THE APPARITION AT ORLEANS.
(SUMMER 1534.)
[Sidenote: THE PROVOST'S WIFE.]
Calvin, as it will be remembered, had studied and evangelised at
Orleans, and his teaching had left deep traces, particularly among the
students and with certain ladies of quality. The wife of the city
provost seems to have been one of the souls converted by the ministry of
the young reformer. The narrative he has devoted to her, the full
details into which he enters, show the interest he took in her
conversion.[649] This woman, who occupied a distinguished rank in the
city, had found peace for her soul in faith in Christ; she had believed
in the promises of the Word which Calvin had explained; she had felt
keenly the nothingness of Roman pomps and superstitions; the grace of
God was sufficient for her; and caring little for _outward adorning_,
she strove after that _which is not corruptible_, the ornament of the
_women who trusted in God_. 'She is a Lutheran,' said some; 'she belongs
to those who have listened to the teaching of Luther's disciples.' Her
husband the provost, a person of influence, a great landowner, an
esteemed magistrate, a man of upright, prompt, and energetic character,
was touched by the purity of his wife's conduct, and, without being
converted to the Gospel, had become disgusted with the Roman
superstitions, and despised the monks.
The provostess (to adopt the language of the manuscripts) fell ill, sent
for a lawyer, and dictated her will to him. Lying on a bed of sickness,
which she was never to leave again, full of a living faith in Christ,
she felt certain of going to her Saviour, and experienced an
insurmountable repugnance to the performance over her grave of any of
the superstitious ceremonies for which devout women have ordinarily such
a strong liking. Accordingly, while the notary, pen in hand, was waiting
the dictation of her last will, she said: 'I forbid all bell-ringing and
chanting at my funeral, and no monks or priests shall be present with
their tapers. I desire to be buried without pomp and without torches.'
The lawyer was rather surprised, but he wrote down the words; and her
husband, who remained near her and knew her faith, promised that her
wishes should be kept sacred. When she died, the mortal remains of this
pious woman were laid in the tomb of her father and grandfather, with no
other accompaniment than the tears of all who had known her, and the
prayers of the children of God who formed the little evangelical flock
of Orleans.
[Sidenote: THE PROVOST AND THE MONKS.]
When the ceremony was over, the provost proceeded to the convent of the
Franciscans, in whose cemetery the burial had taken place. He was a
liberal man, and, though despising the monks, did not wish to do them
wrong, even in appearance. The friars, already much irritated, did not
understand what the magistrate wanted with them, and received him very
coldly. 'As you were not called upon to do duty,' he told them, 'here
are six gold crowns by way of compensation.' The monks, who had reckoned
on the death of this lady as a great windfall, were by no means
satisfied with the six gold pieces; and, even while taking them, looked
sulkily at the widower, and swore to be revenged.
Not long after this, the provost having determined upon cutting down a
wood he possessed near Orleans, was giving directions to his workmen,
when two monks, following the narrow lanes running through the forest,
arrived at the spot where the owner and the woodmen were at work, boldly
addressed the former, and demanded in the name of the convent permission
to send their waggon once a day during the felling to lay up their
store. 'What!' answered the provost, whom the avarice of the monks had
always disgusted, 'a waggon a day! Send thirty, my reverend fathers, but
(of course) with ready money. All that I want, I assure you, is good
speed and good money.'[650]
The two cordeliers returned abashed and vexed, and carried the answer to
their superiors. This was too much: two affronts one after the other!
The monks consulted together; they desired to be revenged by any means;
such _heresies_, if they were tolerated, would be the ruin of the
convents. They deliberated on the best manner of giving a striking
lesson to the provost and to all who might be tempted to follow the
example of his wife. 'These gentlemen, to be revenged, proceeded to
devise a fraud,' says Calvin. Two monks particularly distinguished
themselves among the speakers: brother Coliman, provincial and exorcist
of great reputation among the grey friars, and brother Stephen of Arras,
'esteemed a great preacher.' These two doctors, wishing to teach the
city that monks are not to be offended with impunity, invented a
'tragedy,' which, they thought, would everywhere excite a horror of
Lutheranism.
Brother Stephen undertook to begin the drama: he shut himself up in his
cell and composed, in a style of the most vulgar eloquence, a sermon
which he fancied would terrify everybody. The news of a homily from the
great preacher circulated through the city, and when the day arrived, he
went up into the pulpit and delivered before a large congregation (for
the church was crammed) a 'very touching' discourse, in which he
pathetically described the sufferings of the souls in purgatory.... 'You
know it,' he exclaimed, 'you know it. The unhappy spirits, tormented by
the fire, escape; they return after death, sometimes with great tumult,
and pray that some consolation may be given them. Luther, indeed,
asserts that there is no purgatory.... What horror! what abominable
impiety!' 'The friar forgot nothing,' says Beza, 'to convince his
audience that spirits return from purgatory.' The congregation dispersed
in great excitement; and after that the least noise at night frightened
the devout. The way being thus prepared, the impudent monks arranged
among themselves the horrible drama which was to avenge them on the
provost and his wife.
