could not be

persecutors, they declared that they were persecuted. They did not,

of course, demand the revocation of the edicts; but they required

the re-establishment of “_legitimate interpretations, which had been

put upon them by the late king_.” They grieved to see that heretics

“had by new enterprises ruined all the wise precautions with which

the great prince (Louis XIII.) had stopped the restlessness of their

minds,” and supposed that the declaration of 1652 had been a surprise

made upon the piety of Louis XIV. and his prime minister.

As the Reformed had built some places of worship belonging to

a commander of Malta and to other ecclesiastical noblemen, the

assembly of the Church pretended that “_synagogues of Satan had been

erected upon the patrimony of the Son of God_.” These same priests

pleaded the examples of Saint Ambrose and Saint Athanasius, who had

refused places of worship to the Arian heresy, in order to demand

the demolition of the new religious edifices. They insinuated that

the presentation of the list of grievances to the king, proved the

re-establishment of the political assemblies which were forbidden by

the edicts; that the collections made in favour of the Vaudois of

Piedmont, concealed a formidable conspiracy, and might be followed by

_warlike and dangerous enterprises_; that the fortifications of some

of the Huguenot places had been reconstructed, and that the town of

Montauban, among others, was furnished with seventeen bastions. They

accused the “_apostates from the faith of their fathers_” of aspiring

to the most important dignities of the state; and their harangue

ended with a pathetic appeal to the protection of the king; as if

the (Roman) Catholic church of France had been reduced to the last

extremity!

We have analyzed the speech of the orator of the clergy with some

care, for it is from this moment that we must date a fresh period of

persecutions and cruelty, that lasted until the Revocation [of the

Edict of Nantes].

Mazarin did not accede to all that was demanded by the priests; for

the war with Spain still continued, and it was still necessary to

conciliate Cromwell. Nevertheless the council published a declaration

designed to explain that of 1652, and which in effect annulled it.

Things were again placed upon the same footing as in the time of

Louis XIII. The exercise of the (Reformed) religion was forbidden in

the places where it had been newly established; and to join, as it

would appear, chicanery to violence, several decrees prohibited the

ministers from taking the name of _pastors_, or of giving that of

_churches_ to their flocks.

A more important interdiction, already issued in 1631, was reproduced

at this epoch, which went to deprive the pastors of the right of

preaching in the _quarters or annexed districts_. To appreciate the

extreme importance of the question, which threatened to suppress more

than half the places of worship at one blow, it must be remembered

that, according to the Edicts, the services of the Reformed religion

could only be performed in a certain number of spots that had been

fixed, commune by commune, name by name, within which it was lawful

on the one hand, but criminal on the other [to celebrate divine

worship].

But many of these communes comprised flocks either too small [in

number] or too poor [in circumstances] to provide for the maintenance

of a pastor. The faithful in such cases divided the burden by

uniting, and one minister was charged with the care of all. This was

the origin of the _annexed districts_.

It was not disputed that the right of preaching belonged to the

communes within their respective boundaries, or at least it was not

disputed directly; the letter of the Edicts had pronounced [that they

had the right]. But the pastors were attacked. Had they the right of

going beyond their place of residence? Were they free to unite two or

three distinct flocks together? Called to one district, designated

by name, could they serve others with it? As far as justice and

common sense were concerned, there could have been no question [on

the matter]; but for the intolerance of the priest, for the ill-will

of the judge, for the hostile tendencies of the council, there was a

question, and good care was taken not to let it drop.

This wretched quarrel for nearly forty years produced vexations upon

vexations, suits upon suits, appeals upon appeals, the provincial

synods commanding the pastors to maintain themselves in the

possession of their _annexed districts_, and the legal authorities

forbidding them to do so under pain of fines and imprisonment. For

the most part, the evidence of right had to give way to sophisms

supported by actual force.

The Parliaments of Toulouse, Rennes, Aix, and Poitiers, made

themselves remarkable by the rigour and iniquity of their decrees.

In every case of a Reformed and a (Roman) Catholic, of a pastor

and a priest, of a place of worship and a church, of a consistory

and an episcopal chapter, the heretical party was wrong, unless

it had tenfold reason on its side, and its right was absolutely

incontestable. These Parliaments interpreted the Edicts in such a

manner that scarcely anything of them remained, and in criminal

causes, the slightest evidence was sufficient to condemn the

Religionists to excessive punishments.

How could the complaints of the Reformed reach the court? They

might no more hold political assemblies. The council year after

year refused the authority to hold a national synod, and the voice

of a single deputy-general, who might be left to the churches, was

disregarded. At length, in 1658, the provincial synods determined to

send ten deputies to Paris, commissioned to submit their grievances

to the king. Louis XIV. made them wait four months for an audience,

and when he condescended to receive them, he said to them drily,

“I will examine your statement, and will do you justice.” Cardinal

Mazarin was even more formal. “The king will show by his acts,” he

told the deputies, “the good-will he bears towards you; be assured

that I speak to you sincerely.” Honeyed words, which were not

believed!

All that the Reformers obtained, after the most persevering

solicitations, was a vague promise that the king would observe

the Edict of Nantes, “hoping that those of the pretended Reformed

religion _would render themselves worthy of this favour_, by their

good conduct, their fidelity, and their affection in his service.”

