THE BUILDING OF POLISY AND THE LAST YEARS OF JEAN DE DINTEVILLE. HIS
SUPPOSED PORTRAIT AT WINDSOR
It was during these years of leisure necessitated by ill-health, that
the Bailly of Troyes rebuilt the Château of Polisy from the ground. The
construction of the new house brings us to an interesting episode in
his career, namely, his relations with the Italian artists employed by
the King of France. The great architectural movement which marked the
era of Francis I. could hardly have been lost on so keen an observer
as Jean de Dinteville. One by one many of the palaces of the French
Renaissance had risen before his eyes. His boyhood had witnessed the
completion of Blois and Chenonceaux; later years had seen the growth of
Chambord, Azay-le-Rideau, Fontainebleau, the curiously-named Château of
Madrid, near Paris, and other important constructions. Ecouen, too, the
magnificent abode of his cousin, the Connétable, was now rising from
the ground. On all sides the spirit of the age was expressing itself in
dwellings of surpassing beauty and luxury. Great men and small men built,
each according to his means. Those who could not afford palaces contented
themselves with houses of smaller dimensions indeed, but pervaded by the
same sense of harmonious proportion, emphasized by graceful ornament.
From about the year 1530, when Il Rosso settled in France, a number of
distinguished Italians were engaged in the royal service, especially at
Madrid and Fontainebleau. The well-known predilections of the king for
Italian work set the stamp of fashion on the employment of these artists,
and for many years the Italians occupied on the royal buildings were
largely in request beyond the precincts of the Court. On the death of Il
Rosso, in 1541, the Bolognese, Francesco Primaticcio, succeeded him as
head of the works at Fontainebleau. He had already been employed by the
king, after a first visit to France, to collect statues and other works
of art for him in Italy. Enjoying a high reputation in his own country as
the pupil of Bagnacavallo and Giulio Romano, the latter of whom he had
assisted in the decorations of the Palazzo del Te at Mantua, Primaticcio
soon rose to the first place among his fellow-countrymen in France. He
was ultimately appointed director of all the royal works, including
painting, architecture, and sculpture, and continued to fill this post
until his death, which occurred in 1570.
Associated with Primaticcio in the decorations of Fontainebleau was his
assistant, Niccolò da Modena, called Niccolò dell’ Abate. Both these men
undertook many private commissions in addition to their work at Court.
They were employed, for instance, by Montmorency to decorate his house in
Paris.[280]
Another Italian, Girolamo della Robbia, brought to France the famous
secret of his family for the manufacture of glazed tiles. He executed
extensive works at the Château of Madrid, and probably also at
Ecouen.[281]
With all these individuals Dinteville must have come into frequent
contact before his retirement from Court.[282] With another of the
Italian artists in France, Domenico del Barbier, or, as he is commonly
called, Domenico Fiorentino, he stood in more immediate relations;
for this man had early married and settled at Troyes, where he now
occupied the leading position as architect, painter, engraver, and
sculptor. For some time Domenico divided his attention between that
city and Fontainebleau, where he worked successively under Il Rosso and
Primaticcio. To illustrate the reputation he ultimately enjoyed, it
suffices to add that many years later he was employed to execute the
pedestal and vase of the famous group of the Three Graces by Germain
Pilon, which formed part of Primaticcio’s design for the tomb of Henri II.
Situated between Burgundy and the Netherlands, the city of Troyes had
early been subject to Flemish influences. These had doubtless had their
effect in forming the taste of the family at Polisy. Their own Burgundian
antecedents must not be forgotten. Gradually the permeating sway of the
French Renaissance recast local traditions in a new mould; and when
the Italian artists imported by Francis I. gave a further impetus to
contemporary design, Troyes was found well prepared to receive it. How
far the presence of Domenico Fiorentino contributed to produce this
result, it is impossible to determine. But it is certain that a large
number of the French assistants employed at Fontainebleau were natives of
the city in Champagne.[283]
Such being the state of things artistic in France, it is interesting to
note that at the very time when Dinteville began to build his new house,
Primaticcio and Domenico Fiorentino were his guests at Polisy.
The foundation-stone of the new Château was laid in 1544. On the massive
central pillar of the great cellar of the castle, the inscription, in
Gothic letters, may still be read:
Lan de grace MDXLIIII Jehan de Dinteville bailly de Troies
apres avoir achever la basse court feit comencer.
Just at this time the King of France bestowed on Primaticcio the Abbey
of St. Martin-ès-Aires, at Troyes. The artist had, however, no thought
of going in person to take possession of his benefice. He consequently
issued a “procuration” dated from Polisy, and there witnessed by Domenico
Fiorentino and Hubert Julyot (one of a well-known family of sculptors at
Troyes), on the 15th December, 1544.[284]
The new house was something more of a stronghold in the old style than
the majority of dwellings now in fashion. The proximity of the Imperial
frontier rendered it in fact necessary that the place should be capable
of defence. War had again broken out between Francis I. and Charles V.,
and at the very moment when Dinteville set to work, the town of St.
Dizier, not very far away, had been besieged and taken by the Imperial
forces.
[Illustration: ARMS OF JEAN DE DINTEVILLE AS STILL SEEN AT POLISY.]
At some period in the history of Polisy the waters of the small river
Laigne, which flow into the Seine almost beneath the windows of the
Château, had been diverted from their course to form a complete moat
round its walls.[285] A variety of towers contributed to the protection
no less than to the picturesqueness of the place, while a substantial
keep and drawbridge fortified the main entrance. Possibly some portion of
these defences were a heritage from older times which the Bailly repaired
and added to; completing them with the slender and graceful towers seen
in the illustration.[286] But the new dwelling which now arose within
this circle of walls was entirely his own work, if certain details, due
to his brother François, be excepted. Severely simple in aspect where
the external wall formed one link of the chain of defence, it was
probably on the inner façade, overlooking the court, that the Bailly
lavished those decorative effects for which the presence of Primaticcio
and his fellow-labourers appears to vouch. What was the extent of their
co-operation there are no means of judging, since that façade has been
utterly swept away. The coat-of-arms which once adorned it, and a stone
pediment which perhaps surmounted the principal entrance, are now built
into a wall in the stable yard. The shield, bearing the arms of the
Bailly of Troyes, still shows traces of colour. On a scroll beneath it
are inscribed the words: “Jo. de Dinteville condebat.”
These objects were removed to their present position in this century,
when the Château was completely modernized. Nearly all traces of former
splendour, to say nothing of archæological interest, were at the same
time blotted out. Much may have been previously destroyed by time and
sieges; for Polisy seems to have borne a full share of the country’s
misfortunes. The towers and machicolations which we know to have existed,
the delicate Renaissance ornament which we surmise, have alike perished.
The featureless modernity which has replaced them offers hardly a
suggestion of the edifice once raised by the Bailly of Troyes.
The main walls towards the river are, however, still those of his
construction,[287] as well as several details of the interior. The
immense thickness of those walls is shown in the deep bay-windows which
look eastwards over the Laigne. A long series of apartments on the ground
floor is surmounted by a corresponding suite above, from which a pleasant
view is obtained over the green undulations of the surrounding country.
One of these rooms on the upper floor contains the chief remaining glory
of Polisy, the famous _carrelage_, or tesselated pavement, placed there
in 1545 by the Bishop of Auxerre, who owned a share of the estate.
This beautiful piece of Italian work, justly famed as one of the finest
pavements in France, was probably executed under the supervision of
Girolamo della Robbia, whether designed by him or by Primaticcio. The
symmetrical pattern in variously coloured tiles, shows a series of
allegorical figures of the cardinal and theological virtues, inclosed
in octagonal medallions, grouped round a central cross. These figures
are connected by arabesque patterns, interwoven with smaller medallions
containing emblems of war and of the chase. But the most interesting of
the series, because it bears directly on the history of the Dinteville,
who commemorated in the symbolism of this floor the Bishop’s return to
favour, are the two medallions above and below the central cross. The
first of these contains the figure of Fortune in her most smiling mood.
On the white frame which surrounds the goddess may be read the motto of
the house of Dinteville: ἡ τύχη ἀκολούθος ἔστι τῆς ἀρετῆς, Fortune the
Companion of Merit. The second more important medallion displays the arms
of the Bishop of Auxerre, round which the Dinteville motto again appears,
this time in its more familiar Latin garb, _Virtuti Fortuna Comes_,
accompanied by the date 1545.
[Illustration: ARMS OF THE BISHOP OF AUXERRE FROM THE TESSELATED PAVEMENT
AT POLISY.]
The bishop seems indeed to have appropriated the family motto just now
to his special use; for these were not his only allusions to Fortune.
In the garden of Polisy, just beyond the spot formerly bounded by the
moat, a curiously-designed building catches the eye. This house, in
close proximity to the church, still goes by the name of the “Maison de
l’Aûmonier.”[288]
The upper floor is finished by a dormer window, flanked by two thick
columns. These are connected midway by a horizontal mullion, which
divides the window in such a way as to form the letter H. The large
columns are surmounted by two smaller ones, finishing in blunt points,
to resemble miniature towers. The apex of the gable between these mock
turrets is crowned by a third small column of similar design; and this
last and most conspicuous turret springs from a pair of Hermes’ wings
divided by a sphere. In the centre of the upper pane of stained glass is
the date 1545.
[Illustration: DORMER WINDOW OF THE MAISON DE L’AÛMONIER AT POLISY,
SHOWING THE EMBLEM OF FORTUNE.]
What is the significance of this elaborate pile of symbolism? The
printer’s device of a little book published at Lyons in 1542 by Sébastien
Gryphe, or Gryphius, gives us the solution of at least a portion of it.
The sixteenth century repeated its favourite symbols over and over
again. Alciati had made famous that form of emblem in which words and
picture combine to form a single device. But in so doing he had merely
given classical shape to a general taste. The better-known symbols were
so familiar that they were readily understood without the explanatory
text. Such was that adopted by the Bishop of Auxerre in the window of the
Maison de l’Aûmonier.
The sphere with the wings of Hermes is an emblem appropriated by Fortune.
Sometimes a youth, sometimes a maiden, with winged feet lightly poised on
an ever-rolling globe, or wheel,[289] the figure of the deity was well
known and popular in the sixteenth century. Derived from the antique,
it had quickly leaped into favour on the revival of learning. There
were many variations of the familiar allegory. Machiavelli had devoted
a sonnet to it; Alciati had placed it among his emblems; it had been
painted and carved, and all were acquainted with the symbols that gave it
pictorial expression. When, therefore, the winged globe was abstracted
from the whole subject and used as a separate emblem it was readily
interpreted. But to guard against all possibility of misunderstanding,
the printer Gryphius has added to the symbol the motto, _Virtute Duce,
Comite Fortuna_. The meaning is identical with that of the Dinteville
motto and conclusively proves the point.[290]
[Illustration: MARK OF THE PRINTER GRYPHE OF LYONS, SHOWING THE EMBLEM OF
FORTUNE.]
This explanation exhausts, however, but a small portion of the symbolism
of the window, and the rest is less easy to unravel. What is the meaning
of the letter H?
The more obvious interpretation is that it stands for “Henri.” The
Dauphin was the special protector of the Dinteville brothers, and
to him, probably, the return of the smiles of Fortune was in large
measure due. But this explanation omits the three columns which are too
curiously original to be mere accidents of design. Some such symbols
occur in various works dealing with the occult sciences. They suggest
a relationship with Hermeticism, and an alternate interpretation of
the letter H. The Hermes’ wings would gain additional point from this
explanation, which seems likely to be the true one.
Beyond the Maison de l’Aûmonier is the Basse-Cour, which we know
from Dinteville’s inscription in the castle cellar to have been
completed before the new dwelling was begun. Entering one of the
unpromising-looking doors which give access to the stable, the visitor is
surprised by a beautiful vaulted undercroft of considerable dimensions.
It is now used for lumber. Most likely it once supported upper
apartments, perhaps occupied by the Dinteville family during the building
of the house. If so, those rooms have entirely disappeared, and have
given place to lofts of the commonest modern type. The Basse-Cour, it may
be added, was once of far greater extent than it is at present.
On a slope by the road-side, about half a mile from the Château, is a
high and slender cross of sixteenth-century workmanship. The origin of
this interesting monument is veiled in darkness, but an old engraving
shows more than one cross dotting the landscape around Polisy.
It is known that Jean de Dinteville built a chapel to serve as a
sepulchre for himself and his family, and that he placed in it the
epitaphs of those who had gone before him.[291] He was himself laid
to rest in it when his time came. But no similar monument was in turn
erected to preserve his memory. Not even the site of the chapel, which
has wholly disappeared, can now be identified with precision. Possibly it
is represented in the illustration of Polisy by the building to the left
pierced by three windows.
About the year 1547, a young relation, Jean de Mergey, came to Polisy
to be brought up, or “nourished” as the phrase was, in the house of the
Bailly of Troyes. Fortunately Mergey has left a short memoir of his
life,[292] which gives us a passing glimpse of Polisy during the four
or five years of his stay there. Catherine de Mergey, _née_ Dinteville,
the mother of this boy, was cousin and governess to the daughters of
Guillaume, Seigneur Deschenetz; and these relations, as well as François,
Bishop of Auxerre, seem to have spent much of their time at Polisy.
Madame de Polisy, widow of Gaucher the elder, lived there until her
death, which took place in 1545; and the sisters of the Bailly found a
home there whenever they required one.
The picture drawn by Mergey is a pleasant one, and shall be given in
his own words. He had begun his education early, having been placed
at the College of Troyes at the age of eight years. Thence his mother
transferred him to the Abbey of Montierender; but, says Mergey,
[293]“... ne voulant estre Moyne, elle me mist avec Mr. de
Polizy, Bailli de Troyes, chef de la maison de Dinteville,
personnage accomply et orné de toutes vertus et sciences autant
que homme de son temps et qualité; aiant esté Gouverneur de
Monsieur d’Orleans et Ambassadeur pour le Roy en Angleterre.
Mais estant devenu Paralitique et impotent de tous ses
membres, et ne pouvant plus a cette occasion demeurer à la
Cour, et s’estant retiré chez soy, se mist pour son plaisir
et exercice à bastir cette belle maison de Polizy. Lequel me
prist en telle amitié, qu’il prenoit bien la peine luy mesme
de m’instruire en toutes les sciences desquelles mon jeune age
pouvoit estre capable; et aiant demeuré avec luy jusques en
l’aage de quatorze ou quinze ans, et me voulant mieux former
par la fréquentation du monde et exercice des armes, me donna
a Mr. Deschenetz son frère, Chevalier de l’Ordre du Roy,[294]
et Capitaine de cinquante hommes d’Armes, avec lequel je fis
plusieurs voyages....”
A letter of 1552 (it is dated February, 1551, old style) shows us the
master of Polisy for the last time. It is written by his uncle, Du
Plessis Savonnières, the father of Vanlay’s bitter enemy. The cordiality
of tone speaks well for both writer and recipient.
