THE SUN KING
The eighteenth century is usually referred to as an era of despotism. And
in an age which believes in the dogma of democracy, despotism, however
enlightened, is not apt to be regarded as a desirable form of government.
Historians who mean well by the human race are very apt to point the
finger of scorn at that great monarch Louis XIV and ask us to draw our
own conclusions. When this brilliant sovereign came to the throne, he
inherited a country in which the forces of Catholicism and Protestantism
were so evenly balanced that the two parties, after a century of mutual
assassination (with the odds heavily in favor of the Catholics), had at
last concluded a definite peace and had promised to accept each other as
unwelcome but unavoidable neighbors and fellow citizens. The “perpetual
and irrevocable” Edict of Nantes of the year 1598 which contained the
terms of agreement, stated that the Catholic religion was the official
religion of the state but that the Protestants should enjoy complete
liberty of conscience and should not suffer any persecution on account
of their belief. They were furthermore allowed to build churches of
their own and to hold public office. And as a token of good faith,
the Protestants were allowed to hold two hundred fortified cities and
villages within the realm of France.
This, of course, was an impossible arrangement. The Huguenots were no
angels. To leave two hundred of the most prosperous cities and villages
of France in the hands of a political party which was the sworn enemy of
the government was quite as absurd as if we should surrender Chicago and
San Francisco and Philadelphia to the Democrats to make them accept a
Republican administration, or vice versa.
Richelieu, as intelligent a man as ever ruled a country, recognized this.
After a long struggle he deprived the Protestants of their political
power, but although a cardinal by profession, he scrupulously refrained
from any interference with their religious freedom. The Huguenots could
no longer conduct independent diplomatic negotiations with the enemies
of their own country, but otherwise they enjoyed the same privileges as
before and could sing psalms and listen to sermons or not as pleased them.
Mazarin, the next man to rule France in the real sense of the word, had
followed a similar policy. But he died in the year 1661. Then young Louis
XIV personally undertook to rule his domains, and there was an end to the
era of good will.
It seems most unfortunate that when this brilliant if disreputable
Majesty was forced for once in his life into the companionship of decent
people he should have fallen into the clutches of a good woman who was
also a religious fanatic. Françoise d’Aubigné, the widow of a literary
hack by the name of Scarron, had begun her career at the French court
as governess to the seven illegitimate children of Louis XIV and the
Marquise de Montespan. When that lady’s love philtres ceased to have the
desired effect and the King began to show occasional signs of boredom,
it was the governess who stepped into her shoes. Only she was different
from all her predecessors. Before she agreed to move into His Majesty’s
apartments, the Archbishop of Paris had duly solemnized her marriage to
the descendant of Saint Louis.
During the next twenty years the power behind the throne was therefore
in the hands of a woman who was completely dominated by her confessor.
The clergy of France had never forgiven either Richelieu or Mazarin for
their conciliatory attitude towards the Protestants. Now at last they had
a chance to undo the work of these shrewd statesmen and they went to it
with a will. For not only were they the official advisers of the Queen,
but they also became the bankers of the King.
That again is a curious story.
During the last eight centuries the monasteries had accumulated the
greater part of the wealth of France and as they paid no taxes in a
country which suffered perpetually from a depleted treasury, their
surplus wealth was of great importance. And His Majesty, whose glory
was greater than his credit, made a grateful use of this opportunity to
replenish his own coffers and in exchange for certain favors extended
to his clerical supporters he was allowed to borrow as much money as he
wanted.
In this way the different stipulations of the “irrevocable” Edict of
Nantes were one by one revoked. At first the Protestant religion was
not actually forbidden, but life for those who remained faithful to the
Huguenot cause was made exasperatingly uncomfortable. Whole regiments of
dragoons were turned loose upon those provinces where the false doctrines
were supposed to be most strongly entrenched. The soldiers were billeted
among the inhabitants with instructions to make themselves thoroughly
detestable. They ate the food and drank the wine and stole the forks and
spoons and broke the furniture and insulted the wives and daughters of
perfectly harmless citizens and generally behaved as if they were in a
conquered territory. When their poor hosts, in their despair, rushed to
the courts for some form of redress and protection, they were laughed at
for their trouble and were told that they had brought their misfortunes
upon their own heads and knew perfectly well how they could get rid of
their unwelcome guests and at the same time regain the good will of the
government.
A few, a very few, followed this suggestion and allowed themselves to be
baptized by the nearest village priest. But the vast majority of these
simple people remained faithful to the ideals of their childhood. At
last, however, when one after another their churches were closed and
their clergy were sent to the galleys, they began to understand that they
were doomed. Rather than surrender, they decided to go into exile. But
when they reached the frontier, they were told that no one was allowed
to leave the country, that those who were caught in the act were to be
hanged, and that those who aided and abetted such fugitives were liable
to be sent to the galleys for life.
There are apparently certain things which this world will never learn.
From the days of the Pharaohs to those of Lenin, all governments at one
time or another have tried the policy of “closing the frontier” and none
of them has ever been able to score a success.
People who want to get out so badly that they are willing to take all
sorts of risks can invariably find a way. Hundreds of thousands of French
Protestants took to the “underground route” and soon afterwards appeared
in London or Amsterdam or Berlin or Basel. Of course, such fugitives were
not able to carry much ready cash. But they were known everywhere as
honest and hard working merchants and artisans. Their credit was good
and their energy undiminished. After a few years they usually regained
that prosperity which had been their share in the old country and the
home government was deprived of a living economic asset of incalculable
value.
Indeed, it is no exaggeration to say that the revocation of the Edict of
Nantes was the prelude to the French Revolution.
France had been and still was a very rich country. But commerce and
clericalism have never been able to coöperate.
From the moment that the French government surrendered to petticoats and
cassocks, her fate was sealed. The same pen that decreed the expulsion of
the Huguenots signed the death-warrant of Louis XVI.