The reply betrayed injurious suspicions, and the deputies did not

conceal their chagrin. But the court retracted nothing; it only

announced that commissioners from each religion should be sent

into the provinces to watch over the execution of the Edicts.

These commissioners entered upon their duties two or three years

afterwards, and did the churches, as will be seen, much more harm

than good.

In 1659, peace having been concluded with Spain, Mazarin conceded

to the wishes of the Reformed so far as to grant them permission

to convoke a general synod. It was opened at Loudun on the 10th of

November, 1659, and was the last of the national synods, at least of

such as had the approval of public authority.

One’s heart is filled with grief as the minutes of that assembly

are read. Nothing but haughtiness, threats, accusations, and

recrimination, appear on the side of the court; whilst on the side

of the Reformers, it is all humility, abasement, and expression of

gratitude,—gratitude for what? Doubtless for the evil that had not

yet been done them!

At the opening of the synod, the royal commissioner, M. de la

Magdelaine, addressed it, saying that the Reformed had great reason

to admire the benignity of his majesty, who gave them the shelter of

his royal authority.

He forbade them to make any complaint. “The king,” he continued, “has

commanded me to tell you that he has much more reason to complain of

the infractions and transgressions of the Edicts committed by his

subjects of the pretended Reformed religion, and of the contempt

they have manifested for them, for they have reached the _supreme

degree of insolence_, even since his majesty has assumed the reins

of government, for they recommenced preaching in Languedoc, in

spite of its being prohibited, and not only in that province, but

everywhere else, which they have done openly and boastingly.” It may

be remarked that the same grievances based upon the same acts, had

already been produced before the national synod of Charenton, fifteen

years before, which proves that the court had not found a single new

pretext for its reprimands.

The moderator of the assembly, Jean Daillé, thus answered these

reproaches, in a submissive tone of voice: “We receive with all

possible respect and humility, everything that is told us on the part

of his majesty.” Then he showed that so far from having encroached

upon the territory of the (Roman) Catholic church, the Reformers had

in many places beheld their worship abolished and their places of

worship razed.

The commissioner, acting upon the order of the court, pressed the

assembly to hasten the close of its sittings, and gave them to

understand that this would be the last of the national synods: “His

majesty,” said he, “having considered that national synods cannot be

holden unless at great expense and without causing much inconvenience

and trouble to those who are deputed to [attend] them; and as,

moreover, many affairs and matters may be settled more easily and at

less cost in the provincial synods, the holding of which his majesty

permits once every year for the conservation of the discipline of

the pretended Reformed religion; for these reasons, gentlemen, his

majesty has judged expedient that I should propose to you on his part

to confer every power for the future upon these provincial synods.”

To have talked of the expense of a few thousand horses and the

inconvenience of those who attended the national synods, in order to

colour the violation of the Edict of Nantes, was a bitter mockery.

Daillé answered, in the name of the assembly, that he hoped the king

would not deprive them of his liberality. “Besides, the holding of

these synods being,” added he, “of absolute necessity to us, we will

very willingly bear all the expenses and all the inconveniences that

we have to undergo for such an object.” The assembly then desired

that “_with the good pleasure of his majesty_,” a new synod should be

held at Nismes, after an interval of three years.

Louis XIV. did not grant that permission, and from the 10th of

January, 1660, when the synod of Loudun terminated its session,

the presbyterian organization of the French Reformation continued

headless. Forcible state reasons had arisen for suppressing political

assemblies; none but the most frivolous pretexts could be alleged

for prohibiting the convocation of the national synods. But with the

maxims of intolerance, the ruin of the former was certain to require

the destruction of the latter. Royalty had broken up the Huguenot

party, and the priesthood now made it crush the religious community.

The first national synod was held in 1559; the nineteenth and last

met a century afterwards. If the Reformers suffered in 1559, they had

the hope of conquering the kingdom. In 1659, they still suffered, but

they had no longer any hopes of this kind. Descartes had appeared,

and the field of the struggle against (Roman) Catholicism, at least

in France, had begun to change.

X.

Whilst the French Reformation was a prey to so many harassing

troubles, it gained honour before Europe and with posterity, by the

learning of its doctors. This was the great epoch of its theology.

Germany, so justly proud of its immense labours in this branch of

human knowledge, still cites these theologians of the seventeenth

century with respect. The majority possessed, indeed, that solidity

of judgment, together with a profound and vast erudition, that

clearness of view, that skilful connection of proofs, in short, that

precision of style, which distinguish the good French writers in

every class of literature.

We shall only here name the most eminent of the doctors or pastors of

the Reformed churches. The history of their ideas and their writings

does not belong to our subject.

The academy of Montauban was at this time celebrated for the

orthodoxy of its doctrines, and the reputation of its professors.

Among them, may be mentioned Daniel Chamier, Michel Bérault, and

Antoine Garissoles.

Chamier had a genius for statesmanship, as well as for the

theological sciences. He had a great share in framing the Edict of

Nantes. The courtiers, who did not like him, because he was proof

against their seductions, ranked him among the “_fools of the synod_.”

He held at Nismes, in 1600, a famous discussion with Father Cotton,

the confessor of Henry IV. Nothing could be more opposite than the

two antagonists. The one, a rigid dialectician, went from syllogism

to syllogism, straight to the mark; the other abounded in rhetorical

figures and brilliant digressions. The Jesuit had the advantage of

dazzling his auditors, but the Reformed theologian had the gift of

convincing them, and victory remained with him.