[295]“Monsr. mon nepveu,” so it runs, “j’ay receu deux lettres
de vous, l’une dattée du IIIJᵉ. jour d’Octobre, et l’autre
du XXIIIᵉ. jour de janvier derniers passés. Vous m’escripvez
qu’avez receu lettres de ma soeur de Lyencourt[296] et qu’il
vous semble qu’elle est bien contente de l’affaire de Monstier
la Scelle; elle en a bien raison; elle est bien tenue et
obligée à prier Dieu pour monseigneur d’Auxerre, et nous tous,
du grand bien qu’il luy plaist faire à Banjamyn.[297] Ma
niepce de Lyencourt qui est avec Madame la connestable[298]
m’a escript que mondit seigneur d’Auxerre et monsr. des
Chenetz estoient à Fontainebleau. Et depuys Nicolas de la
Croix m’a escript que mondit seigneur d’Auxerre debvoit
arriver à Paris. J’avois pieça entendu la prinse que les gens
de l’empereur avoient faicte d’Aspremont. Ledict Nicolas de
la Croix m’escript que le bled a vallu à Paris cent dix sept
solz tournois le septier, et l’avoyne quarente huit, qui est
bien cher.... Il me deplaist de la malladie de ma dame de la
Mothe[299] et de sa fille, mademoiselle de Esmon; mais puys
qu’elles sont en amandant j’espere que ce ne sera rien. Ceulx
qui viennent de la court dient qu’il est grand bruict que le
Roy[300] doibt aller en Allemaigne; que le duc Maurice de Sax
et autres princes dudict Allemaigne, en grand nombre, sont
en armes contre l’empereur et qu’ilz doibvent tenir le party
du Roy et estre en son service; que la Royne sera regente en
France et qu’elle sera à Reyms; que monsr. l’admiral doibt
demourer avecques elle; que monsr. le Cardinal de Tournon doibt
estre lieutenant du Roy a Lyon; que le Grand Seigneur faict
grands preparatifz pour faire la guerre la presente année,
tant par terre que par mer. Je fais mon compte que entendez
mieulx toutes ses nouvelles la que l’on ne faict par deça, car
en pouvez estre advisé par Messrs. d’Auxerre et des Chenetz
qui sont à la court. J’estime que au commancement de ce mois
de mars pourray partir de ce pais pour aller à Lyon, passant
toutesfois par Grenoble. Quant je seray à Lyon, vous feray
scavoir de mes nouvelles et vous envoieray des graynnes pour
vostre nouveau jardin.
“Monsieur mon nepveu, je me recommande humblement à vostre
bonne grace et prie Dieu vous donner en santé tres bonne et
longue vie—De Montpellier, ce XXJeme. jour de fevrier, 1551.
“Vostre oncle et amy
“DUPLESSYS.”
“Monsr. mon nepveu, Monsr. de Pollisy, bailly de Troyes.”[301]
Thus the last years of Dinteville’s life glided away.
Notwithstanding his ill-health, he survived all his brothers except
Guillaume, Seigneur Deschenetz, whom he made his heir. Not one of the
family attained the age of sixty.
Gaucher, Seigneur of Vanlay, died in 1550, and was buried at
Thennelières, where he had resided.
The Bishop of Auxerre departed from the stage of this world in September,
1554. His death took place at the Château of Régennes, his favourite
place of abode. It is said that he decorated this house, and others
belonging to the see, with paintings executed by his own hand; art and
mechanics being his most cherished recreations.[302]
All the brothers had recovered their former prestige before the end came,
and were honoured servants of the king.
The Bailly, obliged by the paralysis which had overtaken him to pass
his days in retirement at Polisy, found solace in the occupations he
could cultivate at home: his building, his garden, his home circle, the
education of his little cousin in the sciences that had been dear to him
in his most prosperous days. In these tranquil surroundings we take leave
of him. Of the last scene, beyond the barest record, we know nothing. How
keenly he felt the death of the Bishop of Auxerre may perhaps be inferred
from the silent fact that he survived his brother but a few months.
Jean de Dinteville died at Polisy, in 1555, in the fifty-first year of
his age. Probably the event took place before the summer, as early in the
same year Guillaume, Seigneur Deschenetz, was appointed Bailly of Troyes.
Thus ends the story of a typical Frenchman of the reign of Francis I. The
varied incidents of his career, public and private, are vivid with the
local colour of his date and nationality. The very contrasts are those
of the age. Life marched with such a swing that there is hardly a pause
between the heights of success and the depths of ignominy. No time for
discussion as to deserved or undeserved: the king’s will is everything.
Another turn of the wheel, and the branded fugitive is recalled to
favour. The past is wiped out; and Life resumes her dancing gait as
though no voice of the night had croaked of banishment and disgrace.
The intellectual aspect is marked by the same extremes. Old and new,
mediæval and modern, were wrestling for supremacy. While, on the one
hand, the revival of letters, the progress of science, the discoveries
of the great navigators, had opened fresh horizons to the understanding,
the paths of mystery that led back to the middle ages were still freely
trodden. Astrology, alchemy, and kindred pursuits yet maintained their
hold on minds permeated by the new learning. There was no proportion, no
power of differentiation. All subjects were pursued with equal eagerness.
All were illuminated by the same glow of the imagination, which flung its
halo over past and present alike. It is this transforming quality which
fuses into unity the strangely heterogeneous elements of the time, and
gilds its mistakes no less than its successes.
In the joyous vitality of the age, the love of magnificence, the
social _bravura_, the spirit of adventure, the same influence of the
imaginative faculties is apparent. But it is in the passion for art that
the distinctive note is sounded. Soldier and scholar, statesman and
priest, all came beneath that sway, which was enhanced and intensified by
influences derived through a thousand channels from Italy.
It is to be regretted that so little is known of the private friendships
of the Bailly of Troyes. Some indications of the cordial feelings of
which he was the object are indeed to be found, here and there, in the
letters that have been noticed. But the most striking instance of the
esteem in which he was held has been handed down to posterity by the
genius of Hans Holbein. For the very fact of Dinteville’s friendship with
the learned and saintly Bishop of Lavaur is a sufficient testimony to his
own worth.
* * * * *
No second portrait is known for certain to exist of Jean de Dinteville.
There is, however, an unnamed drawing by Holbein in the Windsor
collection, the features of which show such considerable resemblance to
those of the Bailly of Troyes that it has been thought to represent him
at a later date. A reproduction of this drawing is here inserted[303]
that the reader may make the comparison for himself.
The chief difficulty in accepting this theory seems, at first sight, to
lie in the marked difference of age between the two presentments.[304]
Dinteville was, as we know, in the twenty-ninth year of his age when
painted by Holbein in 1533. His last visit to England took place in 1537,
when he was in his thirty-third year. But there appears to be more than
four years’ interval between these two portraits, if they be held to
represent the same man.
Yet, in spite of this objection, the mould of the rather peculiar type of
countenance is so similar in both cases, that this drawing does, in all
probability, represent Jean de Dinteville as a somewhat older man.
No one who, when visiting Dresden, has compared the original drawing
of Morette by Holbein, with his splendid portrait of that envoy,[305]
can have failed to observe the happy knack by which, in the finished
painting, the artist has slightly rejuvenated and refined the features
of his sitter, without losing either likeness or character. Did we
possess the original drawing of Dinteville, made for the picture of the
“Ambassadors,” it might, in all likelihood, show less discrepancy with
the Windsor drawing than is exhibited by the painting itself, where the
same tendency to emphasize the more favourable aspect of the sitter has
probably come into play.
Both these drawings—of Morette and of the supposed later Dinteville—once
formed part of the Arundel collection, and were engraved at that time,
in the shape of two small rounds, by Wenzel Hollar. One of these is
inscribed “Mr. Morett”; the other is unnamed. But the fact of their
having been engraved as pendants suggests the idea that the individuals
portrayed were connected by tradition as members of the same nation and
profession, thus further confirming the belief that the unnamed portrait
represents the Bailly of Troyes.[306]
PART III
GEORGE DE SELVE
GEORGE DE SELVE
CHAPTER I
THE EARLY YEARS OF GEORGE DE SELVE, AND HIS FIRST DIPLOMATIC EMPLOYMENT
The career of the Bishop of Lavaur, the ambassador _de robe longue_,
forms an interesting contrast to that of the _homme d’épée_, or _de robe
courte_, whose acquaintance has been made in Dinteville. In many respects
each completes the other. Together they form a typical picture of the
diplomacy of the day, in which churchmen and laymen played an almost
equal part.
The political missions of George de Selve, taken alone, would give,
however, a very inadequate idea of the man. In the case of the Bailly of
Troyes the secular note is naturally dominant. With the Bishop of Lavaur
outward events seem dwarfed by the depth and fervour of the inner life.
His spiritual vocation was all in all to him. The services he rendered to
diplomacy rather hinder than assist a just estimate of his character and
attainments. They constitute, indeed, the chief outward landmarks of his
existence. But in so far as they emphasize the mundane rather than the
religious aspect of his life they disturb its true proportions.
[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL OF LAVAUR AT THE PRESENT DAY.]
George de Selve, Bishop of Lavaur, was the third son of Jean de Selve,
Premier Président of the Parliament of Paris, and of Cécille de Buxi. He
was born in the winter or early spring of 1508-9, probably about January
or February.[307]
The family of Selve was said to be of Milanese extraction,[308] and had
settled in France near Limoges. The first of its members to rise to
eminence was Jean, the father of the future bishop. Hardly a name in
French history is more celebrated in the early decades of the sixteenth
century than that of this great lawyer and statesman; none stands higher
for probity, political sagacity, and faithful service rendered to the
Crown.
The young George must have had a varied childhood if the family
accompanied Jean de Selve to his several spheres of duty. Having
successively presided over the Parliaments of Rouen and of Bordeaux,
Jean was sent to Italy, after the battle of Marignan, as Vice-Governour
of the Duchy of Milan. The earliest associations of which George could
have had much recollection thus centred in Italy. The sojourn in the
south terminated in 1521, when the Imperial troops drove the French from
the Milanese. Jean de Selve now returned to France and received the
appointment of Premier Président of the Parliament of Paris. Henceforth
the influences which moulded the youth of the future bishop were, so far
as is known, derived from his native country.
The boy was now about twelve years old. The early age at which he
subsequently obtained distinction favours the belief that he must have
displayed extraordinary precocity in his studies. He himself tells us, as
will presently be seen, that he received instruction in Greek and Latin
from the famous scholar, Pierre Danès; indeed, if we may judge from a
letter written at a later period by Bunel,[309] Danès appears to have
superintended the whole training of the young student. He could not have
been in better hands, nor would it be easy to imagine two spirits more
likely to be congenial than those of master and pupil. The relationship
developed into a lifelong friendship.
Whether George de Selve subsequently attended the University of Paris is
unknown. It appears improbable that he came under the influence of the
Sorbonne. He was reared no doubt in a strict school of Roman Catholic
theology; for in later years he always showed himself an orthodox son
of his Church. But the extreme type among the theologians of Paris,
whose headquarters were at the Sorbonne, had at this time a holy horror
of those classical languages in which Selve learned to excel under the
guidance of Danès. The latter, indeed, was among the first professors
appointed a few years later to the famous Collège Royal, founded to
impart the very knowledge which the doctors of the Sorbonne would have
withheld.
At the University of Paris only one of the two great branches of law
essential to a public career was at this time taught. Instruction in
civil law was forbidden, and had to be obtained elsewhere. Orleans,
Poitiers, Bourges, possessed great schools for the secular arm. The
universities of the provinces equalled that of Paris in efficiency, if
not in size. Many young Frenchmen also went abroad to complete their
studies, especially to Italy. It is highly probable that Selve was
counted among their number, although there exists no positive evidence to
that effect.
It is certain that he owed some part of his education to the liberality
of Francis I. While still a youth, he translated eight of Plutarch’s
“Lives” into French by order of the king; and in the prologue which he
affixed to this work and addressed to his royal patron, he speaks of the
obligations under which he is placed to the king, “eslevé ou je suis, et
moy et les miens, par vos bienfaitz....”[310]
The king’s kindness seems, by these words, to have extended also to the
brothers of George de Selve. The family of the Premier Président was
numerous, consisting of six sons,[311] and no less than eight daughters.
Jean de Selve can hardly have been a rich man, and the assistance
afforded by Francis I. was doubtless welcome.
The translation from Plutarch’s “Lives” at once brought the name of
George de Selve into prominence. He states indeed in his preface, with
laudable modesty, that he could not have completed his work “without
the aid of Maistre Pierre Danès.” Nevertheless, the achievement was
considered a remarkable one for so young a scholar; and later writers
mention Selve as the worthy precursor of Amyot.[312]
The year 1525 saw the long negotiations between France and Spain which
succeeded the defeat of Pavia, and led up to the release of Francis
I. The Archbishop of Embrun, better known at a later date as Cardinal
Tournon, Philippe de Chabot, Admiral de Brion, and Jean de Selve, Premier
Président of the Parliament of Paris, were the three principal emissaries
deputed by the Regent, Louise of Savoy, to represent France at the
conferences held at Toledo. Montmorency joined them occasionally from
Madrid, where he was in attendance on the captive king; while Gabriel de
Grammont, Bishop of Tarbes, another future cardinal, was later on added
to the list of negotiators.
Their efforts were crowned in January, 1526, by the signature of the
Treaty of Madrid. The settlement was humiliating enough for the King
of France, but it was due to the skill of the ambassadors that even
such measure of success was obtained. At least, it restored him to his
subjects, and enabled him, in the following March, to cross the Bidassoa
on his way back to France.
The capacity displayed on this occasion by Jean de Selve, and the
profound knowledge of constitutional law which lent force to his
diplomatic skill, made a deep impression on the French Court. It was
desired that the recognition of his great services should assume some
practical form. Francis therefore determined to reward the father, who
had already attained every honour that could be bestowed, in the person
of his son. In the month of May following the king’s release, the Papal
licence was penned with which we are already acquainted. At the end of
October in the same year (1526), the see of Lavaur fell vacant by the
death of Bishop Pierre de Buxi,[313] and George de Selve, now in his
eighteenth year, was nominated by the king to succeed him.[314]
For the present Selve could only undertake the administration of the
diocese and enjoy its revenues and title. The Church forbade the
consecration of a bishop before the completion of his twenty-fifth year.
The appointment of the new prelate was not however allowed to pass
unchallenged. In 1616 the Concordat had been signed between Francis
I. and Leo X., by which, in return for the payment of annates, the
Pope conceded to the King of France the right to nominate to vacant
benefices. The Gallican Church, which had previously enjoyed the
privilege of electing its own dignitaries, protested vehemently against
this innovation. Francis I., whose rule tended more and more towards
absolute despotism, clung with tenacity to his usurped authority in
clerical matters. But the local bodies from whom the ancient rights had
been wrested equally illegally by king and pope, often set up a rival
claimant, and disputed every inch of the way to the royal nominees. They
had the more excuse for so doing, because, from the time the Concordat
was arranged, the king overlooked all canonical rules as to age or
fitness in the persons proposed,[315] filling the vacant benefices merely
according to his personal convenience and pleasure. It was due to good
fortune rather than to any appropriate principle of selection, when the
royal choice fell upon so eminently suitable a candidate as George de
Selve. It seems by no means clear, however, in what way the relations
of the king with the Gallican Church concerned the Legate of Avignon,
Cardinal Clermont, or why this prelate should now have intervened
and endeavoured to quash the new appointment. The metropolitan see of
Avignon, which was subject to papal authority, was governed by a Legate,
who appointed to bishoprics within its area. But as Lavaur was not
included in its jurisdiction, the interference of the Cardinal-Legate
on this occasion seems difficult to account for. Possibly he had been
promised the right to nominate to this particular vacancy. The fact,
however, remains that Clermont laid claim to the see of Lavaur, and, to
judge by the excitement his action aroused at the French Court, with some
show of right on his side.
