STORM AGAINST THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE AND HER 'MIRROR
OF THE SINFUL SOUL.'
(SUMMER 1533.)
[Sidenote: UNEASINESS OF THE ULTRAMONTANES.]
The Romish party would not be comforted under its defeat. Beda, Le
Picard, and Mathurin in exile; evangelical sermons freely preached in
the great churches of the capital; the new doctrines carried through
Paris from house to house; and the Queen of Navarre seated, as it were,
upon the throne during her brother's absence, protecting and directing
this Lutheran activity—it was too much! The anxiety and alarm of the
ultramontanists increased every day: they held numerous conferences; and
if the young Alsatian whom we saw at the gate of the Sorbonne, or any
other inquisitive person, could have crept into these catholic
committees, he would have heard the most violent addresses. 'It is not
only the approach of the enemy that alarms us,' they said: 'he is
there ... the revolutionary, immoral, impious, atheistic, abominable,
execrable monster!' Other epithets were added, to be found only in the
popish vocabulary. 'He is making rapid progress; unless we resist him
vigorously, it is all over! The world will perhaps see crumbling under
his blows those ancient walls of Roman catholicism under which the
nations have taken shelter for so many ages.' And hence the Sorbonne was
of the same opinion with the priests and the most hot-headed laymen,
that, overlooking for the moment secondary persons, it was necessary to
strike the most dangerous. In their eyes the Queen of Navarre was the
great enemy of the papacy; the monks, in particular, whose disorders she
had not feared to expose, were full of fury against her; their clamours
were heard in every quarter. 'The queen,' they said, 'is the modern Eve
by whom the new revolt is entering into the world.'—'It is the nature of
women to be deceived,' said one; and to prove it he quoted St. Jerome.
'Woman is the gate of the devil,' said another, citing the authority of
Tertullian. 'The wily serpent,' said the greatest doctors, 'remembers
that memorable duel fought in Paradise. Another fight is beginning, and
he is again putting in practice the stratagems that succeeded so well
before. At the beginning of the world and now, it is always against
woman—that tottering wall, that _pannel_ so weak and easy to break
down—that he draws up his battery. It is the Queen of Navarre who
supports the disciples of Luther in France; she has placed them in
schools; she alone watches over them with wonderful care, and saves them
from all danger.[397] Either the king must punish her, or she must
publicly recant her errors.' The ultramontanists did not restrict
themselves to words: they entered into a diabolical plot to ruin that
pious princess.
[Sidenote: PLOTS AGAINST MARGARET.]
This was not an easy thing to do. The king loved her, all good men
revered her, and all Europe admired her. Yet, as Francis was very
jealous of his authority, the priests hoped to take advantage of his
extreme susceptibility and set him at variance with a sister who dared
to have an opinion of her own. Besides, the Queen of Navarre, like every
other eminent person, had powerful enemies at court, 'people of Scythian
ingratitude,' who, having been received in her household and raised by
her to honours, secretly did all in their power to bring her into
discredit with the king and with her husband.[398] The most dangerous
enemy of all was the grand-master Montmorency, an enterprising, brave,
and imperious man, skilful in advancing his own fortune, though unlucky
with that of the kingdom; he was besides coarse and uncultivated,
despising letters, detesting the Reformation, irritated by the
proselytism of the Queen of Navarre, and full of contempt for her books.
He had great influence over Francis. The Sorbonne thought that if the
grand-master declared against her, it would be impossible for Margaret
to retain the king's favour.
An opportunity occurred for beginning the attack, and the Sorbonne
caught at it. The Queen of Navarre, sighing after the time when a pure
and spiritual religion would displace the barren ceremonial of popery,
had published, in 1531, a christian poem entitled: _The Mirror of the
Sinful Soul, in which she discovers her Faults and Sins, as also the
Grace and Blessings bestowed on her by Jesus Christ her Spouse_.[399]
Many persons had read this poem with interest, and admired the queen's
genius and piety. Finding that this edition, published in a city which
belonged to her, had made no noise, aroused no persecution, and had even
gained her a few congratulations, she felt a desire to issue her pious
manifesto to a wider circle. Encouraged, moreover, by the position which
her brother had just taken up, she made an arrangement with a bookseller
rather bolder than the rest, and in 1533 published at Paris a new
edition of her book, without the author's name, and without the
authorisation of the Sorbonne.