[Sidenote: THE APPARITION IN THE CONVENT.]
On the following night the monks rose at the usual hour and entered the
church, carrying their antiphonaires or anthem-books in their hands.
They began to chant; their hoarse voices were intoning matins ... when
suddenly a frightful tumult was heard, coming from heaven as it seemed,
or at least from the ceiling of the church. On hearing this 'great
uproar,' the chanting ceased, the monks appeared horrified, and Coliman,
the bravest, moved forward, armed with all the weapons of an exorcist,
and _conjured_ the evil spirit; but the spirit said not a word. 'What
wantest thou?' asked Coliman. There was no answer. 'If thou art dumb,'
resumed the exorcist, 'show it us by some sign.' Upon this the spirit
made another uproar. The hearers, not in the secret, were
terror-stricken. 'All is going on well,' said Coliman, Stephen, and
their accomplices; 'now let us circulate the news through Orleans.' The
next day the friars visited some of the most considerable personages of
the city who were among the number of their devotees. 'A misfortune has
happened to us,' they said, without mentioning what it was; 'will you
come to our help and be present at our matins?'
These worthy citizens, anxious to know what was the matter, did not go
to bed, and went to the convent at midnight. The monks had already
assembled in the church to chant their collects, anthems, and litanies;
they provided good places for the devout laymen, and with trembling
voices began to intone:
_Domine! labia_...
The words had hardly been uttered, when a frightful noise interrupted
the chanting. 'The ghost! the ghost!' exclaimed the terrified monks.
Then Coliman, who had 'the usual equipment when he wished to speak to
the devil,' came forward, and, playing his part admirably, said, 'Who
art thou?'—Silence.—'What dost thou want?'—Silence.—'Art thou
dumb?'—Silence.—'If thou art not permitted to speak,' said Coliman,
'answer my questions by signs.... For _Yes_, give two knocks; and three
for _No_. Now, tell me ... art thou not the ghost of a person buried
here?' The ghost began to knock _Yes_. Then resumed Coliman: 'Art thou
the ghost of such a one, or such a one?' naming in succession many of
those who were buried in the church; but to each question the ghost
answered _No_. After a long circuit, the exorcist came at last to the
point he desired: 'Art thou the ghost of the provostess?' The spirit
replied with a loud _Yes_. The mystery seemed about to be cleared up: a
new act of the comedy began. 'Spirit, for what sin hast thou been
condemned?' asked the exorcist: 'Is it for pride?'—_No!_ 'Is it for
unchastity?'—_No!_ Coliman, after running through all the sins
enumerated in Scripture, bethought himself at last, and said: 'Art thou
condemned for having been a Lutheran?' Two knocks answered _Yes_, and
all the monks crossed themselves in alarm. 'Now tell us,' continued the
exorcist, 'why thou makest such an uproar in the middle of the night? Is
it for thy body to be exhumed?'—_Yes!_ There could no longer be any
doubt about it: the provostess was suffering for her Lutheranism. The
report had been prepared beforehand, but a few witnesses refused to sign
it, suspecting some trick. The provincial concealed his vexation, and
wishing to excite their imaginations still more strongly, he exclaimed:
'The place is profaned; let us leave it ... as the papal canons
command.' Forthwith one of the monks caught up the pyx containing the
_corpus Domini_; another seized the chalice; others took the relics of
the saints and 'the rest of their tools;'[651] and all fled into the
chapter-room, where divine service was thenceforward celebrated.
[Sidenote: INQUEST ON THE SPIRIT.]
The news of this affair soon reached the ears of the bishop's official,
and there was much talk about it at the palace. The Franciscans were
pretty well known there. 'There is some monkish trick at the bottom,'
said the official, an estimable and upright clergyman. He could not
conceal his disgust at this cheat of the friars. He thought that these
impetuous cordeliers would compromise, and perhaps ruin the cause of
religion, instead of advancing it, by their pretended miracles. It was
to be one of the peculiarities of protestantism to unveil the cunning,
avarice, and hypocrisy of the priests, the workers of miracles.
Extraordinary acts of the divine power were manifested at the time of
the creation of the Church, as at the time when the heavens and the
earth were first made by the Word of God. Is not all creation a miracle?
But the Reformation turned away with disgust from the tricks and cheats
of the Roman mountebanks, who presumed to ape the power of God. There
were even in the Catholic Church men of good sense who shared this
opinion. Of this number was the official of Orleans, the man who filled
the place which some had destined for Calvin.