In a series of letters still extant,[316] the various members of the
French royal family urged the Legate to withdraw his claim. Francis I.
begged him in a letter dated from St. Germain, on the 1st April,
“pour l’amour de moy et de ma priere, vous desister de la
poursuite dudict evesché, vous demettant au proffict du filz
dudict premier president de tout le droit que pouvez avoir et
pretendre audict evesché.”[317]
The king’s mother, Louise of Savoy, whose right hand Jean de Selve had
been during the period of her regency, writes with even more insistence:
“Mon cousin, vous avez par cy devant entendu le désir que le
Roy et moy avons que le filz de Monsʳ. le premier president
soict pourveu de l’evesché de Lavaur, et pour ce que ledit
seigʳ. et moy n’avons encore eu responce de vous qui en ce
satisface a nostre intencion, j’ay esté meue, mon cousin, de
rechief vous en rescrire, vous prient tres affectueusement, et
autant que je sauroys jamais pour nulle autre chose, faire que
vous veulhez à la requeste dudit sgʳ. et miene vous desister
de la poursuite et aussi de metre au proffit et en faveur du
filz dudit premier president de tout le droict que vous pouves
pretendre audit benefice; estant asseuré que le dit sʳ. et
moy aurons memoire de ce plaisir en melheure chose, de sorte
que vous en serez content, vous advisent au demourant et pour
conclusion que ledit sʳ. et moy porterons tout outre le filz
dudit premier president en cest affaire jusques en faire le
nostre propre; pour ce je vous prie encores ung bon cop, mon
cousin, que vous veulhez bien y pencer et en cest endroict
obtemperer a la tres affectionnée requeste dudit sgʳ. et de
moy. Et adieu, mon cousin, lequeilh je prie vous avoir en sa
saincte garde. Escript a St. Germain en Laye le premier jour
d’avril.”
A postscript follows in her own writing:
“Je vous prie, mon cousin, que vous complezes au Roy et a moy
du contenu cy dessus et vous vous en trouverez bien.
“Vostre bonne cousine,
“LOYSE.”
“A mon cousin le Cardinal de Clermont, legat d’Avignon.”[318]
Montmorency, too, is pressed into the service by the royal family. His
intervention had special point, because M. de Clermont, brother of the
legate, was his deputy in the government of Languedoc, which the king had
bestowed upon him in the previous year. Writing to the Cardinal on behalf
of George de Selve, on the 3rd April, Montmorency says that the king and
his mother “ont la chose si très à cueur que ne le vous pouroys assez
escripre.”[319]
Remonstrance from such high quarters could not remain unheeded. The
Cardinal withdrew his claim. Indeed, he had the wit not merely to accede
to the wishes of the Court, but to do so with grace. On the 22nd June he
writes to George de Selve in reply, it would seem, to an expression of
gratitude on the part of the latter:
“Monsʳ. de Lavaur, mon amy, j’ay receue la lettre que m’avez
escripte, et n’est besoing user de remerciement en mon endroit
car je suis trop et de tout temps amy de vostre pere, et luy
vouldrois faire et a toute la rasse plaisir. Vous adviserez de
vostre cousté si en autre chose me voulez emploier et ne me
trouverez jamais autre que bon frere plus par effect que de
parolle; et ainsi vous prie le croyre; qui sera la fin de la
presente apres avoir prié le Createur vous tenir en sa saincte
garde. D’Avignon ce XXIJᵉ de jung.
“Vostre meilleur frere et amy
“F. CARDˡ DE CLERMONT.”
“A Monsʳ de Lavaur.”[320]
So the matter was settled, and the promotion of 1526 confirmed. But the
cumbersome technicalities were so long in adjusting themselves, that
nearly ten more months elapsed before George de Selve was able to take
the oath of fidelity for the temporalities of the see of Lavaur.[321]
The year 1529 saw the earliest employment of the Bishop of Lavaur in a
diplomatic capacity. The first edition of the “Gallia Christiana”[322]
states that George de Selve was sent as ambassador in this year to both
Charles V. and the republic of Venice; while a manuscript biographical
notice of the bishop, preserved at the Bibliothèque Nationale at Paris,
confirms this information as regards the embassy to the Emperor.[323] The
mission to Venice appears also to derive confirmation from the wording of
the Treasury grant of 1533.[324]
The embassy of George de Selve to the Court of Charles V. in 1529 is of
special interest to the student of Holbein’s “Ambassadors.” It makes it
seem highly probable that the young Bishop attended the Diet of Spires as
one of the representatives of France—a mission which assorts well with
the presence of the Lutheran hymn-book placed near to him in Holbein’s
picture. At the very outset of his career he is thus seen occupied with
those ideas of religious reunion which absorbed so large a share of his
attention throughout his life.
His youth is indeed a striking circumstance in connection with so
important an occasion. But such were the Bishop’s precocity of mind
and gravity of temperament that he seems usually to have produced the
impression of a man considerably older than was actually the case.[325]
Amongst the works of George de Selve, which were collected and published
after his death, are two orations, or “Remonstrances,” as he terms
them, addressed to the Germans, with the object of recalling them to
the obedience of the Church. Both these discourses were drawn up to be
delivered at public Diets held in Germany for the promotion of religious
unity. The second, as will presently be seen, was indited in response to
a special invitation from Charles V. in the year 1540. The first in date,
erroneously placed last in order by the editor of the collected “Œuvres,”
is obviously the work of a very young man. A glance at its contents
appears to confirm the surmise that it was composed for delivery before
the Diet held at Spires in 1529.
After so many and exalted personages, says the youthful orator, who
have here come forward in the hope of appeasing the dissensions of the
Church, it would be great presumption on the part of anyone to attempt
to intervene of his own accord. But it would be equally cowardly to
hold back if called upon to take part in the deliberations. Therefore,
finding himself summoned, at an hour when no such thing had entered
his thoughts, by his king, whom it is the will of God that he should
obey, to come hither and try to assist in the pacification of these
great divisions; seeing also that his vocation is of those to whom are
entrusted the salvation of souls; having, furthermore, long felt within
himself exceeding pain at the calamity of the times and an extreme desire
to see it remedied, even were it with the loss of all his possessions
in this world, or even of something more besides; seeing all these
things, he felt that, notwithstanding he is forbidden by ignorance and
insufficiency, it was his duty to accept the office imposed upon him.
He begs that nothing very high or speculative may be expected of him.
Besides that his mind is incapable of such flights, as one who is a
simple beginner in the profession of letters, the truth of things has
not been so hidden that it is necessary to go beyond the judgment of the
simplest.[326]
It would seem that this discourse was divided into two parts, of which
only the first has been preserved. The teaching contained in that
portion requires no minute analysis here. But while keeping well within
the lines of Roman Catholic doctrine, it is remarkable that Selve already
strikes the note which predominates in his later writings, basing all his
arguments on the teaching of the New Testament. His references are always
made direct to the Scriptures, and, in this instance, to the Epistles of
St. Paul—a fact which is not without interest in the practice of a young
Roman Catholic prelate at this period of history.[327]
At the end of the year 1529 George de Selve lost his father. The Premier
Président was buried in the church of St. Nicolas du Chardonnet at Paris,
where a rhymed epitaph was placed to his memory,[328] much in the style
of that of Gaucher de Dinteville.
The death of Jean de Selve caused a real and profound sorrow in the royal
circles of France. The reflection of this feeling is still apparent in
a letter written in the following April (1530) by the Queen of Navarre
to the Archbishop of Bourges. Marguerite recommends to his kindly notice
the Bishop of Lavaur, who is the bearer of the letter. She begs him to
continue the affection he bore to “feu monsieur le premier president,”
towards “ses pauvres enffans.” The occupant of the archiepiscopal see at
this time was no other than François de Tournon, who as Archbishop of
Embrun had co-operated with Jean de Selve in the negotiations preceding
the Treaty of Madrid. He was now on the eve of promotion to the rank of
cardinal.
In a second letter, written a week later to Anne de Montmorency who was
busy in the south with his duties as Governour of Languedoc, Marguerite
performs a like kind office. She had been unwilling, she says, to allow
the Bishop of Lavaur to leave for the south without asking him to bear
to Montmorency some news of the Court and of herself.[329] But these
words are merely a pretext for the warm expressions with which the queen
recommends to her correspondent the bearer of her letter. “You know,
as well as I do,” she continues, “the services of the father and the
greatness of his merits; and what gratitude they deserve towards the
members of his family.” It would seem from this that Montmorency was at
this time not acquainted, or but slightly acquainted, with the young
bishop.
Both these letters are dated from Blois, where Selve had doubtless paused
to visit the Court on his way to Lavaur.
[Illustration: JEAN DE SELVE, PREMIER PRÉSIDENT OF THE PARLIAMENT OF
PARIS, FROM BULLART, ACADÉMIE DES SCIENCES ET DES ARTS.]
Beyond such scattered hints there are no means of judging of his
movements in the years which now elapsed.
In the month of November, 1532, another sorrow fell upon him in the death
of his mother.[330] The following spring saw him in England, the guest of
his friend, the Bailly of Troyes.
The visit of the Bishop of Lavaur to this country began at some period
before Easter, 1533,[331] and terminated before the end of May. It is not
necessary to repeat here the few facts concerning that event which have
already been narrated in previous chapters.[332]
In December of the same year he was appointed French ambassador at
Venice. To judge by the wording of the Treasury grant which records the
first payment made to him, he had already been sent on a short mission to
that city at a previous time.[333]
The grant is dated from Lyons, where the Court was now sojourning on
its way back from the interview with Pope Clement VII. Here the Bishop
probably received his final instructions before setting out to take up
his new task. Here, also, he must have met again his friend, the Bailly
of Troyes, who just at this time arrived at Lyons after his long absence
in England. It is to be presumed, however, that Selve made no long stay,
as his salary was reckoned from the 12th December.
CHAPTER II
THE BISHOP OF LAVAUR AMBASSADOR AT VENICE AND AT ROME
At some time in the course of the year 1534, having completed the
canonical age, George de Selve was consecrated bishop.[334] Whether this
took place in France before his departure for Italy, whether he visited
Rome expressly for the purpose, or received consecration at Venice, there
are no means of judging. Our next glimpse of him is as French ambassador
in the last-named city.
It would be tedious to record in detail the minute variations of Italian
politics which it was the duty of the Bishop of Lavaur to note and report
to the French Court. During part of the time he spent at Venice, which
extended over fully three years, George d’Armagnac, Bishop of Rodez,
was associated with him as ambassador. Many of the despatches sent to
France are jointly signed by the two prelates. They give a lively idea
of the rival endeavours of Francis I. and Charles V. to secure the
friendship of the Italian princes, and of the steps taken by the King of
France on his part to achieve that desirable end. Every movement of the
Italians, more especially of the Pope, was watched as a cat watches a
mouse. Every hair’s-breadth of supposed deviation on their part to the
Imperial side was made the subject of a report. The relations of Venice
with the Turk, with whom Francis I. was now on the verge of a definite
alliance, is another point of interest. Again, in 1536, when war broke
out between France and the Empire, details gleaned from Italian sources
of the supposed projects of Charles for the conduct of the campaign form
a considerable item in the despatches.
It would be more interesting, if it were possible, to follow the private
pursuits, the friendships and correspondences of George de Selve during
his stay in Italy.
The Aldine press, under the guidance of Paolo Manuzio, was in full swing.
Learned men, lay and ecclesiastic, of all types and nations crowded the
quays of Venice; and a further element of intellectual life was added
by the constant intercourse with the neighbouring university of Padua.
Moreover, Venice was the high road to the East; and, whether bent on the
purchase of rare Greek manuscripts, or on some secret mission from the
King of France to the Turk, or merely on the active exchange of rich
merchandise, all passed by her port.
A scholar of high reputation himself, it would have been impossible for
Selve to breathe such an atmosphere without in some degree imbibing
its tone. He threw himself keenly into the learned interests by which
he was surrounded, displaying special eagerness in the collection of
classical manuscripts. Pierre Danès, to whom he was chiefly indebted for
his brilliant acquaintance with the ancient languages, had accompanied
him to Venice, where, says Thevet, “il n’y eut antiquité, cabinet ou
rareté,” which Danès did not visit.[335] Here, also, the Bishop attached
to himself another _savant_, Pierre Bunel, who had long sojourned in the
City of the Lagoons in the service of Selve’s predecessor, Lazare de
Baif.[336]
Other friendships which George de Selve contracted while in Italy
are known principally from his letters. Reginald Pole,[337] Cardinal
Bembo,[338] Sadoleto, Bishop of Carpentras,[339] were counted amongst the
most intimate of these. It might almost be thought, indeed, that Selve
had taken the great and gentle Sadoleto for his episcopal model, so many
are the points of resemblance between the two churchmen.
The first letter we possess written by the bishop himself from the
beautiful city on the Adriatic is dated in February, 1534, and is
addressed to the Duchesse de Chartres.[340] George de Selve expresses
his delight at the prospect of shortly seeing that princess at Venice.
The tone of this letter and of others indited by him to the same
princess during his residence in Italy is one of genuine friendliness,
notwithstanding the sympathies which Renée was well known to harbour
for the Reformers.[341] But at her Court at Ferrara all classes of her
countrymen were sure of a welcome. Indeed, the partiality she evinced for
them was regarded with small favour in the land of her adoption, where
her path was often a thorny one.
A yet earlier indication of the presence of the Bishop at Venice
exists in a letter addressed by Bunel to a younger brother of the new
ambassador, Odet de Selve,[342] who appears at this time to have been
studying at Padua. Bunel had evidently become acquainted with the latter
before the arrival of the Bishop of Lavaur, as he alludes in a friendly
manner to a day recently spent with Odet at the university. The letter
dilates in warm terms on the piety of the Bishop of Lavaur and on the
courtesy and frankness of Pole, in which encomium Sadoleto is included.
The writer adds a special note of admiration for the principles which,
in his opinion, have enabled Pole to place spiritual objects above all
mundane philosophy or temporal advantage.[343] Some such estimate of the
character of the future Cardinal seems to have been formed at this time
by many of his friends in Italy, and explains the warm regard entertained
for him by so unworldly a man as George de Selve. The intimacy with Pole
became indeed one of the salient features of the Bishop of Lavaur’s stay
in Italy, and there will often be occasion to revert to it.
In other letters addressed by Bunel to various correspondents the
striking impression made by Selve himself in his new sphere is vividly
reflected. As soon, says the writer, as he, Bunel, had set eyes on him,
concerning whose surpassing sanctity, learning, and benevolence he had
heard such great things, and from so many persons, his one thought became
to obtain permission to remain near him. Never did he receive holier nor
sweeter counsel than from this bishop. Again, when, at a later date,
Bunel wearied of Italy and desired to return to France, the single fact
that lightened for him the term of waiting was that he dwelt with a
patron “whose disposition and conduct, as they are of the most virtuous,
so also are they gracious in a surpassing degree; to whose manner of life
there could cling not the very shadow or suspicion of aught unseemly;
in whose every word and deed is nought but gentleness....” He goes
on to speak of the bishop’s “astounding sagacity in the transacting
of business, which doth surpass both his years and the credence of
all men, of his great learning in the Greek tongue, of his wonderful
eloquence....”[344] Such language may contain for modern ears a ring of
exaggeration. But it is necessary to quote such passages in order to
understand the extraordinary estimate of the character and abilities of
George de Selve entertained by all his contemporaries.