The poem was mild, spiritual, inoffensive, like the queen herself; but
it was written by the king's sister, and accordingly made a great
sensation. In her verses there were new voices, aspirations towards
heaven long unknown; many persons heard them, and here and there certain
manifestations showed themselves of a meek and inward piety long since
forgotten. The alarmed Sorbonne shouted out—'heresy!' There was, indeed,
in the _Mirror_ something more than aspirations. It contained nothing,
indeed, against the saints or the Virgin, against the mass or popery,
and not a word of controversy; but the essential doctrine of the
Reformation was strongly impressed on it, namely, salvation by Jesus
Christ alone, and the certain assurance of that redemption.
[Sidenote: BEDA DISCOVERS HERESY IN THE POEMS.]
At the time of which we are writing, Beda had not been banished. At the
beginning of 1533 he had been intrusted by the Sorbonne with the
examination of all new books. The fiery syndic discovered the _Mirror_,
and with excess of joy he fell upon it to seek matter of accusation
against the king's sister. He devoured it; he had never been so charmed
by any reading, for at last he had proof that the Queen of Navarre was
really a heretic.[400] 'But understand me well,' he said; 'they are not
dumb proofs nor half proofs, but literal, clear, complete proofs.' Beda
prepared therefore to attack Margaret. What a contrast between the
formal religion of the Church and that of this spiritual poem! St.
Thomas and the other chiefs of the schools teach that man may at least
possess merits of _congruity_; that he may perform supererogatory works,
that he must confess his sins in the ear of the priest, and satisfy the
justice of God by acts of penance, _satisfactio operis_. But according
to the _Mirror_, religion is a much simpler thing ... all is summed up
in these two terms: man's sin and God's grace. According to the queen,
what man needs is to have his sins remitted and wholly pardoned in
consequence of the Saviour's death; and when by faith he has found
assurance of this pardon, he enjoys peace.... He must consider all his
past life as being no longer for him a ground of condemnation before
God: these are the _glad tidings_. Now these _tidings_ scandalised Beda
and his friends exceedingly. 'What!' he exclaimed, holding the famous
book open before them, 'what! no more auricular confessions,
indulgences, penance, and works of charity!... The cause of pardon is
the reconciliatory work of Christ, and what helps us to make it our own
is not the Church, but faith!' The syndic determined to make the
'frightful' book known to all the venerable company.
The Sorbonne assembled, and Beda, holding the heretical poem in his
hand, read the most flagrant passages to his colleagues. 'Listen,' he
said, and the attentive doctors kept their eyes fixed on the syndic.
Beda read:
Jesus, true fisher thou of souls!
My only Saviour, only advocate!
Since thou God's righteousness hast satisfied,
I fear no more to fail at heaven's gate.
My Spouse bears all my sins, though great they be,
And all his merits places upon me....
Come, Saviour, make thy mercies known....
Jesus for me was crucified:
For me the bitter death endured,
For me eternal life procured.[401]
It has been said that Margaret's poems are theology in rhyme. It is true
that her verses are not so elegant as those of our age, and that their
spirit is more theological than the poetry of our days; but the theology
is not that of the schools, it is that of the heart. What specially
irritated the Sorbonne was the peace and assurance that Margaret
enjoyed, precious privilege of a redeemed soul, which scholasticism had
condemned beforehand. The queen, leaning upon the Saviour, seemed to
have no more fear. 'Listen again,' said Beda:
Satan, where is now thy tower?
Sin, all withered is thy power.
Pain or death no more I fear,
While Jesus Christ is with me here.
Of myself no strength have I,
But God, my shield, is ever nigh.[402]
[Sidenote: ASSURANCE OF SALVATION.]
Thus, argued the doctors of the Sorbonne, the queen imagines that sins
are remitted gratuitously, no satisfaction being required of sinners.