The national synods invited him to refute the writings of Bellarmine,

which he did in a Latin work of four folio volumes, entitled:

_Panstratie Catholique, ou Ordre universel de Bataille_. He intended

to publish a fifth volume upon the question of the church, but

was prevented by death. This is the most complete controversial

book of the French Reformation. “Chamier,” says a modern German

theologian, “has profoundly penetrated into the examination of the

(Roman) Catholic doctrine. He attacks it with considerable force and

sagacity, seeking his proofs, by turns, from Scripture, the Fathers,

tradition, history, and philosophy. The work is not prolix, in spite

of its great length; it is singularly full, rich and abundant.”[82]

Chamier was killed by a cannon-ball at the siege of Montauban, on

Sunday, the 10th of October, 1621. He had visited the ramparts to

address some exhortations to the soldiers, who had not been able to

attend divine service.

His grandson, an advocate at Montélimart, was broken on the wheel

alive, in 1683, for having been present at a religious assembly,

which was called seditious, because it defended itself against the

dragoons of Louis XIV.

Michel Bérault was a learned and skilful theologian, on the testimony

of Scaliger. He was chosen to dispute against Duperron in the

Conference of Nantes, and published, in answer to the assertions

of that bishop, a book upon the “_Vocation of the Ministers of

the Gospel_.” But his character was more ardent than became a man

of his cloth. The royal commissioner demanded his exclusion from

the national synod of Charenton, because he had in his writings

justified the last resort to arms. Without obeying this injunction,

the assembly deemed it incumbent upon them to censure Bérault before

admitting him to take his seat.

Garissoles (born in 1587, died in 1650) had as much disinterestedness

as piety; and when the professors of Montauban quitted their post,

because the suppression of the royal pensions prevented their

payment, he alone continued to discharge the duties of his office.

His book, _Imputation du Péché original_ (“The Imputation of

original Sin”), obtained a great success. The evangelical cantons

of Switzerland, to whom Garissoles had dedicated it, rewarded him

by the gift of four silver cups of splendid workmanship, with a

letter signed by the principal magistrates. He also composed a Latin

epic poem, _L’Adolphide_, in which he celebrated the services that

Gustavus Adolphus had rendered to the Reformation.

The academy of Montauban subsisted in that town until 1661. It was

then transferred elsewhere, and soon ruined, for motives so puerile

that they are almost beneath the gravity of history.

The buildings of the theological college, having been erected at the

expense of the Reformed population, belonged to them by the most

legitimate title. Notwithstanding this, the Jesuits, after the Edict

of Grace, succeeded in procuring an award to themselves of a part of

it for their own lectures, and not content with half, they sought

means of invading the rest, by ousting the real owners.

One day, therefore, they obstructed the court and principal avenues

of the edifice, on the occasion of a theatrical piece appointed to be

represented by their scholars. The students of the Reformed communion

arrived at the usual hour, and found no passage or outlet by which

they could reach their lecture-rooms. The youths being irritated,

grew angry, and overturned the scaffoldings of the Jesuits, not

without some acts of violence, as may be conceived, between the

scholars of the two parties. Great complaints, denunciations, and

calumnies were immediately made to the court. This foolish matter was

transformed into a state-offence, and a _lettre de cachet_[83] soon

commended the delivery of the whole college to the reverend Fathers.

The people of Montauban became displeased in their turn, and crowded

tumultuously round the door of one of their places of worship where

the Notables had assembled, at the invitation of the consuls, to

deliberate upon this affair. Fresh denunciations, more exaggerated

and blacker still than the preceding [were uttered, asserting that]

it was a vast plot:—the signal of a general revolt of the heretics,

of whom the people of Montauban were the advanced guard. Mazarin

was then on his death-bed, and Louis XIV. was engaged with his

court _fêtes_. The Jesuits had the direction of everything with the

queen-mother, Anne d’Autriche, who was devoted to their cause.

In short, for a few broken planks, and a little clamouring at a

popular meeting, Montauban was treated as a rebellious city. Some

thousands of soldiers were billeted upon the townspeople. The remains

of the walls were overthrown. Several inhabitants were condemned to

death, others were banished, and the greater number ruined. Consuls

of the religion were no longer [permitted to reside in the town].

The academy was transferred to Puy-Laurens, where it only vegetated;

and Montauban, subjected to a government of terror, was speedily

depopulated. It was supposed that Louis XIV. consented the more

easily to this conduct of the Jesuits, because he was glad [of an

opportunity] to avenge the affront which Louis XIII. had suffered

before the ramparts of Montauban, at the siege of 1620: he punished

the children for the heroic resistance of their fathers.

The academy of Saumur, founded by Mornay, had also a high reputation.

It was more open than that of Montauban to the new ideas. Its

professors, Cameron, Amyraut, Cappel, and La Place, taught doctrines,

which were a sort of compromise or transition between Calvinism and

Arminianism.

John Cameron (1579-1625), a Scotchman by birth, belonged to French

theology by his studies, his lectures, and his writings. After having

been pastor at Bordeaux, he replaced Gomar in the chair of theology

at Saumur, and also brought there other opinions. He was a man of

learning and judgment, and well acquainted with philosophy; but he

was little versed in the study of the Fathers, and given to attack,

on all occasions, the books of Theodore de Bèze. He spoke of many

things in the received doctrines that required correction; though his

lectures, printed in 1626, do not clearly indicate what changes he

had in view.