What were his relations with the world of art? Was it possible to dwell
at Venice when the fame of Titian was at its zenith, when the frescoes
jointly executed by him with Giorgione on the Fondaco dei Tedeschi shone
out in pristine freshness, undimmed, as yet, by the hand of time and
decay, when the beautifying of outward life was a passion with all men,
when most of those with whom the bishop lived in daily intercourse,
private or official, were enthusiastic patrons of art,—was it possible,
under such circumstances, to remain an uninterested spectator?
Indifferent so gifted and sensitive a man was surely not. But the ascetic
tendencies implanted in him by nature and deepened by rigorous and
persistent training, stood in sharp contrast to the luxurious vitality
of Venice. Outside the limits of that religious vocation which absorbed
almost his whole soul, his love of literature and profound interest in
the classics formed probably his nearest point of contact with the tastes
of the fashionable _dilettanti_.
Towards the end of the year 1536 Pole was made a Cardinal, and the Bishop
of Lavaur wrote to congratulate his friend on his new honour.[345] In the
following February (1537) Cardinal Pole was appointed Papal Legate to
England,[346] and started on the abortive expedition intended to raise
the English people in rebellion against Henry VIII.[347] Another letter
from Selve addressed to him on this occasion shows how firm a root the
friendship with Pole had taken in his heart. He has heard, he says, by
letters which Danès has received, that Pole is about to make a journey
through “our France,” and he offers him his house and fortune. He has
also written to the Grand-Maître of France; not that he thought his
letters would have more influence than the name of Legate and the fame of
Pole’s virtues, but to satisfy his own mind. He incloses the letters to
be delivered if Pole thinks fit.[348] Of the political objects of Pole’s
mission he makes no mention.
It is plain that the position of the Bishop of Lavaur must by now
have assumed considerable importance, if he was able to send letters
of recommendation of a Papal Legate to Anne de Montmorency. He was
in fact rapidly advancing to the front rank of his profession. His
success was due to sheer merit, for he detested the intrigues by which
many ecclesiastics sought to obtain promotion. The capacity he had
displayed for public affairs had gradually been pointing him out for a
more conspicuous post; and at the very moment of Pole’s journey to the
north, George de Selve was named French ambassador to the Holy See, in
conjunction with Cardinal Mâcon. The payments for his new office began on
the 20th February, 1537.[349]
The mission to Rome seems at first to have been intended to last only
till the summer.[350] In point of fact, it extended over a very much
longer time. It is probable, however, that in the autumn the Bishop
was able to absent himself for some months from his post, as there is
a gap in the letters dated from Rome, which extends from August to
November.[351] No doubt he took advantage of this interval to visit his
diocese, as well as to report to the French Court the results of his
diplomatic labours.
Throughout the period in which Selve was accredited to the Court of Rome,
the long-deferred General Council, which was to settle the differences of
religion, formed a constant subject of negotiation between the Powers.
The Pope had actually fixed a date on which the Council was to assemble;
but the war between Francis I. and Charles V. hindered the accomplishment
of the plan. For this reason, amongst others, it was the urgent desire of
Paul III. to bring about a peace between the rival sovereigns. So keenly
did he feel upon this point, that at one moment he actually intended to
hurl the thunders of the Church upon whichever of the contending parties
might decline to assent to his proposals. The Cardinals were invited to
pronounce upon this policy. But it was quickly seen that such a course
would destroy the position of neutrality which the Pontiff desired to
maintain; and the idea was therefore abandoned.[352]
Early in the year 1538 Cardinal Carpi, the most intimate confidant of
Paul III., was sent on a special mission to France, for the purpose of
inducing the king to consent to make peace with his rival. While heartily
concurring in the object proposed, the two French ambassadors at Rome
had their doubts as to the trustworthiness of the Papal messenger. They
sent a note of warning to Montmorency some weeks before the departure of
the Cardinal, to bid him be careful in dealing with this Legate, who
was “the soul of the Pope.” Moreover, they suspected Carpi of a secret
understanding with the Imperial party, and doubted the sincerity of his
professed goodwill towards France. They were careful to add, however,
that his overtures should be met with due cordiality, while recollecting
caution.
It is a curious fact that at this time Paul contemplated, or pretended to
contemplate, the re-establishment of peace between the rival sovereigns
on the basis of the restitution of the Duchy of Milan to France. Whether
this was merely a bait held out to catch the French king, and thus
inveigle him into the peace so ardently desired by the Pope, it is
impossible to say. It is certain that, at a later date, when Francis was
still scheming to obtain that much-coveted possession, Paul expressed his
conviction that the Emperor would never yield it up.
The spring of 1538 passed in inconclusive negotiations. The truce of ten
months between France and the Netherlands, agreed upon at Bomy in July of
the previous year, had been followed by the shorter suspension of arms in
the southern campaign, arranged at the end of November. Both agreements
were now drawing to a close. But such was the mutual distrust of the two
monarchs, that no permanent peace had been arranged in the interval,
as had been intended. The Pope resolved to take the matter in hand
himself. Besides the assembling of the General Council, his heart was
bent on a coalition scheme by which Francis and Charles should jointly
oppose the Turk.[353] To both objects the establishment of peace was a
necessary preliminary. Paul therefore proposed a meeting between the two
sovereigns, at which he would himself assist and endeavour to bring them
to terms.
While the triple interview between the King of France, the Emperor of
Germany, and the Pope, was impending, an intrigue had been set on foot
at the Court of Rome which went far to justify the distrust felt by the
French ambassador and his colleague[354] for Cardinal Carpi. The latter
professed to have obtained possession, probably during his mission to
France, of a copy of a letter written by Cardinal Mâcon and the Bishop
of Lavaur to Cardinal Tournon,[355] in which Carpi’s sincerity and the
reasons of his journey were made the subjects of unfavourable comment.
The letter, so Cardinal Carpi asserted, had come miraculously to his
hands. He hastened to lay it before the Pope. Cardinal Tournon, who was
at this time in Spain, vehemently denied the authenticity of the document
as soon as news of the affair had reached his ears. He severely upbraided
Cardinal Carpi, saying the letter was a hoax, and that the Cardinal, if
he had not forged it himself, had been rash to show it.[356]
Be that as it may, the manœuvre was sufficiently cunningly contrived to
produce exactly the effect intended by its designer. In an indignant
despatch addressed to Montmorency on the 1st May, Cardinal Mâcon and the
Bishop of Lavaur beg to be instantly recalled, in order that they may
explain by word of mouth the treatment to which they have been subjected.
The Papal Court, accompanied by the two French ambassadors, was at this
time at Piacenza, on the way to Nice, where the coming interview was to
take place. The Frenchmen, so they related, were here suddenly summoned
into the presence of his Holiness. Cardinal Trivulzi, a faithful servant
of French interests at the Vatican, was sent for at the same time.
Carpi then turned upon the French envoys, in the presence of the Pope’s
relation, Cardinal Farnese, such a torrent of malevolent accusation that
they could only feel their position as the representatives of France at
the Holy See henceforth rendered impossible. The Legate had declared
that, by their “méchans et deshonnestes offices contre sa Sainteté,” they
had utterly frustrated the purposes of his mission to France. To justify
his reproaches he had read aloud their supposed letter; declining,
however, to let them see it, or to show their double signature, which
it must have borne had it been genuine. For all their asserted
machinations, Cardinal Carpi threw the blame on Trivulzi, on whom he
heaped yet more violent invective than on the ambassadors themselves.
On the same day Cardinal Carpi himself wrote to the French Court,
protesting against the calumnies of the supposed letter and loudly
asseverating the honesty of his intentions towards France.[357]
A very pretty tangle on the eve of a meeting at which it was intended to
proclaim general peace. The motive of Cardinal Carpi is tolerably clear.
The intrigue was a clever attempt to undermine in the eyes of the Pope
the credit of the three principal cardinals attached to the interests
of France, Tournon, Mâcon and Trivulzi. That it took place immediately
before the interview with the King and Emperor at Nice was no doubt a
matter of subtle calculation. The French ambassadors had, it seems, not
been far wrong when they suspected Cardinal Carpi of manœuvring in the
Imperial interest.
The Nuncio in France, on his side, informed Montmorency of the events
which were going forward at the Papal Court. The Connétable warmly
espoused the cause of his countrymen, declaring that an offence offered
to the kings ambassadors was an offence offered to the king himself. He
wrote to the two envoys, telling them what had passed, and directing
the Bishop of Lavaur to leave for France immediately in order to report
upon the circumstances. Cardinal Mâcon was enjoined to use the greatest
prudence while conducting affairs single-handed. Meanwhile the King of
France would remain near Romans and Valence, postponing the meeting
with the Pope and Emperor until Selve’s report had been first heard. So
dangerous did Montmorency consider the position of Cardinal Trivulzi,
that he adds an express message to him to beware of poison in his food,
or of any other attempt against his person.[358]
Selve reached Avignon on the 14th May,[359] three days after his
departure from Savona,[360] having probably taken ship as far as
Marseilles to accelerate his journey. In the conditions of those times
and the bad state of the coast-roads of the Riviera, it would hardly have
been possible to cover the distance by land in so short a period.
We are left in ignorance as to the results of the communication he had
to make to his sovereign. The proposed meeting duly came off at Nice
in the following month.[361] But all the efforts of the Pontiff proved
unavailing to effect a permanent treaty of peace. The most that could be
achieved was a suspension of arms for ten years, known in history as the
Truce of Nice.[362]
Francis and Charles did not, in point of fact, see each other at all
until the agreement was signed and the Pope had departed. They then
arranged an interview at Aigues-Mortes which led to conversations of some
apparent cordiality, and seemed to promise greater practical results.
The Duchy of Milan was, as usual, the central topic of discussion between
the two sovereigns. A marriage had been discussed at Nice, to take place
between the Duke of Orleans and the Infanta of Spain. Francis now parted
from his rival at Aigues-Mortes persuaded that the fulfilment of this
project would at last restore the Milanese territory to the House of
Valois, as part of the dowry of the Emperor’s daughter.
The termination of the conference at Nice saw the conclusion of Selve’s
mission to the Papal Court. Intrigue of the type which marked the final
period of his embassy must have been peculiarly noxious to a man of his
sternly upright disposition, who, at the best, bestowed his time on
secular matters only from a sense of duty towards his sovereign, and, as
it were, under compulsion. His heart was in his diocese, whither he now
joyfully turned his steps.[363]
Curiously enough he thus left Italy but a few months before the
Dinteville brothers fled thither as exiles. What a difference might have
been effected by the presence there of so true a friend during their
years of banishment! So few of the private letters of George de Selve
have been preserved that little is known of the intercourse between
the families during the period we are now considering. The year 1537,
however, throws a chance light on the subject, the preservation of which
is due to the official nature of the correspondence in which it is found.
The Count of La Mirandola, a descendant of the celebrated Giovanni Pico,
was a firm friend of France, or, in other words, was probably in receipt
of a French pension. His city and castle,[364] situated in a fertile
plain at about twenty miles from Modena, formed a valuable strategical
point in the event of any outbreak of hostilities; and, early in 1537,
Guillaume de Dinteville, Seigneur Deschenetz, was despatched to La
Mirandola to strengthen and increase the fortifications.[365] The Count
meanwhile was absent in France, busy with the various arrangements
rendered necessary by his alliance with the king.
These circumstances form the subject of two letters written by George
de Selve from Italy. One, signed in conjunction with the Bishop of
Rodez, was despatched to the French Court from Venice just before
Selve’s promotion to Rome. The second is addressed a few months later to
Deschenetz himself, and shows the good offices in which the ambassadors
at Rome were engaged on his behalf with the Pope. The writers foretell
honour and profit to him from his work at La Mirandola; they have
complained to the ambassador of the Duke of Ferrara of the animosity
displayed by the duke towards Deschenetz; they have even obtained the
permission of the Pope to write direct to the duke himself. In short, it
is easy to read between the lines of the ambassadorial communication, the
personal friendship which inspired its contents.[366]
CHAPTER III
REPOSE AT LAVAUR, AND EMBASSY TO CHARLES V
It is uncertain whether the Bishop of Lavaur spent in his diocese the
whole of the fifteen months which elapsed between his return from Italy
in the summer of 1538 and his next special appointment. A payment made to
him subsequently, as a “gift” for services rendered at Venice, Rome, and
“elsewhere with the Emperor,”[367] seems to indicate that, besides his
residence in those cities, some temporary mission to the Imperial Court
may have occurred in this interval.[368] But it is probable that the
greater part of the time was quietly spent in the old Cathedral city. A
letter to Pole is dated thence on the 1st January, 1539.[369]
We may take advantage of this interval of repose to make further
acquaintance with Selve in the sphere he loved best, and in which alone
he felt truly at ease.
The contrast must indeed have been complete between the worldly pomp
of the Papal Court, honeycombed by restless ambitions and political
intrigue, and the rural seclusion of Lavaur.
Surrounded by the sunlit vineclad country of southern France, the
principal charm of the quiet little provincial town is derived from the
beauty of its situation. Perched upon a rocky cliff overlooking the
rushing river Agout, it commands a noble expanse of distant plain and
hill. The full range of the view is obtained from a broad terrace beyond
the apse of the Cathedral of St. Alain, which is finely placed on the
brow of the declivity. The structure itself is of brick, a material often
used in the churches of the south of France. Architecturally it shows
considerable diversity of style. Nearly all the changes and additions
were however made before the sixteenth century; so that the traveller
who visits Lavaur to-day sees the cathedral much as it appeared in the
lifetime of George de Selve.
The episcopal palace formerly stood in a line with the cathedral, and
commanded the same fine view. Fancy conjures up a pleasant picture
of the ancient residence of the Bishops of Lavaur in the days of its
prosperity.[370] Casements open to the soft and billowy southern country,
silence unbroken by any sound but the lapping of the water far below,
or the occasional clang of the cathedral bell, shady gardens where, in
the spreading branches of ilex and mulberry-tree, the tiny green canary
doubtless then, as now, found a happy home.
It was probably in these gentle surroundings that George de Selve indited
the greater part of those pastoral letters and addresses through which
we are chiefly acquainted with the current of his inner life. In some of
them he displays a naive poetry of expression which seems to reflect the
atmosphere in which they were composed; as, for instance, when he speaks
of baptism as “la porte par laquelle nous sommes entrez au parc de Jesus
Christ ou nous sommes maintenant, portants le nom et la marque de ses
brébis.”[371]
[Illustration: GEORGE DE SELVE, BISHOP OF LAVAUR.
FROM A POSTHUMOUS PAINTING AT THE CHÂTEAU OF VILLIERS, SEINE-ET-OISE.]
The collected works of the Bishop of Lavaur comprise spiritual discourses
suited to almost every occasion, from the great public questions
which were dividing the heart of Europe, down to admonitions addressed
to his own household. In a few instances the titles of the various
compositions give some clue to the period at which they were written.