'Observe the foolish assurance,' said the syndic, 'into which the new
doctrine may bring souls. This is what we find in the _Mirror_:
'Not hell's black depth, nor heaven's vast height,
Nor sin with which I wage continual fight,
Me for a single day can move,
O holy Father, from thy perfect love.'[403]
This simple faith, supported by the promises of God, scandalised the
doctors. 'No one,' said they, 'can promise himself anything certain as
regards his own salvation, unless he has learnt it by a special
revelation from God.' The council of Trent made this declaration an
article of faith. 'The queen,' continued her accuser, 'speaks as if she
longed for nothing but heaven:
'How beautiful is death,
That brings to weary me the hour of rest!
Oh! hear my cry and hasten, Lord, to me,
And put an end to all my misery.'[404]
Some one having observed that the Queen of Navarre had not appended her
name to the title of her work, her accuser replied: 'Wait until the end,
the signature is there;' and then he read the last line:
The good that he has done to me, his Margaret.[405]
In a short time insinuations and accusations against the sister of the
king were heard from every pulpit. Here a monk made his hearers shudder
as he described Margaret's wicked _heresies_; and there another tried to
make them laugh. 'These things,' says Theodore Beza, 'irritated the
Sorbonne extremely, and especially Beda and those of his temper, and
they could not refrain from attacking the Queen of Navarre in their
sermons.'[406]
Other circumstances excited the anger of the monks. Margaret did not
love them. Monachism was one of the institutions which the reformers
wished to see disappear from the Church, and the Queen of Navarre, in
spite of her conservative character, did not desire to preserve it. The
numerous abuses of the monastic life, the constraint with which its vows
were often accompanied, the mechanical vocation of most of the
conventuals, their idleness and sensuality, their practice of mendicancy
as a trade, their extravagant pretensions to merit eternal life and to
atone for their sins by their discipline, their proud conviction that
they had attained a piety which went beyond the exigencies of the divine
law, the discredit which the monastic institution cast upon the
institutions appointed by God, on marriage, family, labour, and the
state politic; finally, the bodily observances and macerations set above
that living charity which proceeds from faith, and above the fruits of
the Spirit of God in man:—all these things were, according to the
reformers, entirely opposed to the doctrine of the Gospel.
[Sidenote: THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE'S TALES.]
Margaret went further still. She had not spared the monks, but on the
contrary had scourged them soundly. If Erasmus and Ulrich von Hutten had
overwhelmed them with ridicule, the Queen of Navarre had in several
tales depicted their grovelling character and dissolute life. She had,
indeed, as yet communicated these stories to few besides her brother and
mother, and never intended publishing them; but, some copies having been
circulated among the attendants of the court, a few leaves had fallen
into the hands of the monks, and this was the cause of their anger.
Margaret, like many others of her time, was mistaken—such at least is
our opinion—as to the manner in which the vices of the monasteries ought
to be combated. Following the example of Menot, the most famous preacher
of the middle ages, she had described faithfully, unaffectedly, and
sometimes too broadly the avarice, debauchery, pride, and other vices of
the convents. She had done better than this, however; to the silly
nonsense and indecent discourses of the grey friars she had opposed the
simple, severe, and spiritual teaching of the Gospel. 'They are moral
tales,' says a contemporary author (who is not over favourable to
Margaret); 'they often _degenerate_ into real sermons, so that each
story is in truth only the _preface to a homily_.'[407] After a
narrative in illustration of human frailty, Margaret begins her
application thus: 'Know that the first step man takes in confidence in
himself, by so much he diverges from confidence in God.' After
describing a false miracle by which an incestuous monk had tried to
deceive Margaret's father, the Count of Angoulême, she added: 'His faith
was proof against these external miracles. We have but one Saviour who,
by saying _consummatum est_ (it is finished), showed that we must wait
for no successor to work out our salvation.' No one but the monks
thought, in the sixteenth century, of being scandalised by these tales.