He had, as we have said elsewhere, some differences with the court,

and sought refuge in England; but he was permitted to return to the

country of his adoption. The national synod of Castres, granted a

pension of seven hundred livres to his children, “in testimony of the

honour in which his memory [was held].”

Moïse Amyraut (1596-1664), the most illustrious of the disciples

of Cameron, was accused before the national synod of Alençon, of

teaching opinions contrary to the confession of faith. Numerous

letters from Holland and Geneva taxed him with a disguised plagiarism.

It is not our duty to relate these theological debates. It

may suffice to mention that the learned professor of Saumur

had enunciated a system, to which the name of _hypothetical

universalism_ was given, by way of opposition to the doctrine of

the _particularists_. Amyraut taught that Jesus Christ’s death was

sufficient for all men, but that he died _efficaciously_ for the

elect alone. He propounded also a _universal_ predestination in a

certain sense; nevertheless, he defended himself from the reproach of

having adopted the principles of the Arminians, and even published a

profession of faith against them.

The moderator of the synod, Benjamin Basnage, on hearing his apology,

offered him the hand of fellowship, as well as to Testard, a pastor

of Blois, who was accused of having adopted the same sentiments. The

dispute was nevertheless renewed in the third synod of Charenton; but

the assembly imposed silence on both parties, and forbade any further

differences upon these questions, which it declared to be useless for

the work of salvation.

Amyraut was charged by the last national synod with the compilation

of the decisions concerning ecclesiastical discipline, and received

from that assembly the most honourable marks of confidence. He had

been long before reconciled to most of his adversaries.

Nearly forty works of his are extant upon matters of theology and

edification. His paraphrases on the Bible were much approved. His

_Morale Chrétienne_, dedicated to M. Villarnoul, of the family

of Duplessis-Mornay, is the work of a man who had made himself

thoroughly acquainted with the Bible, the human heart, and the world.

“My purpose,” he says, “is to construct a code of Christian morality,

in which I may build, upon the foundations of nature, the teachings

which have been given us by Revelation.”

Amyraut did not simply possess the knowledge of the theologian; he

had a cultivated mind, a lively and engaging conversation, agreeable

manners, and a character which begot universal good-will. The

cardinals Richelieu and Mazarin always showed him marks of great

regard. He was exceedingly charitable, and during the last ten years

of his life, distributed the revenues of his appointment of pastor to

the poor of both communions.

His colleague, Louis Cappel (1585-1658), was one of the first

Hebraïsts of his age. He propounded a system upon the use of the

vowel-points in the original Hebrew, which excited great opposition,

and his _Critique Sacrée_, published after his death, still more

increased the number of his opponents, because he was accused

of raising doubts upon the universally received text of the Old

Testament.

Another colleague of Amyraut, Josué de la Place (1596-1655), drew up

a great portion of the _Thèses de Saumur_, which were an object of

considerable attention in the theological discussions of his times.

He held peculiar opinions upon the imputation of the sin of Adam.

Man, according to this doctor, while bearing the burden of original

sin, is not responsible for it before God, as if he had himself

fallen in the first transgression.

Etienne Gaussen, who died in 1675, filled the chair of philosophy

at Saumur. One of his books treats of the _use of philosophy in

theology_. There is also a judicious treatise of his upon the _Art

of Professorship_, and an interesting dissertation upon the way to

direct theological studies. His works, written in Latin, have been

well received in Germany and Holland. A sixth edition was printed

at Halle, in 1727, and they have since been republished. Burmann,

Franke, Staeudlin, and other theologians, speak of him with much

commendation.

At the academy of Sedan, Pierre Dumoulin professed a severe orthodoxy

to his last day. He died at the age of ninety years (1568-1658).

Dumoulin had been saved, when scarcely four years old, from the

massacre of Saint Bartholomew, through the devotion of a servant.

Nominated to a pastorship at Charenton, in 1599, he edified the

faithful of Paris under the reign of Henry IV. But the Jesuits took

advantage of a letter that he had written to the king of England,

in 1621, to obtain a warrant for his arrest, and he fled to Sedan,

a town independent of France at that time. His universally revered

character procured a joyful welcome for him. The national synod of

Castres in vain solicited Louis XIII. for his recall; the Jesuits

determinately opposed it. He had maintained a sharp controversy

against them, on the occasion of a sermon, in which the Father Arnoux

pretended that the confession of faith of the Reformed, was in no way

sanctioned by the Scriptural texts indicated at the conclusion of the

articles, This accusation having attracted considerable attention,

Dumoulin, in concert with the pastors of Charenton, published

a _Defence of the Reformed Churches of France_. The dedicatory

epistle, addressed to Louis XIII., did not spare the disciples of

Loyola. “They cannot suffer,” said Dumoulin, “a king, although Roman

Catholic, if he be not a persecutor of his subjects, and if he do not

set fire to his kingdom.”

The Jesuits laid an information against the book, against the author,

against the printer, and even against the readers. The sentence

pronounced severe penalties against all who should read the work, or

have it in their houses.