Such is the case with an exhortation “written on first arriving at his
diocese, to a friend of his who had but just returned home to seek
repose and leisure.”[372] It is tempting to believe, nor does it seem
in any way improbable, that the “friend” in question may have been Jean
de Dinteville, returning to Polisy for a brief spell of “repose and
leisure” after a long residence at Court. The warm tone of unconventional
affection rings curiously through the pastoral admonition. “Il me semble
en vous escrivant,” exclaims the writer, excusing himself for the length
of his letter, “que je suis avec vous a deviser, qui m’est si grande
consolation que ie n’en puis ou n’en veux trouver le bout.”[373]
Placed immediately after this epistle is one addressed “to a friend
grievously ill,” the language of which seems to indicate that it was
intended for the same individual. The bishop writes in deep anxiety
about the health of his friend. Were it not that he is detained by so
many necessary causes, he would himself set out immediately to visit the
invalid. “Plust a Dieu,” he exclaims, “que je peusse estre aupres de vous
pour quelques iours!”
Another heading appears to denote, almost conclusively, that the
discourse in question was addressed to Anne de Montmorency. The
supposition is borne out by the beginning, “Monseigneur,” a mode of
address which would only have been employed by the bishop towards
a superior, and which was almost invariably that used towards the
Connétable even by men who were themselves of high position. It is
entitled: “Discours contenant le seul et vrai moyen, par lequel un
serviteur favorisé et constitué en administration de son Prince, peut
conserver sa félicité eternelle et temporelle, & eviter les choses qui
lui pourroient l’une ou l’autre faire perdre.”[374]
The doctrine inculcated in all these compositions is strictly that of the
Church to which their author belonged, though there is a marked avoidance
of controversial points and of any sort of exaggeration. On the vexed
question of justification by faith, for instance, he points out how, if
a preacher “parle au jourd’huy de vivre en obedience, ou de faire les
oeuvres comme nécessaires pour la vie éternelle, une partie du monde crie
après, et dict que e’est un Papiste, et un justiciaire. S’il presche le
salut par Jesus-Christ, et la redemption des pechez, une autre partie
du monde crie que c’est un Lutherien, et un seminateur de maulvaise
doctrine....”[375]
But the striking feature in all the bishop’s writings, and that which
still, at the present day, breathes life and warmth into the old-world
formulas, is the deep and glowing note of personal piety which rings
through every line. Nowhere, perhaps, is this more apparent than in
the prayers and contemplations intended for private use. The beauty of
thought and fervour of expression here attained entitle these pieces to a
high position in the ranks of devotional literature.
At about this time there arose a question of sending the Bishop of Lavaur
to represent France at a Diet projected by the Emperor, to take place
in Germany, for the pacification of religion. On some occasion, perhaps
the mission of 1529, Charles appears to have been deeply impressed by
the personality of Selve. He now made it an object of special request to
the King of France that M. de Lavaur should attend this conference, at
which the Emperor, on his part, was to be represented by the Bishop of
Lunden.[376]
The scheme progressed so far that Selve actually drew up part of an
oration for delivery at the Diet. This fragment has been preserved to
us. It is entitled: “Remonstrances adressentes aux Allemans, faictes
et mises par escript par messire George de Selve, evesque de Lavaur,
pour les prononcer publiquement en la diette qui se debvera tenir en
Allemagne [quand il fust appellé du Roy très-chrestien a la requisition
de l’Empereur pour y aller procurer la reunion d’iceulx Allemans avec
l’ordre ecclésiastique].”[377]
The contents of this discourse, so far as completed, exemplify once more
the weight attached by the bishop to reformation of life and conduct,
rather than of doctrine, as the true means of attaining religious
reunion. Just as, six years before, in the “Hymns” selected for Holbein’s
picture, the keeping of the Ten Commandments, aided by the guidance of
the Divine Spirit, is indicated as the only path to temporal and eternal
bliss, so now the same theme is reiterated with yet greater insistence.
He does not, he says, desire subtle arguments, but will use simple words
that the very populace can understand. Passions must be moderated, and
only the divine honour thought of. Reunion must be sought in improved
discipline, not in attacks upon dogma. The Papal supremacy, the body
ecclesiastical, the doctrines of the Church must be upheld unimpaired.
Every needful reform would certainly have come to pass had the holy
examples of past times been followed in humility and sobriety. The sins
of Churchmen, their avarice and ambition, have brought things to the
present pass. Only by returning to the teaching of the Holy Scriptures,
and of the doctrines received and upheld by the common consent of the
Universal Church, can the true remedy be found for the dissensions which
rend Christianity.
There follows an invitation to the Germans to return to the obedience of
the Pope. But it is easy to read between the lines, even were we not told
so explicitly in another composition to which there will be occasion to
return later on, that, in the eyes of the Bishop of Lavaur, the chief
responsibility for the divisions of the Church rested upon the shoulders
of the Roman priesthood.
The scheme of despatching the Bishop of Lavaur to attend the Diet was
abandoned, and the oration was left unfinished. Lazare de Baif, formerly
French ambassador at Venice, was sent in his stead to Hagenau, where the
conference ultimately took place. Subsequently a more important Diet was
held at Ratisbon (1541), without however attaining any definite result.
The exact circumstances which led to the change of plan are not quite
clear. But from a letter written by Pole to Cardinal Contarini, it
would appear that the form of Diet at first proposed was regarded with
disfavour in high quarters at Rome. It was considered an infringement of
the Papal prerogative that the Emperor, and not the Pope, should have
convened it.[378] If this objection were hinted to the Bishop of Lavaur,
through Pole or by other means, it would certainly have led him, as an
obedient son of his Church, to renounce the execution of the plan.
Apart, however, from any motive of this kind, he seems to have had no
desire for the new honour thrust upon him. He longed to remain in peace
at Lavaur, after his absence in Italy, and to devote himself to the
duties of his diocese.
A letter addressed by Bunel to Castelnau, Bishop of Tarbes, from Lavaur,
in the spring of 1539, throws some further light upon the thoughts
and plans of his protector. Castelnau, like some other acquaintances
of the Bishop of Lavaur, seems to have attributed his unwillingness
to take advantage of so great an opportunity for worldly distinction
to undue influence on the part of Bunel, who greatly favoured a life
of retirement. The latter now sent to the Bishop of Tarbes a long and
somewhat tart epistle in reply to these animadversions. “My patron” (says
Bunel towards the end of this letter), “when, with the approval of all
worthy persons, he returned to fill his office at Lavaur, bestowed on the
general welfare of mankind a benefit far greater than would be the case
if, by command of the king, he were now to set forth to Germany.” The
bishop must indeed go thither, if the king command it; just as Castelnau
must remain in Spain, if such be the king’s pleasure. Yet it is Bunel’s
desire that the bishop and himself be suffered to dwell in tranquillity
at Lavaur; and that Castelnau, in like manner, be permitted to return to
his diocese as soon as may be.[379]
The sentiments of this letter are those of George de Selve. For the
moment his desire was fulfilled. His spell of leisure was however of
short duration. In the autumn of 1539 the post of resident ambassador at
the Imperial Court became vacant by the death of the Bishop of Tarbes.
The Emperor had but recently given so striking a proof of the high esteem
in which he held the Bishop of Lavaur, that the appointment of the latter
to succeed Castelnau was a foregone conclusion. A Treasury grant of the
9th October, 1539, enables us to fix the exact date at which George de
Selve entered upon his new duties.[380]
The talk about the Diet had indeed sunk into a secondary position, so
far as Selve was concerned. Charles V., on the invitation of Francis I.,
and, as it were, to emphasize in the sight of the world the friendship
between the two sovereigns, was about to pass from one end of France to
the other, ostensibly for the purpose of visiting his rebellious subjects
at Ghent. For the moment this journey absorbed general attention.
On the 27th November, 1539, the Emperor crossed the Bidassoa. The wording
of Selve’s appointment specially refers to “the journey which he is
about to make to Spain.” It is therefore safe to infer that, from the
outset, the Bishop was of the Imperial company. The Duke of Orleans
met Charles on the Spanish side of the frontier; Montmorency and the
Dauphin joined him near Bayonne; the King of France awaited him at
Loches,[381] and escorted him towards the frontier of the Netherlands as
far as Saint-Quentin. From Spain to Flanders the journey was a triumphal
progress. Towns were decorated, pageants initiated, honours heaped on
the Imperial guest. The common people saw in his presence the ending of
the wars which had brought so much misery in their train. But the king
meant something more than this by the lavish welcome he bestowed upon his
rival. It was expected that Charles, as a graceful acknowledgment of his
brilliant reception in France, would take that opportunity to rivet the
friendship by the cession previously promised of the Duchy of Milan. It
had been specially stipulated before he responded to the invitation to
pass through France that no advantage should be taken of his presence to
discuss political matters. The journey was to be simply one of pleasure.
Francis readily agreed. But he secretly hoped that the Emperor would
yield spontaneously that which he thus bound himself not to extort. The
negotiations for the marriage of the Duke of Orleans with the Infanta,
which had preceded the journey through France, gave him some grounds for
this expectation.
Never were hopes more completely deceived. Charles passed through the
country from end to end, receiving a magnificent welcome at Paris on
the 1st January, 1540, without uttering a single word on the subject so
eagerly awaited.
The disappointment at the French Court was great. Hope was not yet
extinguished, however; and, in anticipation of the desired utterance on
the part of the Emperor, the relations between the two Courts continued
to be of the most amicable nature.
The Bishop of Lavaur proceeded with the Imperial party to the
Netherlands. His first letter is dated from Mons, on the 27th January.
It was expected that Francis would immediately pay a return visit to his
recent guest. As a refinement of courtesy the King of France therefore
signified to Charles that henceforth great expenditure in any visits they
might mutually make to each other would be superfluous, and proposed
that they should for the future come and go informally in each other’s
dominions. The Emperor, so Selve reported, was ready to acquiesce in this
suggestion, but added that after the manner of his reception in France he
could not do otherwise, on the occasion of the king’s first visit, than
follow the example that had been set to him.
At Brussels, Hellin, French resident at the court of the
Queen-Regent,[382] joined the diplomatic labours of the Bishop of
Lavaur.[383] For a considerable time the despatches sent to France were
now signed by both negotiators.
Towards the middle of February the Imperial Court moved to Ghent. It was
thought that, when the Emperor had settled the affairs of that city, he
would have more leisure to devote to the interests of France. The French
king and his suite hovered near the borders of Flanders, daily expecting
that Montmorency would be sent for in order to bring the negotiations
to the desired conclusion. No message came. Both Henry VIII. and Paul
III.[384] had expressed the conviction that Charles would never cede the
Milanese. Francis himself was beginning to lose heart. His projected
visit to the Netherlands dropped into the background.
Finally Charles moved. Early in March he sent for Bonvalot, his resident
ambassador at the French Court, to impart to him further instructions
for communication to the King of France.[385] He now offered Burgundy
and Flanders in substitution for the Duchy of Milan, as his daughter’s
marriage portion.
On the 29th March, Selve left Ghent[386] for Aumale, there to receive the
king’s answer to the proposals made by the Emperor. Francis vehemently
protested against the new scheme, laying stress on his rights to the
Milanese territory and on the Emperor’s former promise to yield it.[387]
The instructions delivered to the Bishop of Lavaur on his return to
Flanders relate to many other points besides that of the cession of
Milan. But all knew that in this really lay the crux of the matter, and
that upon it hung the success or failure of all the negotiations. Which
way these were tending was abundantly evident. “As for France,” writes
Wyat to Cromwell, soon after the return of the Bishop of Lavaur to Ghent,
“things here are as cold as if the past were but dreams.” The changes,
he continues, introduced by the Emperor into the original proposals for
his daughter’s dowry have so “disdained” the French king that he is out
of hope of further treating. They remind Wyat of the tale of the Welshman
who, being in danger on the sea, vowed a taper as big as the mast; but
when he came on land, paid a little candle to Our Lady, and “offered her
to be hanged” if ever she took him on the sea again![388]
The witty Englishman had gauged the situation accurately. The
negotiations dragged on for some weeks longer, each party in turn making
proposals inacceptable to the other. But it soon became evident that
nothing was to be gained by further prolonging them.
To the Bishop of Lavaur the coolness that ensued between the two
sovereigns was a bitter disappointment. Keenly alive to the ills and
sufferings that had been wrought by the long wars that had ravaged
Europe, he looked to a good understanding between the King of France
and the Emperor as the necessary preliminary to those ecclesiastical
reforms which were the dearest object of his life. From the outset of
his career his heart had been set on that reconciliation of religious
differences, beneath the _ægis_ of a regenerated and purified Rome, which
for a moment had appeared a not impossible dream. How deeply he had felt
the iniquity and corruption of the body ecclesiastical, which he had
been called upon to witness during his mission to the Papal Court, we
shall shortly see. The prospect of the interview at Nice had then created
hope of a permanent peace between the two great continental powers which
should afford leisure for the consideration of the affairs of the Church.
This hope was, as we know, raised only to be immediately dashed by the
inconclusive results of that meeting. Again, the proposal for a marriage
between the Duke of Orleans and the Infanta of Spain seemed to promise a
happier era. Now this prospect also was rendered abortive by the refusal
of the Emperor to surrender Milan. War seemed, to those looking on, to be
once more within measurable distance.
Filled with the thoughts inspired by all these circumstances, it was
during the term of his embassy to the Netherlands that the Bishop of
Lavaur indited the ripest and most powerful of all the compositions
included in his collected works. For what occasion it was intended, or
whether it was ever delivered, is unknown. It is entitled, “Discours
du vrai et seul moyen de faire une bonne et perpetuelle paix entre
l’Empereur et le Roy tres chrestien: faict par George de Selve, Evesque
de la Vaur, estant ambassadeur dudict Roy tres chrestien, vers ledict
Empereur.”[389]
It shows the bishop in the plenitude of his mental powers. He has shaken
off the diffidence of early youth, and speaks with the full consciousness
of the authority bestowed upon him by his sacred office.
Peace and war, he says, have already been several times between these two
sovereigns. War has been very fertile of evil, but peace has been sterile
of good. He proposes to demonstrate how, by the use of right means, peace
can be made good and fruitful for all Christianity.
The cause of war has been that these princes, instead of first serving
God, have preferred their private passions and personal interests. The
worst result of this has been that the lives of ecclesiastics have come
to such extremity of wickedness as would have been impossible had the
wars of these two princes not prevented remedy, or rather, thrust the
delinquents yet further into impiety.
The leaders of the Church have brought their position and dignity into
derision, rather than abandon their vices, their covetousness, their
ambition. The result has been that a great part of Germany has fallen
away from the Church, and that other countries threaten to follow
the same course. Yet all the negligence of which ecclesiastics have
been guilty, has been accompanied by a pretence of good words, and of
willingness to provide against these evils.
How far these professions were sincere, may be judged by the effects.
Popes, who condemned and pursued the Lutheran heretics, had in their
private surroundings openly mocked Christ and the Christian religion.
Others had showed in their lives that He to whom they gave least
authority was the Blessed Saviour: of Whom they willingly occupied the
place, but Whom they took good care not to resemble.
Besides the irreligion of the heads of the Church, which it would be
impossible to detest sufficiently, it should be considered what harm is
wrought by the nature and quality of all ecclesiastical promotions; which
are such that it may be said that never did the devil invent, nor could
he possibly invent, a more active venom with which to poison every part
of Christianity.