There was then a freedom of language which is impossible in our times;
and everybody felt that if the queen faithfully painted the disorders of
the monks and other classes of society, she was equally faithful in
describing the strict morality of her own principles and the living
purity of her faith. It was her daughter, the austere Jeanne d'Albret,
who published the first correct edition of these _Novels_; and certainly
she would not have done so, if such a publication had been likely to
injure her mother's memory.[408] But times have changed; the book,
harmless then, is so no longer; in our days the tales will be read and
the sermons passed over: the youth of our generation would only derive
harm from them. We acquit the author as regards her intentions, but we
condemn her work. And (apologising to the friends of letters who will
accuse us of barbarism) if we had to decide on the fate of this book, we
would willingly see it experience a fate similar to that which is spoken
of in the Bible, where we are told that _many Corinthians brought their
books together and burned them_.[409]
[Sidenote: THE MIRROR SEIZED BY THE SORBONNE.]
Let us return to the _Mirror_, in which the pious soul of Margaret is
reflected.
The Faculty decided that the first thing to be done was to search every
bookseller's shop in the city and seize all the copies found there.[410]
Here Beda disappeared: he no longer played the principal part. It is
probable that the proceedings against him had already begun; but this
persecution, by removing its leader, helped to increase the anger of the
Romish party, and consequently the efforts of the Sorbonne to ruin the
Queen of Navarre. As Beda was absent, the priest Le Clerq was ordered to
make the search. Accompanied by the university beadles, he went to every
bookseller's shop, seized the _Mirror of the Sinful Soul_, wherever the
tradesman had not put it out of sight, and returned to the Sorbonne
laden with his spoils. After this the Faculty deliberated upon the
measures to be taken against the author.
This was no easy matter: they knew that the king, so hasty and violent,
had much esteem and affection for his sister. The most prudent members
of the Faculty hesitated. Their hesitation exasperated the monks, and
the rage with which the more fanatical were seized extended even to the
provinces. A meeting of the religious orders was held at Issoudun in
Berry to discuss what ought to be done. The superior of the grey friars,
an impetuous, rash, and hardly sane person, spoke louder than all the
rest. 'Let us have less ceremony,' he exclaimed; 'put the Queen of
Navarre in a sack and throw her into the river.'[411] This speech, which
circulated over France, having been reported to the Sorbonne doctors,
alarmed them, and many counselled a less violent persecution, to which a
Dominican friar answered: 'Do not be afraid; we shall not be alone in
attacking this heretical princess, for the grand-master is her mortal
enemy.'[412]
Montmorency, who next to Francis was now the most important personage in
the kingdom, concealed under the cloak of religion a cruel heart and
peevish disposition, and was feared by everybody, even by his friends.
If he were gained over, the Queen of Navarre, attacked simultaneously by
the priestly and the political party, must necessarily fall.
Margaret supported these insults with admirable mildness. At this very
time she was carrying on an almost daily correspondence with
Montmorency, and subscribed all her letters: '_Your good aunt and
friend_.' Full of confidence in this perfidious man, she called on him
to defend her. 'Dear nephew,' she wrote, 'I beg you to believe that, as
I am just now away from the king, it is necessary for you to help me in
this matter. _I rely upon you_; and in this trust, which I am sure can
never fail me, confides your good aunt and friend, Margaret.' The queen
made some allusion to the violent language of the monks, but with great
good-humour. 'I have desired the bearer,' she said, 'to speak to you
about _certain nonsense_ that a Jacobin monk has uttered in the faculty
of theology.' This was all: she did not make use of one bitter
word.[413] Montmorency, that imperious courtier who before long
persecuted the protestants without mercy, began to think himself strong
enough to ruin Margaret, and we shall soon see what was the result of
his perfidious insinuations. The Sorbonne deliberated as to what was to
be done. According to the decrees of Sixtus IV. and Alexander VI., no
books, treatises, or writings whatsoever[414] could be printed without
an express authorisation; but the Queen of Navarre had printed her book
without any such permission. The society, without pretending to know the
author, declared the _Mirror of the Sinful Soul_ prohibited, and put it
in the _Index Librorum Prohibitorum_.
[Sidenote: THE PRIESTS' COMEDY.]