Pierre Dumoulin laboured much during his long career. We count no

less than seventy-three works from his pen, amongst which the most

popular were _Le Boucher de la Foi_, _L’Anatomie de la Messe_, and

_Les Décades des Sermons_. His style of preaching was, at the same

time, grave and familiar; if he was deficient in classic elegance,

he bore the impress of a vigorous originality, which reveals the

intimate life of the preacher.

When his approaching death was announced to that venerable pastor:

“Oh! how good of you,” he exclaimed, “to impart such news to me!

Welcome, death, I rejoice at thy coming! At length my aspirations

will be fulfilled; I shall be happy in the sight of my God!”

Another professor of Sedan, Louis Leblanc de Beaulieu, (1615-1675),

maintained the renown of that academy, without entertaining doctrines

so strictly Calvinist as those of Dumoulin. His mind, to use the

expression of his adversary Nicole, was extraordinarily clear and

well adapted for unravelling complicated questions.

Leblanc endeavoured, not to unite the two communions, but to

approximate them to each other, by demonstrating that many of

their differences only rose upon verbal disputes. He also tried

to establish a solid peace between the Calvinists, the Arminians,

and the Lutherans. These efforts brought upon him the charge of

latitudinarianism. Pious men, nevertheless, did full justice

to the sincerity of his convictions and to the rectitude of his

character, and the severe Jurieu defended him after his death against

inconsiderate attacks.

His knowledge and his modesty were equally great. The collection of

his _Thèses_ forms an almost complete treatise of dogmatic science:

four editions were published in the course of a few years.

Without being so celebrated as the others, the academy of Nismes

reckoned several meritorious professors. We have already cited Samuel

Petit (1594-1643), who was appointed in 1627 to the three chairs of

Theology, Greek, and Hebrew, at the same time.

Petit had a profound acquaintance with the Oriental languages.

Having one day entered the synagogue of Avignon, he heard the Rabbi

pronounce in Hebrew injurious expressions against Christians. The

learned professor immediately answered him in the same tongue,

and without expressing the least resentment, exhorted the Jewish

doctor to become better acquainted with the faith he attacked. The

disconcerted Rabbi apologised.

A cardinal had conceived so much esteem for Samuel Petit, that he

offered to throw open the doors of the library of the Vatican to him,

and to procure for him the appointment of revising the manuscripts.

The professor refused. He might have found learning in the archives

of Rome; but he would have lost what he esteemed still more—liberty

of conscience.

Petit has left divers works upon chronology and philosophy. He also

laboured to elucidate the antiquities of the Old and New Testament.

His character was kind, and he was more bent upon doing good, than

upon raising questions of controversy.

XI.

Beside the professors of the universities, the French Reformation

owned, in the seventeenth century, learned and hard-working pastors,

who equally claim a short notice.

André Rivet (1572-1651) exercised the pastoral functions in France

to the age of forty-seven, presided over the national synod of

Vitré, in 1617, and was then a professor of theology in Holland. His

_Introduction to the Study of the Bible_ lays down the true basis

of sacred criticism. The author insists that we must seek, not an

allegorical or convenient sense in the Scriptures, but the exact

and real sense—that which results naturally from the terms of the

original text.

Rivet was extremely severe in his doctrines, and sometimes violent in

his polemics; but he preserved a constant moderation in his private

life. “Adverse events, whether public or otherwise,” says the author

of his _Last Hours_, never surprised him, or disturbed his serenity.

He was accustomed to say: “_Everything is possible; I wonder at

nothing_.” Thus he never burst into laughter; for he looked upon all

mundane things as mutable and transitory.

Edme Aubertin (1595-1652) had particularly studied the Fathers. He

published a book in 1633, upon the _Eucharist of the Ancient Church_,

in which he sought to prove that the doctrine of the Real Presence

was unknown during the first six centuries of the Christian era.

This work was denounced to the privy council; but it was more easy

to condemn than to refute it. “That great and incomparable work

_L’Eucharistie_” says the son of Jean Daillé, “has outlived all the

attacks of the other communion, no one of whom has ventured into open

war with it, or, so to speak, dared to meet it _tête-à-tête_” (face

to face).

In his last moments, the door of his apartment was forced by the

curate of Saint Sulpice, escorted by a commissary of police and the

mob. Edme Aubertin awakened by the tumult, and gathering his presence

of mind, declared with a firm voice that he died in the Reformed

faith.

Benjamin Basnage (1580-1652) was commissioned, both by the political

assemblies and the national synods, with missions as important

as they were delicate. The court, which feared his credit, would

have prevented him from taking his place at the national synod of

Charenton in 1630. He has written, besides several controversial

treatises, an approved work upon the _Visible and Invisible State

of the Church_. We shall have to speak in the following book of his

illustrious grandson, Jacques Basnage.

David Blondel (1591-1655) was more conversant with ecclesiastical

history than any other man of his time. Prodigies are related of his

memory: he had read everything, and had forgotten nothing. Having

become blind, he dictated two volumes in folio upon difficult points

of chronology and antiquity. The national synods conferred the

title of honorary professor upon him, without attaching him to any

academy, and all the provinces subscribed an annual pension for his

maintenance at Paris.

Blondel combatted the pretension of the Roman See to the primacy, the

false Decretals, and the Sybilline oracles. His good faith equalled

his erudition; he was blamed by some of the older Huguenots for

having contradicted the legend of Pope Joan, to which they clung with

great prejudice.