The Cardinals, who should hold the place of Apostles, and be, as it were,
the flower of the universal Church, for many years have only owed their
promotion to Papal interests or to the protection of a prince. Except a
very small number who are deserving, all have reached their position by
purchase, or by ambition. Bishoprics are given to them that they never
visit; and from this corrupt multitude the Pope is elected by a majority
of votes, generally bought with money, or princes’ favour.
The promotion to bishoprics is just as illegal. Popes and princes bestow
them with equal levity, simply by favour, on unknown or unfit persons,
or on children. Of such stuff are those made who have the care of souls.
Only to provide for the man is thought of, not for the diocese. And
whereas the Apostles and their successors proceeded to the election
of bishops with so great reverence, beseeching the divine assistance:
to-day, bishops are made with raillery and light talk, and with far less
reflection than would be bestowed if it were a question of placing a new
cook in the kitchen.
The appointments to benefices are equally bad, if not worse. The Pope
gives them to any unknown person, or to a courtier who does not pretend
to be a priest and will never see his cure. The poor parishes are
desolate and abandoned. A trade is made of benefices, which are treated
as speculations, divided, and mortgaged.
Bishops who have themselves been so lightly promoted are yet more
careless in the making of priests. The bishop being generally absent from
the diocese, intrusts his charge to a substitute. Out of a thousand of
these there is not one who does the work from devotion, or from a desire
to serve; it is merely undertaken to gain a livelihood by repeating
masses. Most of these men cannot even read; especially in France, where
the priests, in their vulgarity, ignorance and irreverence, surpass those
of all other countries. This corruption of ecclesiastics is the greatest
wound of Christendom. It has been made much worse by the wars between the
two princes, because, instead of taking measures to cure it, their only
thought has been to avoid giving offence to the Popes, to whose party
passions they pander for their own benefit. And the Popes have availed
themselves of the wars to turn everything to their private advantage.
From all this the Lutheran heresy, due in great measure to the
deformities of Churchmen, has gained force and vigour....
These wars have also encouraged the Turk....
Then, what sufferings to the poor have they not caused!—spiritual
neglect, bloodshed, famine, and pestilence. The poverty of the small folk
is incredible throughout the dominions of these two princes....
Again, the wars have produced miscarriage of justice....
The very princes themselves, seeking each his own profit, have not found
it; on the contrary, each has become impoverished.
What then is the remedy for so many and great evils?
The only true and certain remedy is the acknowledgment and confession
of sin; belief in the justice of God; confidence in His mercy; and the
resolve to lead amended lives. Only by penitence can these two princes
hope to avoid divine condemnation. Their actions have been such that
their forces are weakened, their honour trodden in the dust, their
consciences stained. The only means by which they may hope to avert
eternal punishment is by sorrow, repentance, and amendment.
No peace made between them has ever gone to the root of the matter. To be
permanent and effective peace must rest on good and not on evil.
A long and eloquent peroration concludes this remarkable composition,
and sets forth in further detail the manner of arriving at the only true
peace.
This powerful indictment of the vices of the Roman hierarchy shows very
clearly to how great an extent Selve anticipated the conclusions of the
Council of Trent with regard to matters of Church discipline. His chosen
companions, Pole, Sadoleto, Contarini,[390] belonged to the same small
group among the ecclesiastics, whose influence, direct or indirect, did
so much to bring about the Counter-Reformation. Had the life of the
Bishop of Lavaur been prolonged, it appears highly probable that he would
have been among the delegates summoned to assist in the deliberations at
Trent. As it was, his friend and later successor in the see of Lavaur,
Pierre Danès, was twice appointed to attend that assembly as one of the
representatives of France.[391]
CHAPTER IV
THE CLOSING DAYS OF THE BISHOP OF LAVAUR. HIS PORTRAIT AT VILLIERS
In the summer of 1540 the Bishop of Lavaur begged permission to resign
his public career, for the future to devote himself wholly to the care of
his diocese.
Meanwhile, following the court from place to place on the Emperor’s
progress through Holland, the month of August found Selve at the Hague.
An urgent letter to Montmorency, who, on the verge of disgrace,[392]
still had charge of the correspondence with ambassadors, shows the almost
feverish anxiety which possessed the bishop to be released from his post.
The “days are years” to him. “Vous supplions, Monseigneur, après m’avoir
tant faict d’autres grâces, ne m’oublier point maintenant jusques là que
de me laisser ici plus longuement.”[393]
Yet the man who thus passionately implored release from a post which was
the zenith of other men’s ambitions, was now only in his thirty-second
year.
Ten days later he repeats the same request, but with a breath of relief,
Montmorency having apparently answered in a manner not unfavourable
to his desire. Probably the Connétable had consented to his departure
so soon as a suitable substitute could be found; for Selve mentions
several names of persons in his opinion specially fitted to replace
him as ambassador with the Emperor.[394] But, adds the bishop, with
characteristic modesty, the number of those more capable than himself to
fill the post is so great, that this point can present no difficulty.
He includes in his letter a request to Montmorency to remember his
brothers, having regard to the services of their father and to their own
ability. “What is asked for them,” he adds, with dignified simplicity,
“is only that they should be put in the way of earning their living by
work and by service.”
The explanation must have read curiously to Montmorency. The habit
of the times had accustomed him to receive continual petitions for
advantageous posts unaccompanied by any such suggestion of corresponding
responsibility. The Connétable himself had not been unduly scrupulous in
amassing his enormous wealth.
It would seem from the letter in question that Montmorency had sent
to the Bishop of Lavaur some part of the arrears of his salary, the
defections in which, combined with the expense of continual journeys with
the Imperial Court, were putting him to serious straits. The irregularity
with which these payments were made, and the distress of ambassadors who
frequently saw themselves constrained to keep up an honourable appearance
on their often slender private means, are chronic features in the
diplomatic correspondence of the period.
The letters of the Bishop of Lavaur give a lively idea of the
unhealthiness of the cities of the Low Countries at the time of his
mission. While at the Hague he reported that a third part of the Court
had fallen ill, some of tertian, some of daily fevers. There had already
been several deaths. His own house was full of sick people. Arrived at
Antwerp, where he trusted to have found a cleaner atmosphere, he was
told that in that city alone there were more than seven thousand cases
of illness, and that the whole surrounding country was in a similar
state.[395]
The Emperor meanwhile, who was suffering from gout, had dispensed with
the company of the ambassadors in his recent journeys. The Court,
including the diplomatic circle, only met again at Brussels on the 1st
September. On the same day the Bishop of Lavaur wrote to Montmorency,
overjoyed at the news that he was at last to be relieved. M. de Vély had
been appointed to succeed him.[396]
The political facts recorded in the correspondence of the Bishop of
Lavaur at this period are not of great moment. A kind of lull had fallen
on everything since the fiasco of the negotiations for a closer union
with France. Charles V., still lame from his last attack of gout, pale
and feeble, hardly showed himself to the Court. Granvella displayed such
reticence in his communications with the French ambassador that the
latter no longer cared to question him.[397] The Imperial party were, in
fact, as disappointed on their side at the rejection of their proposals
by the French king as Francis himself was at the tenour of those offers.
To the practical intelligence of Charles V. it was impossible to
understand the objection felt by the King of France to the substitution
of Burgundy and Flanders for the Duchy of Milan, a far more valuable
concession than the Italian territory would have been. In political
sagacity, in cold clear grasp of a situation, the Emperor by a long way
surpassed his rival. But, for that very reason, he failed to take into
account the imaginative temperament of Francis, so far removed from his
own, and the halo with which that king was apt to invest the objects of
his desire. Of these, Milan was the very essence, and was therefore clung
to with corresponding obstinacy. Moreover, the aims of the two sovereigns
in dealing with this subject were diametrically opposed. Charles sought
to banish French influence from Italy, and was ready to pay a good price
to effect his purpose. Francis wished by the acquisition of Milan to
consolidate his position in the peninsula. Mutual disappointment could
alone result from such diversity of character and aim.
Under these circumstances the breach between the two Courts, though still
laboriously veiled by a show of friendship, necessarily widened from
month to month.
Weakened by the rigorous abstinence which he habitually practised, as
well as by the worries of his responsible position, the Bishop of Lavaur
now fell a victim to a severe attack of the prevalent tertian fever.
In his next letters he begs that, if ready to start, M. de Vély may be
despatched instantly, for he, Selve, is unable to attend to the king’s
business. As to his recovery, he resigns himself entirely to the Divine
Will; but he fears it will be long and slow. Such has been the case with
others who have sickened in the same way. Indeed, the Low Countries
disagree with him to such a point that he thinks it impossible he should
get well there; and a large part of those who accompany him are even more
ill than himself.[398]
The fever appears to have increased, for he shortly after “thanks God
that he has passed one day without a fresh attack.” Nevertheless M.
de Vély’s arrival was postponed from week to week, and instructions
were continually sent to the bishop for communication to Granvella, in
spite of the fact that he was so feeble as to be unable to leave his
bed. The Emperor was to leave Brussels in three weeks’ time; and, as
it was important that the business of the last despatches should be
transacted before his departure, the sick man writes an urgent appeal to
the King of France to despatch M. de Vély without further delay. Under
such circumstances it can hardly cause surprise that he should have had
relapse after relapse, which further undermined his already enfeebled
constitution. He now resolved to travel in a litter to France on receipt
of permission to depart, sooner than remain a single day longer than
necessary in the infected atmosphere.
Notwithstanding the severity of his fever he still continued to inform
Montmorency of such public events as he could follow from his bed
of sickness. The arrival of the Prince and Princess of Orange, the
assembling of the Estates of the country in the presence of the Emperor
and Queen of Hungary, the speech of the Imperial Chancellor, are amongst
the intelligence thus transmitted.
At last, to his infinite joy, he received the tidings that M. de Vély had
actually started. He gratefully acknowledges this piece of good news in
a letter dated the 5th October, the last of the series. On the 10th of
October M. de Vély arrived at Brussels. The French Court appears to have
realized at last that the case was urgent; for the new envoy performed
the journey by post, three days in advance of his suite.[399]
Notwithstanding his arrival, Selve was kept at his post until the middle
of the following month. A Treasury grant of the 12th November, 1540,
still qualifies him “ambassador with the Emperor.” A second similar
grant, however, dated on the 22nd of the same month, shows that his term
of office at last expired on the 18th November.[400]
Henceforth the bishop was free to return to his beloved flock at Lavaur.
Henceforth he could give himself completely to his pastoral duties in the
pure and peaceful atmosphere of the little southern diocese, for which he
had so often sighed.
It is sad to think how short a time was left to him in which to fulfil
this, his dearest wish. When he returned to Lavaur his health was broken,
his days were numbered. The terrible fever which had prostrated him in
the Netherlands still clung to his shattered frame, and refused to be
shaken off.
His retirement was so complete that not even a passing mention of his
name occurs in the various series of documents in which, so short a time
before, it had blazed in the full glare of publicity.
But a letter addressed at a later period by Bunel to Danès supplies
the want, and gives some idea of the concluding scenes of the bishop’s
life.[401]
“On such days as the fever of the Bishop of la Vaur was not upon him,”
says Bunel, “I often, since he had thus requested me, used to visit him.
Ever did he discourse of things divine, and of good and holy living. At
times he would lament that, being hindered by sickness, he was unable
to take part in everything that occurred in his diocese.... On such
occasions, when I would humbly beseech him for the present to set aside
burdensome matters, and such as might increase his dejection, he would
very cheerfully discourse to this effect: that never did he spend his
time more happily than when engaged in the discharge of his duty.... He
said furthermore that, although he was prevented by sickness from taking
advantage of his high calling in order to exhort his flock to virtue,
yet that even the risk of death could not and ought not to hinder him
from the care of those things which pertained to the health of their
souls. Wherefore he would fain learn of others such things as he could
not himself know; not indeed that he might be the more severe on any in
particular, but that he might make trial of every manner of remedy. By
such meditations, which were most sweet, his melancholy, said he, was
nowise increased, but rather diminished....”[402]
Thus, intent to the last upon the welfare of his people, the bishop
gently awaited his latter end. A few short months yet remained to him,
in which to find solace in the society of his friend; to bask perhaps,
on his less suffering days, in the sunshine of southern France, generous
even in winter; above all, to provide for the spiritual needs of the
flock committed to his charge. But the burning spirit of the man who
combined with the accomplishments of a scholar the ardour of an apostle,
had too early consumed its earthly tabernacle. Slowly but surely his life
was ebbing away.
The approach of death appears to have been very gradual. On the 19th
March he made his will; after which he still lingered for several weeks.
Then, when the first flush of spring was spreading in green waves over
the southern landscape, George de Selve, twenty-first Bishop of Lavaur,
sank to his last rest. Worn out in body, though not in mind, by the
travail of things divine, he passed away on the 12th April, 1541, in the
thirty-third year of his age.[403]
His remains were laid to rest at Lavaur, in the cathedral which had so
often witnessed his ministrations.[404]
The monument raised to his memory perished at the time of the French
Revolution. Not even the site of the grave is known at the present day.
The curious epitaph, formed upon the letters of his name, together with
the answer supposed to proceed from his spirit, once inscribed upon his
tomb, have, however, been preserved for us by the editor of his collected
works:[405]
“G Grandement fortuné en toutes entreprises:
E Excellent en vertu, sa guide familière:
O Orné de contenance ensemble douce et fière:
R Riche de toutes parts à un Prelat requises:
G Gouvernant deuëment les ouailles comprises
E En tout son Evesché: du peuple la lumière:
S S’esloignant du forfaict: amy de vie entière:
D De touts costez conneu par ses vertuz exquises:
E Estimé et aimé des hommes vertueux:
S S’humiliant à tous, mesmes aux vicieux:
E Et orné de tout ce qui accomplit un homme:
L L’Evesque de la Vaur cy git, qui à iamais
V Vivra, pour ses vertuz, en eternelle paix,
E Et pour autant, Passant, n’empesche point son somme.
_L’Esprit dudict de Selve, aux Humains._
Ce n’est pas moy, c’est vous, qui n’estes point en vie:
Ce n’est pas vous, c’est moy, qui suis exempt de mort:
Ny moy, ny vous, mais Dieu est le puissant et fort:
Et vous, et moy, à lui avons l’ame asservie.”[406]
The sorrow caused by the early death of the Bishop of Lavaur was deep
and sincere. Bunel mourned for him as for a father. “There was never a
good or wise man intimately acquainted with thy brother,” so he writes to
Odet de Selve, “who did not desire to resemble him.”[407] And to Danès
he says, “I did fervently love and most deeply revere him.... I seem
moreover to have noted this, that those who have attained with unusual
speed unto maturity seldom live to an advanced age. For what can years
contribute unto men beside moderation, prudence, skill and experience in
the most important matters! All these things this man possessed in so
high a degree that first the Senate of Venice, then the Roman Pontiff,
and finally the Emperor, to all of whom the King sent him to treat of
the weightiest matters, marvelled at his surpassing virtue, his great
experience in human affairs and his administrative skill.”[408]
There can be no doubt that Bunel did not exaggerate the general opinion
formed of George de Selve by his contemporaries. The reputation of
his extraordinary gifts has indeed survived to the present day, and
is reflected in every notice that has been printed of his life. A
distinguished modern historian has paid a high tribute to the brilliant
and precocious talents displayed by him on his various embassies, and
records the impression everywhere produced by his learning.[409]
It would appear that Odet de Selve proposed to Bunel to write a biography
of the bishop. Bunel did not decline an undertaking which he himself had
been the first to desire. But for some reason he was unable to devote
himself to the task at the required moment,[410] and the work was left
undone. It is to be regretted that posterity should thus have been
deprived of a contemporary account of so remarkable a man composed by one
to whom it would have been a labour of love. Bunel suggested to Odet,
however, that his brothers translations from the Greek, and discourses
on the Christian religion, should be carefully preserved, and, at some
future time, given to the world.[411] This was done; the theological
portion constituting those collected works which have been so freely
quoted in the course of this sketch.