This was not enough. The priests excited the students; but while the
former were playing a tragedy, the latter (or rather their teachers)
resorted to satire. The scholars of the college of Navarre, who passed
from the grammar to the logic class, were in the habit of giving a
dramatic representation on the 1st of October. The clerical heads of the
college, wishing to render the queen hateful to the people and
ridiculous to the court, composed a drama. The parts were distributed
among the pupils; the rehearsals began, and those who were admitted to
them agreed that the author had so seasoned the plot with gall and
vinegar, that success was certain.[415] The report spread through the
Latin quarter: and even Calvin heard of it, for he kept himself well
informed of all that took place in the schools. While applying himself
constantly to the work of God, he kept watch also upon the work of the
adversary. There was so much talk about this play, that, when the day of
the representation arrived, there was a rush for admission, and the hall
was crammed. The monks and theologians took their seats in front, and
the curtain rose.
A queen, magnificently dressed and sitting calmly on the stage, was
spinning, and seemed to be thinking of nothing but her wheel. 'It is the
king's sister,' said the spectators; 'and she would do well to keep to
her distaff.'
Next a strange character appeared: it was a woman dressed in white,
carrying a torch and looking fiercely around her. Everybody recognised
the fury Megæra. 'That is Master Gerard,' they said, 'the almoner of the
king's sister.'[416] Megæra, advancing cautiously, drew near the queen
with the intention of withdrawing her from her peaceful feminine
occupation, and making her lay aside her distaff. She did not show her
enmity openly, but came slily forward, putting on a smiling look, as if
bringing additional light. She walked round and round the queen, and
endeavoured to divert her attention by placing the torch boldly before
her eyes.[417]
At first the princess takes no heed, but continues spinning; at length,
alas! she stops and permits herself to be attracted by the false light
before her; she gives way, she quits her wheel.... Megæra has conquered,
and in exchange for the distaff she places the Gospel in the queen's
hand.[418] The effect is magical; in a moment the queen is transformed.
She was meek, she becomes cruel; she forgets her former virtuous habits;
she rises, and, glaring around with savage eyes, takes up a pen to write
out her sanguinary orders, and personally inflicts cruel tortures on her
wretched victims. Scenes still more outrageous than these follow. The
sensation was universal! 'Such are the fruits of the Gospel!' said some
of the spectators. 'It entices men away to novelties and folly; it robs
the king of the devoted affection of his subjects, and devastates both
Church and State.'[419]
[Sidenote: SUCCESS OF THE COMEDY.]
At last the play was ended. The Sorbonne exulted; the Queen of Navarre,
who had formerly lashed the priests and monks, was now scourged by them
in return.
Shouts of approbation rose from every bench, and the theologians clapped
the piece with all their might; such applause as that of these reverend
doctors had never been heard before.[420] There were, however, a few
reasonable men to whom such a satire written against the king's sister
appeared unbecoming. 'The authors have used neither veil nor figure of
speech,' they said: 'the queen is openly and disgracefully insulted in
the play.'[421] The monks, finding they had gone too far, wished to hush
up the matter; but in a short time the whole city was full of it, and a
few days after a mischievous friend went and spoke of it at court,
describing the whole play, scene after scene, to the queen herself.[422]
The Sorbonne, the highest authority in the Church after the pope, had
struck the first blow; the second had been given in the colleges; the
third was to be aimed at Margaret by the court. By ruining this princess
in the eyes of her brother, the enemies of the Reformation would cause
her the most unutterable sorrow, for she almost adored Francis.
Afterwards they would get her banished to the mountains of Béarn.
Montmorency lent himself to this intrigue; he advanced prudently,
speaking to the king about heresy, of the dangers it was bringing upon
France, and of the obligation to free the kingdom from it for the
salvation of souls. Then, appearing to hesitate, he added: 'It is true,
Sire, that if you wish to extirpate the heretics, you must begin with
the Queen of Navarre.'[423]... And here he stopped.