Samuel Bochart (1599-1667) was a pastor at Caen, and enjoyed there

the respect of all the people of worth. “He was,” says Bayle, “one of

the most learned men the world has seen. But his knowledge, however

vast it might be, was not his principal quality; his modesty is

infinitely more to be esteemed than all his learning. Hence the ease

with which he has worn his glory.”

Bochart has won an imperishable name by his _Phaleg_, the _Canaan_,

and the _Hierozoïcon_—three works which treat, one of the dispersion

of the primitive tribes, the two others of the topography, and of the

animals mentioned in the Bible. They are still standard books upon

these subjects. The German doctor Michaëlis, who followed a century

after, profited considerably by the labours of Bochart, and the

_Hierozoïcon_ was reprinted, in 1793, by Professor Rosenmüller.

Nearly all the pastors of Charenton or of Paris (for they resided at

the last city) were learned theologians, as well as distinguished

preachers.

Michel Le Faucheur, who died in 1657, has left some volumes of

sermons, which still deserve our study. We owe to him also a treatise

on the _Action of the Orator_, which was attributed to Conrart,

secretary to the French academy. The second national synod of

Charenton returned express thanks to Le Faucheur for his reply to

Cardinal Duperron, concerning the doctrine of the Eucharist, and had

it printed at the cost of the churches.

Jean Mestrezat (1592-1657) was but eighteen years old when he was

offered a professorship of philosophy: he had scarcely completed his

theological studies, when he was appointed pastor at Charenton—a

remarkable distinction which was awarded to no one else.

He defeated a Jesuit before the regent Anne d’Autriche, and the

princess was so astonished and dismayed by the force of his

arguments, that she ordered that the report of this disputation

should not be printed.

In an audience he had with Louis XIII., Cardinal de Richelieu asked

him, among other things, why the Reformed called foreigners to their

ministry? “It is to be wished,” replied Mestrezat, “that so many

Italian monks, who are in France had the same zeal for his majesty

as these stranger pastors, who recognize no other sovereign than the

king.” At these words Cardinal de Richelieu exclaimed, tapping him on

the shoulder: “This is the boldest minister in all France.”

The treatises of Mestrezat upon the Scriptures and upon the Church,

show him to have been one of the most skilful doctors of the

Reformed. His sermons, which may be always read with advantage, are

above all remarkable for their correctness and depth of reasoning.

Charles Drelincourt (1595-1669) was the model of a true pastor. He

lived a life of faith and prayer, of charity and devotion, employing

the day in visiting his flock, and his evenings in meditation and

composition. On the 27th of October, 1669, he was still preaching in

the places of worship at Charenton—the following Sunday he had ceased

to live. To him might be applied the words which he has put into the

mouth of a pastor at the end of his _Visites Charitables_: “I have

long lived; I have long preached; I am not weary of serving so good a

Master, so liberal a Lord.”

The contemporaries of Drelincourt agree in saying that no other

minister at Charenton knew better how to lead the erring back, to

strengthen the weak, to exhort the lukewarm, to comfort the poor, and

to console the unhappy.

His works of edification and polemics have a popular character, which

made them welcome to every house in his age, and has prolonged the

life of some of them even till now. It has been already seen that

no adversary was more dreaded by the converters than he, and that

he had armed in the most solid manner the simple and the illiterate

against their sophisms by his _Abrégé des Controverses_. The other

works of Drelincourt, which have been most frequently reprinted, are

his _Préparation à la Sainte Cène_, his _Visites Charitables_, and

his _Consolations contre la Mort_. This last book has been translated

into all the languages of Europe, and has been reproduced in more

than fifty editions.

Drelincourt addressed these consolations to himself: “I pray God,”

said one of his friends to him in his last illness, “that He may

change your bed of infirmity into a bed of health.” “My bed of health

and of rest,” he answered, “will be in heaven.”

Jean Daillé (1595-1670), of the same age as Drelincourt, was long his

colleague at Paris, and followed him quickly to the grave. Prudent

and reserved as well as pious, he acquired general esteem, without

ever swerving in his convictions or his duties.

Educated from an early age, in the house of Duplessis-Mornay, and

having afterwards travelled through the principal European states,

he quickly displayed a mature intelligence. Daillé’s first essay in

authorship, was a master-piece, _L Usage des Pères_.[84] He ascribes

to these venerable doctors all that they are entitled to, without

surrendering the sovereign authority which he accords to the Bible in

anything. His _Apologie des Eglises Réformées_ is (also) firm without

being offensive. Truth is apparent throughout, [combined] with

charity. The author’s purpose was to answer those who accused the

Reformed of having sundered Catholic unity, and while he acknowledged

that division is a great evil, he proves there are cases where it is

the first of duties.

The biographer of Jean Daillé has (many) interesting details of

his mode of life and study. “His books and his studies,” says

he, “constituted his chief recreation and delight. They afforded

him recreation from his work, and at the same time pleasure and

profit; and it was in them that he sought rest after the wearisome

occupations of the day. His industry was very great; and as he rose

early, he gained five or six clear hours. It is not astonishing,

therefore, that he found leisure to produce so much, for he was a

man who profited by everything, and who never read a book, however

contemptible it might be, without making extracts from it, which he

well knew how to use at the proper time and place.”

About the year 1660, some younger pastors of no less merit began to

appear, such as Dubosc, Larroque, Ancillon, and Claude.