* * * * *
The portrait of George de Selve given in the illustration, page 170,
is taken from an oil painting in the possession of the Marquis de
Selve at the Château of Villiers, near La Ferté-Alais, Department of
Seine-et-Oise, and is reproduced here by the kind permission of the
proprietor.
This portrait, which is life-size, on canvas, is the only one known
to exist of the Bishop of Lavaur besides that of the “Ambassadors.”
The coat-of-arms of the Selve family and the following inscription are
painted on the background:
GEORGE DE SELVE EVEQUE DE LAVAUR AMBASSADEUR A VENISE A ROME ET
VERS LEMPEREUR CHARLE QUINT MORT JEUNE A SON DIOCESE EN MDXLI.
The picture is posthumous. It forms a pendant to the portrait of
Jean-Paul de Selve, Bishop of Saint-Flour (brother of George), and was
obviously painted at the same time and by the same hand. Jean-Paul de
Selve was only made a bishop comparatively late in the sixteenth century,
long after his brother’s decease, and, as both prelates are represented
in episcopal dress, it is evident that the portrait of George de Selve
can only have been painted many years after his death. The style of
painting, which is highly mannerized, bears out these indications; if,
indeed, it does not point to a yet later date.
The portrait of Jean-Paul de Selve has an inscription identical in
orthography, and in shape and size of letters, with that on the portrait
of George. If these inscriptions are contemporaneous with the painting,
as appears to be the case, both portraits must be posthumous, as the
wording records the date of death in each case. The demise of the Bishop
of Saint-Flour occurred in 1570.
But the painter of these portraits, whoever he was, must have had
something to go upon in producing them; probably, in the case of George,
some old likeness which he generalized somewhat freely to bring it into
line with the fashion of a later day. Family tradition, moreover, would
have preserved the memory of the colouring and general appearance of so
distinguished a bishop.
Here it is that the interest of the comparison with Holbein’s portrait
comes in. The Villiers presentment of George de Selve shows the same
dark eyes and hair, the same fashion of beard, that we are already
acquainted with in the “Ambassadors.” The emaciated features of the
later picture tell, indeed, of the effect that years of asceticism,
combined with feeble health, had wrought upon the frame of the bishop.
But, when every allowance is made, the resemblance between the two
portraits is sufficient, it is thought, to show that they represent the
same individual, and to lend interest to the examination of the Villiers
picture.
PART IV
THE DETAILS OF THE PICTURE
THE DETAILS OF THE PICTURE
CHAPTER I
GENERAL DESCRIPTION OF THE PICTURE—THE DEATH’S-HEAD—THE DAGGER—THE ORDER
OF ST. MICHAEL—THE CELESTIAL GLOBE—THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE
Benvenuto Cellini, in his “Autobiography,” records an interesting
conversation which took place between Francis I. and himself. The artist
was submitting to his patron a drawing for a fountain at Fontainebleau.
“The king began by asking me,” says Cellini, “what I had meant to
represent by the fine fancy I had embodied in this design, saying ... he
knew well I was not like _those foolish folk who turn out something with
a kind of grace, but put no intention into their performances_.” Cellini
then addressed himself to the task of exposition, “showing the king that
certain of his figures embodied those arts and sciences in which his
Majesty took pleasure and which he so generously patronized. On the right
hand was to be seen Learning, accompanied by emblems which indicated
Philosophy, and her attendant branches of knowledge.” The Art of Design,
Music, and Generosity followed in due place.[412]
The design thus described is but a typical instance of the love of
allegory which characterized the period. It would be idle to multiply
examples, for their name is legion. Whether in the shape of personified
qualities, such as are seen in the Polisy “carrelage” of 1545, or of
inanimate emblems of learning, or of those minor forms of symbolism
expressed by the all-popular “devise,” they permeate art in every
direction. Classical allegories, resuscitated from their grave of
centuries, are met half-way by the heraldic symbolism, the badges and
devices called into existence by the wars of chivalry. The various forms
of the Dance of Death contribute their peculiar quota to the prevailing
tendency. North and South foster, each in its own kind and degree, the
love of expressing things by riddles, the sense of which, half-hidden and
half-revealed, was intended to afford some play to the ingenuity of the
observer.
[Illustration: THE “ARMS OF DEATH” FROM HOLBEIN’S “DANCE OF DEATH.”
THE DEATH’S-HEAD BROOCH IN DINTEVILLE’S CAP.]
This was particularly the case with the “devise” or emblem now at the
height of fashion, especially in France. The first edition of Alciati’s
“Emblems,” which attained an almost incredible popularity, was published
at Augsburg in 1531. But as early as 1522 a collection of one hundred
emblems was made by him at Milan and privately circulated among his
friends.[413]
Beneath the level of finished elegance which had made Alciati’s emblems
the classics of their domain, every amateur tried his hand upon these
toys of the imagination. Every French nobleman, from the sovereign
downwards, had his personal _devise_, or more often a series of them.
Montmorency, for instance, had a variety of emblems of his own.
The publishers’ mark is among the few forms of this widely-spread taste
which have survived to the present day. One such, that of the printer
Gryphius of Lyons, has already enabled us to interpret the emblem placed
by the Bishop of Auxerre on the Maison de l’Aûmonier at Polisy.
This tendency, so frequently exhibited in the art and literature of the
sixteenth century, found its way naturally enough into Holbein’s picture
of the two “Ambassadors.”
It is curious that while the emblems employed in sacred subjects (those,
for instance, by which we recognize certain saints) are a matter of
common knowledge, the symbolism used in secular art has been to a large
extent neglected, and is occasionally treated as almost non-existent.
Both branches were in reality expressions of the same spirit—a spirit
that it is absolutely essential to take into account if we are to obtain
any real grasp of the vein of thought illustrated in Holbein’s painting.
In the preceding chapters the origin of the picture has been traced, as
well as a great part of its subsequent history. The lives of the two
men whose outward and visible forms it has preserved for us have been
followed in outline; and something has been seen of the circumstances
which helped to mould them to the types presented by the painter. It
now remains for us to examine in closer detail the work itself, and to
ascertain what traces it bears, beyond the mechanical correspondence of
dates and seasons, of the soil from which it sprang. The connection will
be found to be even closer and richer than might have been anticipated.
The picture reveals itself, in fact, as the exact logical outcome of the
circumstances which produced it.
The very first thing which strikes the spectator, the contrast between
the swordsman on one side and the gownsman on the other, is intensely
characteristic of the era and profession of the two ambassadors.
Brantôme has an amusing passage which well illustrates this point.
Himself a dashing swordsman, he inveighs with energy against the
preference exhibited by Francis I. for the employment of “gens de robe
longue” as ambassadors, rather than of those, in Brantôme’s opinion, far
superior, “de robe courte.”[414] He notes especially one occasion at Rome
when, according to his ideas, the swaggering attitude of a swordsman
would have better served the cause of the King of France than the tame
verbosity which, in his view, constituted the only weapon of the man of
the gown. The latter, in this instance, was doubly represented by the
Bishop of Mâcon and Monsieur de Vély, with both of whom acquaintance has
been made in the course of these pages.
“Une chose voudrois-je bien scavoir,” he exclaims, “si ... il y
eust eu quelque brave et vaillant chevalier de l’Ordre du Roy,
ou un capitaine de gensdarmes, ou autre valeureux gentilhomme
de main et de bonne espée et bravache, ... encor si l’Empereur
se fust tant advancé en paroles, s’il n’eust pas songé deux ou
trois fois, quand il eust veu l’autre parler à luy et respondre
bravement, quelquesfois mettant la main sur le pommeau de
l’espée, quelquesfois au costé pour faire semblant de prendre
sa dague, quelquesfois faire une desmarche brave, quelquesfois
tenir une posture altière, maintenant son bonnet enfoncé,
maintenant haussé avec sa plume,[415] ores au costé, ores au
devant, ores en arrière, maintenant laisser pencher à demy sa
cappe[416] comme qui voudroit l’entortiller à l’entour du bras
et tirer l’espée.... Au lieu que M. de Mascon et M. de Vely,
encor qu’il respondit un peu bien pour son estat et profession,
ne pouvoit tenir autre contenance, sinon quelquefois avec les
doigts rabiller son bonnet carré, racoustrer, et entendre bien,
avec ses deux mains serrées et les pouces étendus, sa cornette
de taffetas, retrousser sa grande robbe de velours ou de satin
sur les costez; tout cela ne pouvoit donner la moindre terreur
du monde, ny a penser rien de peur dans l’âme.” ...[417]
So far the pen of the vivacious Brantôme. Without necessarily endorsing
his reasoning, it may be said that his words form a striking comment on
the costumes exhibited to us by Holbein, whose work must now be examined
in detail.
DESCRIPTION OF THE PICTURE.—The Bailly of Troyes stands to the left, the
Bishop of Lavaur to the right, of a solid wooden table, of two shelves,
which occupies the centre of the painting.
Dinteville is richly clad in a slashed doublet of rose-coloured satin,
a black jacket and surcoat. The latter is lined with ermine, with which
the shoulder-puffs, further adorned with gilt tags, are piped. The oval
medallion of the French Order of St. Michael is suspended from a gold
chain worn round the neck. With the right hand he grasps a gold dagger,
the elaborately-chased sheath of which bears the inscription: AET. SVAE
29. A large green and gold silk tassel, of surprisingly fine execution,
hangs, with the dagger, from his girdle.[418] The hilt of a sword,
protruding from the surcoat, while its sheathed point may be seen in
the shadow near the ground, shows that Dinteville followed the fashion,
then almost universal in France, of wearing both dagger and sword.[419]
His left arm reposes on the upper shelf of the table: the tapering white
fingers droop carelessly over its edge. The whole attitude bespeaks easy
self-confidence. On his head a small black cap, worn jauntily on one
side, is adorned by a diminutive silver skull placed on a fanciful shield.
The features of the Bailly of Troyes abound with vivacity and
intelligence. The ample dark hair is cut square on the forehead, and
worn full on either side of the face; the silky moustache and beard are
of a rich chestnut-brown. Brilliant dark eyes, surmounted by strongly
marked brows, look straight at the spectator. A tinge of mockery hovers
in their glance, as well as in the curves of the small, firmly-closed
mouth. Notwithstanding vigour of type, and a certain effect of burliness,
partly due to the width of costume then in vogue, signs are not wanting
of the delicate health from which the Bailly so frequently suffered. The
excessive transparency of the warm, brown skin, the almost hectic flush
on the high cheek-bones, the refined, sharply-cut eyelids and prominent
eyes, all of which are rendered with extraordinary skill by the painter,
tell of a constitution the reverse of robust.
A marked contrast to Jean de Dinteville, the serious and somewhat heavy
figure of George de Selve next claims our attention. Dressed in a long
gown of chocolate-coloured brocade of large design, lined with brown fur,
the Bishop of Lavaur leans his right elbow on a closed book, probably
intended to represent some portion of the Holy Scriptures.[420] On the
leaves of this book, which rests on the top shelf of the double table,
are the words: AETATIS SVE (_SIC_) 25. The square Catholic cap crowns
a head that is grave beyond its years. Like his companion, Selve has
abundant dark hair and beard. But, in his case, their hue is deeper and
colder; and the eyes which look out from beneath the thick dark brows
are still and lustreless. Indeed, the contrast of vitality between the
two figures is so great as to suggest the fact we already know, that the
bishop’s stay in England was of limited duration, and that his portrait
was probably not completed from life.
The table which divides the two friends is covered by a Turkish cloth and
is littered with musical and mathematical instruments. A celestial globe,
placed near Dinteville, a sundial, a decagon, and other geometrical
paraphernalia, are scattered on the upper shelf. The lower one is
occupied by a terrestrial globe; a lute with a broken string (the case
of which is seen beneath the table); an open German hymn-book, in which
words and music are plainly legible; a German book of arithmetic, kept
open by a square; a pair of compasses, and some flutes. The background of
the picture is formed by a curtain of green damask, which half-conceals
a small silver Crucifix, hung high up in the left-hand corner. The floor
is a very beautiful one of coloured mosaic. But the most striking feature
of all this remarkable _mise-en-scène_ is a large oval object placed
slanting-wise in the very centre of the foreground. Close examination
reveals this to be a skull, or Death’s-head, distorted by reflection in a
curved mirror.[421]
The threads of this complex web are woven into each other with
astonishing ingenuity. A few of the more interesting objects shall
now be described separately, which will pave the way for some account
of their significance in combination. The Death’s-head may serve as a
starting-point; the conspicuous position assigned to it at once revealing
its importance.
THE DEATH’S-HEAD.—It has been pointed out by more than one observer,
beginning with the late Dr. Wornum,[422] that the composition of
the “Ambassadors” bears striking resemblance to one of Holbein’s
illustrations of the “Dance of Death.” The design in question is the
last of the series, and is entitled “Die Wapen des Thotss” (“The Arms
of Death”).[423] On either side of a central erection culminating in an
hour-glass and in a pair of skeleton arms in the act of projecting a huge
stone, stand a man and a woman, symbolical no doubt of human life.[424]
In the foreground, corresponding exactly to the position occupied by the
distorted skull of the “Ambassadors,” is a Death’s-head, displayed on a
shield which resembles in general character the mount of the silver skull
which Dinteville wears in his cap.
The repetition of the Death’s-head twice over in the picture of the
“Ambassadors,” the singular resemblance of the composition to the design
just described, the name borne by the latter, “The Arms of Death,” solve
at least one of the mysteries of the picture. Dinteville had apparently
made acquaintance in England with the “Dance of Death” series, and had
adopted the skull or Death’s-head—“die Wapen des Thotss”—as his personal
badge or _devise_.
It can hardly be doubted that this is the true explanation of the
repeated symbols of Death that appear in the picture. Moreover, it may be
remembered that in one of the early sets of the “Dance of Death,” which
Dinteville may have seen, the design called “die Wapen des Thotss” bears
the alternative inscription: “Gedenck das end”—_memento mori_.[425]
The gloomy thought, perhaps, coincided with the ambassador’s mood. He
was often ill. The vision of Death hovered constantly before his eyes.
He declares to his brother that he is “the most melancholy ambassador
that ever was seen,”[426] and implores the Bishop of Paris to procure
his recall lest he leave in this country “his skin and his bones.”[427]
The murder of Merveilles[428] at Milan probably accentuated his sinister
forebodings and added to them the anticipation of a speedy renewal of
war. Under such circumstances the choice of the “Arms of Death” for his
_devise_ seems but a natural outcome of his frame of mind.