Margaret was not informed of this perfidious proceeding immediately; but
everybody told her that if she allowed the impertinence of the monks and
the condemnation of the Sorbonne to pass unpunished, she would encourage
their malice. She communicated what had taken place to her brother,
declared herself to be the author of the _Mirror_, and insisted on the
fact that it contained nothing but pious sentiments, and did not attack
the doctrines of the Church: 'None of us,' she said, 'have been found
_sacramentarians_.' Finally, she demanded that the condemnation by the
theological faculty should be rescinded, and the college of Navarre
called to account.
[Sidenote: CHRISTIANS MADE A SHOW.]
Calvin watched the whole business very closely; it might almost be said,
after reading his letter, that he had been among the spectators. He
censured the behaviour of both scholars and masters.[424] 'Christians,'
he said later, 'are made a show of, as when in a triumph the poor
prisoners are paraded through the city before being taken to prison and
strangled. But the spectacle made of believers is no hindrance to their
happiness, for in the presence of God they remain in possession of
glory, and the Spirit of God gives them a witness who dwells steadfast
in their hearts.'[425]
[Footnote 397: Flor. Rémond, _Hist. de l'Hérésie_, pp. 847-849.]
[Footnote 398: Sainte-Marthe, _Oraison funèbre de Marguerite_, p. 45.]
[Footnote 399: The first edition of the _Miroir de l'Ame pécheresse_,
was published at Alençon, by Simon Dubois.]
[Footnote 400: Théod. de Bèze, _Hist. des Eglises Réformées_, i. p. 8.
Génin, _Notice sur Marguerite d'Angoulême_, p. iii. Freer, _Life of
Marguerite d'Angoulême_, ii. p. 112.]
[Footnote 401: _Les Marguerites de la Marguerite_, i. p. 60.]
[Footnote 402: Ibid. p. 63.]
[Footnote 403: _Les Marguerites_, i. p. 65.]
[Footnote 404: Ibid. pp. 51, 57.]
[Footnote 405: Ibid. p. 70.]
[Footnote 406: Théod. de Bèze, _Hist. des Eglises Réformées_,
i. pp. 8, 9.]
[Footnote 407: Génin, _Notice sur Marguerite d'Angoulême_, p. 95,
preceding her letters.]
[Footnote 408: _Marguerite de Valois, Reine de Navarre, étude
historique_, 1861.]
[Footnote 409: Acts xix. 19.]
[Footnote 410: 'Quum excuterent officinas bibliopolarum.'—Calvini _Epp._
p. 2; Genève, 1617.]
[Footnote 411: _Lettres de la Reine de Navarre_, i. p. 282. Freer, _Life
of Marguerite_, ii. p. 118. Castaigne, _Notice sur Marguerite_.]
[Footnote 412: Lettre de la Reine Marguerite à Montmorency. _Lettres de
la Reine de Navarre_, i. p. 282.]
[Footnote 413: _Lettres de la Reine de Navarre_, i. pp. 282, 283.]
[Footnote 414: 'Libri, tractatus aut scripturæ quæcunque.'—Raynald,
_Annales Eccl._ xix. p. 514.]
[Footnote 415: 'Fabula felle et aceto, ut ait ille, plusquam mordaci
conspersa.'—Calvini _Epp._ p. 1.]
[Footnote 416: The word _Megæra_ is made up of the first syllables of
_Magister Gerardus_. 'Megæram appellant alludens ad nomen Magistri
Gerardi.']
[Footnote 417: 'Tunc Megæra illi faces admovens, ut acus et colum
abjiceret.'—Calvini _Epp._ p. 1.]
[Footnote 418: 'Evangelia in manus recepit.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 419: Flor. Rémond, _Hist. de l'Hérésie_, p. 844.]
[Footnote 420: 'Mirabiliter applaudentibus theologis.'—Sturmius Bucero.]
[Footnote 421: 'Quam non figurate, nec obscure, conviciis suis
proscindebant.—Calvini _Epp._ p. 1.]
[Footnote 422: 'Re ad reginam delata.'—Ibid.]
[Footnote 423: _Lettres de la Reine de Navarre_, i. p. 58.]
[Footnote 424: 'Indigna prorsus ea muliere.'—Calvini _Epp._ p. 1.]
[Footnote 425: Calvini _Opp._ passim.]