Pierre Dubosc, born at Bayeux, in 1623, has been pronounced as the

greatest preacher of the Reformed in the seventeenth century. “It

may be said without flattery,” writes Elie Benoit, “that he had

all the gifts necessary to constitute a Christian preacher. He had

a mind enlightened by the knowledge of literature. He was a good

philosopher, a sound theologian, and a judicious critic. His personal

appearance also was favourable; his voice was both powerful and

sweet, and his action pleasing.”[85]

The church of Charenton made many urgent requests, in 1658, to draw

him to Paris. Marshal Turenne, the Marquis de la Force, and other

illustrious persons, joined their solicitations [for this purpose].

But Dubosc refused to leave the church of Caen, his maxim being, that

a minister cannot quit his flock with a good conscience, until he has

obtained their express consent.

When this appeal was renewed in 1670, the archbishop of Paris went so

far as to implore the king three times in the same week, to prevent

the nomination of Dubosc, as if he dared not trust the cause of

(Roman) Catholicism to the eloquence of Bourdaloue and Bossuet.

The Jesuits of Normandy, jealous of his fame, accused Dubosc of

having spoken of confession in derogatory terms, and procured his

banishment to Châlons in 1664. He did not remain there many months,

thanks to the good offices of some powerful protectors.

Dubosc was often deputed by the oppressed churches to Louis XIV. He

was commissioned in 1668 to seek from him the maintenance of the

edicts. On first hearing him, Louis was inattentive and absorbed

with other thoughts. But gradually he listened, and evinced signs

of satisfaction. The demeanour, the voice, the grave, yet easy air,

the eloquent words of the orator completely triumphed over the

repugnance with which Louis had been inspired against all the heretic

ministers. “Madam,” he said to the queen after the audience, “I

have just heard the best speaker in my kingdom.” And turning to his

courtiers [he added], “It is certain that I have never heard any one

speak so well.”

Pierre Dubosc was banished by the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes,

and died in a land of exile in 1692.

Matthieu de Larroque (1619-1684) had the happiness of closing his

eyes amidst his flock, on the eve of his sentence of banishment.

He had also been called by the church of Charenton in 1669, but

the king forbade the prosecution of the summons, notwithstanding

the representations of the general deputy Ruvigny. Other churches,

Vitré, Saumur, Montauban, and Bordeaux, disputed the privilege of

possessing a man of so much merit and learning. Larroque wrote a

_History of the Eucharist_, which disturbed the imaginary triumph of

the controversialists of Port Royal on this subject.

David Ancillon (1617-1692) possessed great theological knowledge;

unhappily, he has written but little. Called, in the first instance,

to minister to the church of Meaux, he won universal good-will.

“What gained him the affection of all,” says his son, “were his life

without reproach and his deep and simple piety. The humblest of his

friends were always sure of his exertions in their behalf; and while

his good offices were open to all, no difference of religion made any

[change] in his behaviour to any one. He softened and tamed the Roman

ecclesiastics of the diocese, and lived upon friendly terms with

them; by which means he preserved peace and concord among all the

inhabitants.”

His preaching appears to have possessed singular attraction. He

meditated and composed his sermons with great care, although he

published but one—_The Tears of Saint Paul_. Ancillon was in the

habit of saying, “that it was showing too little esteem for the

public, to take no pains in preparation, and that a man, who should

appear on a ceremonial day in his night-cap and dressing-gown, would

not commit a greater breach of civility.”

He was a pastor at Metz at the time of the Revocation; and when he

embarked, with his three colleagues, in the vessel which was to bear

him from his native land, all the faithful assembled on the shore,

and watched his departure with tears and sobs. Many followed him into

exile. David Ancillon met with a favourable reception at Berlin from

the elector of Brandenburg, and became the head of the illustrious

family which has done so much honour to the French name in Germany.

Jean Claude, the last of the eminent pastors of Charenton, was born

in 1619, at La Salvetat, in Rouergue. Claude was a pious man, a

learned theologian, a skilful preacher, a wise and cautious writer,

and being, moreover, endowed with a judgment and presence of mind

that never failed, he was more capable than any one of opposing the

champions of the (Roman) Catholic church; and without pretending that

his genius was equal to that of Bossuet, it may be doubted whether he

has not excelled him in soundness of learning and force of reasoning.

His name will reappear more than once in the course of this history.

After exercising the pastoral function in Languedoc, where he

displayed considerable energy, he was called to Charenton in 1666.

He there took the first place after the death of Drelincourt and

Daillé, without contest. “M. Claude,” says his biographer, Ladevèze,

“particularly shone as president of an assembly. He appeared in this

position for several years in the Consistory of Charenton; as well as

in more than one synod of the Isle of France, where he was moderator.

However complicated might be the matters submitted to the synod, and

however disguised by ignorance or party manœuvres, M. Claude had so

exact a spirit of discernment, that he unravelled all this chaos in a

moment.”

It would be easy to extend the list of doctors and pastors, who have

acquired a name in the French Reformation during the seventeenth

century. They generally preceded the great defenders of the (Roman)

Catholic communion,—Arnauld, Nicole, Bossuet,—and in a degree,

compelled their appearance. Why were such flourishing studies

arrested by persecution? Why were men, who bore with so firm a hand

the glorious burden of Calvin and Theodore de Bèze, driven to waste

their pens upon their miserably dispersed places of worship and

academies? This was indeed a disgrace to the Church of Rome and a

misfortune for France.