Holbein’s “Dance of Death” was first published at Lyons in 1538. The
composition of the series belongs, however, to a much earlier date,
and was in fact completed before Holbein left Basle in 1526. The death
of the engraver, Hans Lützelburger, which occurred in the same year,
long delayed publication. But Holbein no doubt possessed proofs of the
engravings produced up to that period, several sets of which still
exist.[429] There is therefore no difficulty in supposing that Dinteville
saw them when he was in England in 1533.
“The device,” says a well-known writer on the subject,[430] “was assumed
for the purpose of mystification—was, in fact, an ingenious expression of
some particular conceit of the wearer containing a hidden meaning.” It
was not to be “so plain as to be understood by all, nor so obscure as to
require a sphinx to interpret.”
In exact accordance with the conditions thus laid down, the large
Death’s-head in the picture of the “Ambassadors” is so ingeniously
contrived that the real significance is not apparent until the spectator
has discovered the proper spot from which to look at it. Then it stands
revealed, at once and incontrovertibly.
The very shadow reflected in the glass has been painted in with the skull
that throws it: thus adding to the mystification by making this shadow
appear to fall in a different direction from the others of the picture.
The painted reflection is indeed but the shadow of the shadow of Death;
and, as such, not subject to the laws which govern things of solid
substance. It is, in fact, an emblem; not a reality.
THE DAGGER.—Richly chased in arabesque fruits and foliage springing from
the head and trunk of a satyr who occupies the centre of the sheath, the
gold dagger clasped in Dinteville’s right hand is a highly characteristic
specimen of Holbein’s design.
On the sheath, just above the bold and clear inscription: AET. SVAE 29,
there is a confused appearance of further minute lettering. Although
difficult or impossible to decipher now, it seems likely from their
position and shape that these parallel strokes were once legible
characters.[431] Ornament of this form and in this place would be
meaningless. Properly speaking, a _devise_ was composed of two parts,
emblem and motto; and here, if anywhere, the verbal half of the _devise_
of the Death’s-head would naturally be sought, as it was a common
practice to introduce a motto upon some part of a weapon. Further,
such a motto would be likely to appear in a small and, probably, much
abbreviated form, in accordance with the rule that the _motif_ of a
device should be concealed as deeply as possible.
In addition to abbreviation, a barbaric compound of more than one
language occasionally figures as the motto of a dagger, intentionally
increasing the difficulties of interpretation. In the museum at
Basle,[432] there is a design after Holbein for the sheath of such a
weapon, which, on a space corresponding to that which, on Dinteville’s
dagger, shows his age, bears the mysterious inscription: MORQUNOT. It has
been suggested that this strange conglomeration might be resolved into:
_MOR_TE _QU_IESCAT _NOT_; a hotch-potch of Latin and German which may
be translated: “Death stills all ills.” Precedents are not wanting in
favour of a polyglot reading of this kind. In this instance the meaning,
if correct, would gain satirical point by its position on a death-dealing
weapon.
Something of this kind, perhaps even this very motto in further
abbreviated form, may once have been expressed by the miniature strokes
on the sheath of Dinteville’s dagger. The two German books open before
him bring the supposed German ending of the motto within the range of
possibility. This reading is, however, purely hypothetical; though there
is a strong inherent probability that the opening letters MOR of the
Basle design, contain an allusion to Death.
It is not necessary, however, to pin our faith to any particular
motto. The number of adages that referred to Death was very large. The
often-repeated “Disce mori” (Learn to die) was the motto of Sadoleto,
Bishop of Carpentras, whose acquaintance has been made as the friend of
George de Selve. “La Mort n’y mord pas” was that of the poet Clement
Marot. Innumerable other instances might be quoted. The best known of
them all, the familiar “Memento mori,” was, as has been seen, inscribed,
in one set of engravings, over “The Arms of Death”; and through this
circumstance comes into special consideration here.
[Illustration: DINTEVILLE’S DAGGER-SHEATH FROM THE PICTURE OF THE
“AMBASSADORS.”
DESIGN FOR A DAGGER-SHEATH AFTER HOLBEIN, AT THE MUSEUM OF BASLE.]
THE ORDER OF ST. MICHAEL.—This Order was founded in 1469 by Louis XI.,
and was composed of thirty-six gentlemen with the sovereign for their
perpetual head. It was called the “Ordre du Roi,” and was a coveted
distinction for nearly a century after being instituted. The Order of St.
Michael was, in fact, the French equivalent of the Order of the Garter in
England, and of the Fleece in Spain. Throughout the reign of Francis I.,
and for some time subsequently, it stood alone as the one great order of
France.[433] The roll of the knights was unfortunately destroyed during
the French Revolution. But the names of a good many of those admitted to
the order under Francis I. and his predecessors can be gathered from the
pages of contemporary literature, and show them invariably to have been
persons in high office or of distinguished family.
The Grand Collar of the order, from which was suspended the image of the
Archangel, was composed of cockle-shells linked together by a complicated
system of chain-work.[434]
On certain occasions, carefully enumerated in the statutes, the knights
were, however, exempted from the obligation of wearing the Collar. These
exceptions shall be quoted in the words of the statutes. After laying
down the rule respecting the Grand Collar, article iii. continues:[435]
“... excepté en armes, où il suffira seulement porter ledict
imaige saint Michel pendant a une chainette d’or ou lacet de
soye, qui ainsi faire le vouldra. Et pareillement quand ledict
Souverain ou l’un desdicts Chevaliers iront par pays ou seront
en leurs maisons a privée, mesmes en chasse, ou en autres lieux
ou ils n’auront aucune compagnie ou assemblée de gens d’estat,
ne seront point astrains de porter ledict Grand Collier,
fors seulement ledict imaige de l’Ordre en la façon que dict
est.”[436]
It will be noted how precisely Holbein’s representation of the Order
coincides with the rules laid down in this extract for the “Petit Ordre,”
which Dinteville wears in the picture.
This “Petit Ordre,” as it was called in opposition to the “Grand Ordre”
with the Collar of scallop-shells, was worn daily by the knights. They
were forbidden to part with the Order, or to discard its use in one of
the two forms, on any pretence whatever, even were it to save their
lives.[437]
The treatment of the pendant image of the saint came to vary considerably
as time went on. When worn with the Collar, it was occasionally a
clear-cut figure, without encircling rim, similar to the English
“George.” But the oval medallion of gold depicted by Holbein was no doubt
the usual and more correct form. It is to be seen in innumerable French
portraits of about this date. Several instances may be found in the
Louvre. In at least one of these—the portrait of Francis I., attributed
to Clouet[438]—the medallion, which here has a black enamel rim, is
_percé à jour_ in similar fashion to that worn by the Bailly of Troyes.
Another good example, because within a short time contemporary with the
“Ambassadors,”[439] is seen in the portrait of Alfonso I. d’Este, Duke
of Ferrara, by Battista Dossi, which now hangs in the Gallery at Modena.
Here the medallion of the order is wholly wrought in French colours, blue
and gold. The border of the oval is of leaf-pattern worked in gold; while
the figures, also in gold, of the Archangel and prostrate dragon are
relieved upon a background of bright blue enamel.
Instances of these variations might, however, be multiplied indefinitely.
Within certain general limits, a good deal of liberty was permitted
to the designer. The forms of Archangel and fiend vary in every fresh
instance. The one essential point was that the image should tell its
story: that being given, individual taste settled the rest. Nothing could
be more fallacious than to apply the standards of uniformity derived from
an age of machine-work to the free fancy and unfettered pencil of the
sixteenth century.[440]
THE CELESTIAL GLOBE.[441]—It has been a matter of some discussion whether
or not this globe is meant to record an astrological observation. To
settle the point, a photograph was submitted to the Astronomer Royal,
who kindly gave as his opinion that it appeared to represent an ordinary
celestial globe, which would also be used for astrological purposes,
and in much the same way. It would therefore be impracticable to tell
from the picture whether an astrological, or simply an astronomical
observation were intended.
Astrology apart, however, the central position awarded to “Galacia,” the
cock, a very ancient device of France, appears to suggest a secondary
meaning of another kind. The furious attitude of the game-bird,
apparently directed against the falling and flying vultures, would
surely be unnecessary, supposing a mere constellation to be represented.
It seems to symbolize the onslaught of France upon her foes, and their
ultimate downfall and flight.
The celestial globe also stands here for Astronomy as one of the Seven
Liberal Arts.
It is not known from what original this globe was copied.
THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE.[442]—Much interest attaches to this instrument
both on its own account and for its special relations with Dinteville’s
life and career.
From the point of view of the geographer it is interesting to find
that this hand-globe of small dimensions is a facsimile in size and
contours of that discovered in 1885 by the late Mr. Henry Stevens of
Vermont.[443] As such, it affords a second example of a globe of which
only Mr. Stevens’ copy had hitherto been known to exist. The gores
purchased by him—for the globe was not found in finished form—gave rise
to a lively dispute among special students of the subject. Mr. Stevens
at once identified his find as the lost globe of Johann Schöner of 1523.
This view was maintained and further elaborated by the late Mr. C. H.
Coote of the British Museum, who, on the death, in 1886, of Mr. Henry
Stevens, edited that gentleman’s notes on the subject, and added to them
a valuable introduction.[444]
[Illustration: CELESTIAL GLOBE, FROM THE PICTURE OF THE “AMBASSADORS.”
(Reduced in scale.)]
The attribution to Schöner was not, however, allowed to pass
unchallenged. Among other competent geographers who disputed the claim,
Baron Nordenskiöld and, in his wake, Mr. Justin Winsor,[445] asserted
their conviction that the gores in question were those of a spurious
Hartmann globe dating from about 1540. The discovery that it was painted
by Holbein in 1533 of course put an end to this theory.
The date of the production of this globe is thus narrowed to a possible
range of about ten years. The track of the first circumnavigation of the
world by the Spaniards, laid down upon it, proves that it cannot have
been designed until after the return of that expedition in 1522. The fact
of its appearance in Holbein’s “Ambassadors” shows that it must have been
published before 1533.
All authorities agree in the opinion that this globe was made at
Nuremberg. Amongst other indications, the name of that city is marked
conspicuously in the centre of Europe, and rendered with equal emphasis
by Holbein.
A curious feature is the line of demarcation fixed by Pope Alexander VI.
to divide the Spanish and Portuguese possessions of the new world. This
line is explained in the original globe and in its copy by Holbein by the
words: “Linea Division̄is Castellorū et Portugallen̄.”
Two little ships are to be seen on the Nuremberg gores. They show the
course of Magellan’s voyage, the line of which is traced all round the
world. These two ships are reproduced by Holbein, one north, one south
of the Equator, in about the same positions as those marked on the
gores. But the line of circumnavigation is omitted, because Magellan’s
voyage was not the point to which it was, in this case, intended to draw
attention, nor the object for which the globe was depicted.
A careful comparison shows that the two globes have about a hundred
names in common: identical save for one or two trifling variations of
orthography.
A more striking divergence is seen in a number of names inserted in
Holbein’s globe, which are not found upon the original. These additions
are all in Europe, and principally in France and Spain. The writer
is informed on highly competent authority[446] that no professional
map-maker would have crowded this quantity of names on to a hand-globe of
small dimensions. All the extra words must have been added by an amateur
for some special reason.
The truth of this observation is at once made manifest by the fact that
“Polisy,” the name of Dinteville’s Château in Burgundy, is amongst the
places marked in France.
A further curious point makes it doubly clear that the object was to
invite the spectator’s attention to certain centres in Europe of peculiar
interest to the ambassador. The position of the globe in the picture is
such, handle downwards, that the names marked upon it, if copied exactly
from the model, would naturally appear wrong side up. This is, in fact,
the case with the large continent of “Affrica,” which had no connection
with the purposes in view. But, in the continent of Europe, the names are
placed by Holbein _in reversed position_, so as to be easily legible.[447]
The places added, no doubt on Dinteville’s initiative, are nearly twenty
in number. They consist of five provinces[448] and four towns,[449]
including Polisy, inserted in France; four provinces in Spain,[450] two
cities in Italy;[451] Sinus Adriaticus; and the telling names, Servia,
Polonia, and Saxonia.
The additions are precisely such as an acquaintance with Dinteville’s
life and career would lead us to look for.
France is naturally the country where he has chiefly increased their
number. His native Burgundy; his home at Polisy; Paris and Lyons, where
he had spent so much of his life at Court; Bayonne, the seat of many
important negotiations during the troubles with Spain; Brittany, recently
incorporated with the French Crown; Languedoc, of which his cousin and
protector Montmorency was the Governor: these are amongst the first names
we should expect to find, and do find, inserted.
Spain ranks second in the proportion of places added—a fact sufficiently
explained by the relations of France with Charles V., which dominated
the whole tenour of her diplomacy. Moreover, Spain was familiar ground
to Dinteville’s brothers, if not to himself. Vanlay had been employed to
carry despatches between France and Spain during the negotiations which
preceded the Treaty of Madrid. Deschenetz had been brought up in the
household of Henry, Count of Nassau, at the Spanish Court.[452] Louis
de Dinteville had been sent thither as ambassador by the Knights of St.
John.[453] Here then were links enough to give that country a prominence
second only to France in the estimation of the Bailly of Troyes. But it
was probably the political aspect which he chiefly intended to emphasize.
The key to Dinteville’s additions to the globe, outside France, is to be
found in the course of French diplomacy between 1525 and 1533.
Rome, placed by her great position in the forefront of public affairs,
seems an addition natural enough to the map of Italy. The recent mission
of the Bishop of Auxerre to the Holy See gave a touch of personal
interest to the political importance of the name.[454] Genoa, the
second city added to Italy, was still claimed by the King of France as
his rightful possession and included in his titles. Venice, the great
emporium of South German commerce with the East, was already marked on
the Nuremberg globe. Closely allied with France, the city of the Lagoons
was the port through which all her secret negotiations with the Turk were
conducted. Thence the various emissaries despatched by the French King
traversed the Adriatic to reach the court of Solyman. It is therefore not
surprising to find that Dinteville has included Sinus Adriaticus in his
list of additions, and that Servia, whose capital, Belgrade, had been
conquered by the ally of France, Solyman II., finds a conspicuous place
among the countries of Southern Europe. Constantinople was already marked
on the model globe.
Polonia and Saxonia are the two additions which remain to be considered.
These names represent two further powers allied with France: Sigismund,
King of Poland, and the Protestant princes of Germany, at whose head
stood the Elector of Saxony.
Thus we have in Dinteville’s additions to the globe a kind of epitome of
the foreign relations of France, in the period which immediately preceded
the creation of the picture. It will presently be seen that the Lutheran
Hymn-book, placed near the Bishop of Lavaur, is equally symbolical of her
religious diplomacy.
The interpretation thus arrived at is the necessary corollary of the
choice of names made by the Bailly for insertion upon the globe. To
imagine those additions to be the result of pure chance would be to
suppose an effect without a cause. The single fact among them of the word
“Polisy” forbids such an idea. If it was worth while to insert them at
all, they must have been the result of some principle of selection: a
mere globe could have been simply copied from the model.
[Illustration: TERRESTRIAL GLOBE, FROM THE PICTURE OF THE “AMBASSADORS.”
(Reduced in scale.)]
[Illustration: GORES OF THE NUREMBERG GLOBE COPIED BY HOLBEIN.]