He took with him a few honest people, and went to the grey friars'
church to inquire more particularly into the fact. He called the monks
together: brother Coliman gravely told the whole story, and the
official, after hearing their tales, said: 'Well, my brethren, I now
order these conjurations to be performed in my presence.—You,
gentlemen,' he said to some of his party, 'will mount to the roof and
see if any ghost appears.'—'Do nothing of the kind,' exclaimed friar
Stephen of Arras, in great alarm; 'you will disturb the spirit!' The
official insisted that the conjuration should be performed; but it was
not possible; the exorcist and the ghost both remained dumb. The
episcopal judge withdrew, confirmed in his views. 'Here's a ghost that
appears only to the monks,' he said to his companions; 'it is frightened
at the official.' This affair, which made some tremble and others smile,
soon became known throughout the city; the news reached the dark and
winding streets where the students lived: one told it to another, and
all hurried off to the university. Everything was in commotion there:
some were for the monks, the majority against them. 'Let us go and see,'
exclaimed this young France. Off they started, and arriving in a large
body, says Calvin, soon filled the church. They raised their heads, they
fixed their eyes on the roof that had become so celebrated; but they
waited in vain, it uttered no sound. 'Pshaw!' said they, 'it is a plot
the friars have wickedly contrived to be revenged of the provost and his
wife. We will find out all about it.' These curious and rather
frolicsome youths rushed to the roof in search of the ghost; they looked
for it in every corner, they called it, but the phantom was determined
to be neither seen nor heard, and the students returned to the
university, joking as they went.
[Sidenote: THE PROVOST APPEALS TO THE KING.]
There was one person, however, in Orleans who did not joke: it was the
provost. Irritated at the insult offered to his wife, he had recourse to
the law: a written summons was left at the convent, but the monks
refused to put in an answer, pleading the immunities they enjoyed in
their ecclesiastical quality. The provost, true to his character, was
not willing to lose this opportunity of giving the friars a severe
lesson. 'What!' he exclaimed, 'shall these wretches make her, who rests
at peace in the grave, the talk of the whole city? If she had been
accused in her lifetime, I would have defended her, much more will I do
so after her death!' He determined to lay the matter before the king,
and set out for Paris.
The story of the ghost who appeared with a great noise in a convent at
Orleans, had already reached the capital, and been repeated at court.
The monks, in general, were not in high favour there. The courtiers
called to mind the words of the king's mother, who thanked God for
having taught her son and herself to know 'those hypocrites, white,
grey, black, and of all colours.' Du Bellay especially and his friends
gladly welcomed a story which set in bold relief the vices of the old
system and the necessity of a reform. As soon as the provost reached the
capital, he had an audience of the king. Francis, who was not famed for
his conjugal affections, could not understand the emotion of the
widower; but despising the monks at least as much as his mother and
sister did, and delighted to put in practice the new reforming ideas
which were growing in his mind, he resolved to seize the opportunity of
humbling the insolence of the convents. He granted all the provost
asked; he nominated councillors of parliament to investigate the matter;
and as the cordeliers pleaded their immunities, Duprat, in his quality
of legate, gave, by papal authority, power to the commissioners to
proceed.
The day when the royal agents arrived at Orleans was a day of sorrow to
one part of the inhabitants of that city, but of joy to the greater
number. People looked with astonishment on these gentlemen from Paris,
who would be stronger than the monks, and would punish them for their
long tyranny. A crowd followed them to the convent, and when they had
entered, waited until they came out again. Oh! how every one of them
would have liked to see what was going on within those gloomy walls! The
officers of the parliament spoke to the monks with authority, exhibited
their powers, and arrested the principal culprits, to the great
consternation of all the other monks. Some wretched carts stood at the
gate of the monastery; the archers brought out the insolent friars; and
the crowd, to its unutterable amazement, saw them mount like vulgar
criminals into these poor vehicles, which the maréchaussée was preparing
to escort. What inexpressible disgrace for the disciples of St. Francis!
[Sidenote: THE MONKS TAKEN TO PARIS.]
The news of the arrest had spread to all the sacristies, parsonages, and
convents of the city, and a cry of persecution arose everywhere. At the
moment of departure, a bigoted and excited crowd collected round the
carts in which sat the reverend fathers, quite out of countenance at
their misfortune. These people, some of whom no doubt were fanatics, but
amongst whom were many who felt a sincere affection for the monks, wept
bitterly; they uttered loud lamentations, and put money into the friars'
hands, 'as much to make good cheer with,' says Calvin, 'as to help in
their defence.'[652] But in the midst of this dejected crowd might be
observed some citizens and jeering students, who exclaimed: 'Fine
champions, indeed, to oppose the Gospel!' Certain sayings of Luther had
crossed the Rhine, and were circulating among the youths of the schools:
'Who made the monks?' asked one. 'The devil,' answered another. 'God
having created the priests, the devil (as is always the case) wished to
imitate him, but in his bungling he made the crown of the head too
large, and instead of a priest he turned out a monk.'[653] Such was the
exodus of the reverend fathers: they arrived in Paris, and there they
were separated and confined in different places, in order that they
might not confer with one another.