XII.

We now resume the chain of events, of which the picture will be

both sad and sorrowful. We will soften the outlines, but not efface

them; for we are writing history. We may collect the lesson, that

intolerance stands upon a slippery precipice, from which, the moment

she has made a slip, she is dragged from iniquity to iniquity, and

from violence to violence, until she reaches the most atrocious

excesses—a moral which perhaps is not absolutely useless, even at

this day.

Mazarin died in 1661; his death was a loss to the Reformed. Although

he inspired them with little confidence, and was not friendly to

them, this cardinal preferred the use of stratagem to that of force;

and as he sought to support his foreign policy by the Protestant

power, he dared not impose too hard a yoke upon the French Calvinists.

After his decease, Louis XIV. resolved to govern alone, and

persecution increased. Not that this prince was naturally cruel; had

he been so, he would have restrained himself out of respect for his

own greatness; but he had been educated in hatred of the Huguenots.

Other motives, which we shall explain, intervened later to strengthen

the prejudices of his childhood, and the obliteration of heresy was

one of the fixed ideas of his reign. He may have varied as to the

means, have faltered between the course of persuasion and that of

persecution, have even seemed to retrace his steps, and to defer

until more favourable opportunities the execution of this great

undertaking; but through all these fluctuations and adjournments, his

object never changed.

In 1661 commissioners were nominated in each province to examine

into the real or pretended violation of the Edict of Nantes, and

to re-establish peace between the two communions. One of these

commissioners was a (Roman) Catholic, the other a Calvinist. This

measure would have been excellent, if the agents for carrying it out

had enjoyed the same rights, and the authority whose duty it was to

decide ultimately, had been impartial between them. It was however

quite otherwise, and that which was intended as a guarantee to the

Reformed, became a fresh source of troubles and iniquities.

The (Roman) Catholic commissioner appointed to each general district,

was generally a man of consideration, holding a seat in Parliament,

or even in the king’s council, and was known for his entire devotion

to the interests of the Romish church. The Calvinist commissioner,

on the contrary, with very rare exceptions, was either some poor

gentleman ignorant of business, or some ambitious individual secretly

sold to the court, and nominated by the intendants, sometimes even

by the bishops, expressly to betray his duty. The first had all the

power that accompanies a state religion; the second, all the weakness

of a religion scarcely tolerated. One spoke with authority, invoking

the name of the king; the other spoke with humility, in the name of

the poor oppressed, whose fears he shared.

The commissioners were instructed to ascertain the rights of

exercising worship in the contested districts. But as many churches

had no authentic titles, either because they had never supposed that

these documents would become necessary, or because they had been

lost during the religious wars, they could only maintain their right

by actual possession and traditional notoriety. Constant quibbling

was the consequence of this—in order to defeat the claims of the

churches. The syndics of the (Roman) Catholic clergy were admitted

to interfere in these disputes, and sought to invade everything; and

when there was any disagreement between the two commissioners, the

matter was decided by the council, whose aim was to restrict the

Huguenots to the narrowest limits; or by the intendants, who had no

other object than that of paying their court to Louis XIV.

It is impossible to count in how many districts the exercise of the

Reformed religion was interdicted, how many places of worship were

razed, schools suppressed, charitable establishments confiscated for

the benefit of the (Roman) Catholics, and how many individuals also

experienced crying injustice, however incontestable might be their

rights. This would fill volumes.

Some Jesuits and others published lengthy writings, in which, under

pretence of interpreting the Edict of Nantes, they demolished it

piecemeal. The more skilful they showed themselves in the invention

of new sophisms against the execution of the law, the more they

thought they deserved from their church. The priest Soulier, author

of an _Explanation of the Edict of Nantes_, unintentionally confesses

this in his dedicatory epistle to the bishops: “I shall esteem myself

too fortunate, sirs,” says he, “if I can second the zeal of your

daily labours, after the example of the greatest of kings, for the

extinction of heresy.” The explanation was at all events designed,

right or wrong, to extinguish heresy.

These writings were sent to the council, to the parliaments, to the

procurators-general, and the intendants, who, without approving the

whole of their contents, furnished themselves with weapons out of

these great arsenals of the Jesuit school, and never failed to use

them when they could do so with any decency.

In 1663 the clergy obtained, at the instance of their General

Assembly, a declaration against those who _relapsed_, that is to

say, against those who returned to the Reformed communion, after

having abjured. “These people could no longer pretend,” the preamble

stated, “to the benefit of the Edict of Nantes, since they had

renounced, and by returning to the heresy, had incurred the guilt of

the enormous crime of profanation against the sacred mysteries of the

(Roman) Catholic religion.” The ordinance consequently pronounced

against them the penalty of perpetual banishment. This declaration

is regarded by Rulhières, and other historians, as the first direct

attack upon the Edict of Nantes, and the first decisive step in the

path of revocation.

There were at that time a certain number of individuals, who went

from the Reformed to the (Roman) Catholic communion, without well

knowing why, and without any serious intention of remaining. Some

gave way to threats, others to momentary seductions, others to

weakness, or the natural inconstancy of their minds. It was, in the

first place, a great error, to admit them so lightly into the Church

of Rome, and some Jansenist bishops, more scrupulous than the others,

complained of it. It was a still greater error to seek to retain them

there by terror.