The deception was manifest, but it was impossible to obtain a
confession. The monks had sworn to keep profound silence, in order to
preserve the honour of their order and of religion, and also to save
themselves. They called to mind what had happened in the Dominican
convent at Berne in 1500: how a soul had appeared there in order to be
delivered from purgatory; how the five wounds of St. Francis had been
marked on a poor novice; and how, at the request of the papal legate,
four of the guilty monks had been burnt alive.[654] Might not the same
punishment be inflicted on a monk of Orleans? They trembled at the very
thought. In vain, therefore, did the councillors of parliament begin
their inquiry; in vain did they go from one house to another, and enter
the rooms where these reverend fathers were confined: the monks were
sullen, unfathomable, and more silent than the ghost itself.
The judges determined to try what they could with the novice who had
acted the part of the ghost; but if the monks were silent, sullen, and
immovable, the novice was agitated and frightened out of his senses. The
friars had uttered the most terrible threats; and hence, when he was
interrogated, 'he held firm,' says the Geneva manuscript, 'fearing, if
he spoke, that the cordeliers would kill him.' The judges then reminded
him of the power of the parliament and the protection of the king. 'You
shall never return into the hands of the monks,' they told him. At these
words the poor young fellow began to breathe; he recovered from his
great fright; his tongue was loosened, and he 'explained the whole
affair to the judges,' says Beza. 'I made a hole in the roof,' he said,
'to which I applied my ear, to hear what the provincial said to me from
below. Then I struck a plank which I held in my hand, and I hit it hard
enough for the noise to be heard by the reverend fathers underneath.
That was all the _fun_,' he added.
[Sidenote: THEIR CONDEMNATION.]
The friars were then confronted with the novice, who stoutly maintained
the cheat got up by them. They were both indignant and alarmed at seeing
this pitiful varlet turning against their reverences; but as it was now
impossible to deny the fact, they began to protest against their judges,
and to plead their privileges once more. They were condemned; the
indignation was general, the king especially being greatly irritated.
All his life long he looked upon the monks, black or white, as his
personal enemies. Besides, the hatred he felt against that lazy and
ignorant herd was, he thought, one of his attributes as the Father of
Letters. His anger broke out in the midst of his court: 'I will pull
down their convent!' he exclaimed, 'and build in its place a palace for
the duke!' (that is, for the Duke of Orleans, Catherine's husband). All
the councillors of parliament, both lay and clerical, were assembled.
The haughty Coliman, the eloquent brother Stephen, and their accomplices
were forced to stand at the bar, and sentence was solemnly delivered.
They were to be taken to the Chatelet prison at Orleans; there they
would be stripped of their frocks, be led into the cathedral, and then,
set on a platform with tapers in their hands, they were to confess
'that, with certain fraud and deliberate malice, they had plotted such
wickedness.' Thence they were to be taken to their convent, and
afterwards to the place of public execution, where they would again
confess their crime.
This promised the idlers of Orleans a still more extraordinary spectacle
than that given them when the friars got into their carts. Every day
they expected to see the sentence carried out; but the government feared
to appear too favourable to the Lutherans. The matter was protracted;
some of the monks died in prison; the others were suffered to escape;
and thus ended an affair which characterises the epoch, and shows the
weapons that a good many priests used against the Reformation. If the
sentence was never executed, the moral influence of the story was
immense, and we shall presently see some of its effects.
[Footnote 649: Calvin's manuscript narrative, recently discovered in the
Geneva library by Dr. J. Bonnet, has been printed in the _Bulletin de
l'Histoire du Protestantisme Français_, iii. p. 33.]
[Footnote 650: This affair is mentioned by Sleidan and Theodore Beza,
both of whom appear to have seen Calvin's narrative.]
[Footnote 651: Calvin, _Hist. de l'Esprit des Cordeliers d'Orléans_.
Geneva MS. (_Bulletin de l'Histoire du Protestantisme Français_, iii.)
Beza, _Hist. Eccles._ p. 11. Sleidan, i. p. 361.]
[Footnote 652: Calvin's MS. _Bulletin de l'Hist. du Prot. Fran._ iii.
p. 36.]
[Footnote 653: Lutheri _Opp._ xxii. p. 1463.]
[Footnote 654: _History of the Reformation of the Sixteenth Century_,
vol. ii. bk. viii. ch. ii.]