THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM.
[August, 1570, to August, 1572.]
Albert and Pierre de Gondi, Birague, Strozzi, Nevers, and
Henry of Guise--Marriage of Charles IX--Nuptial Festivities at
Paris--Embassy of the German Princes--Violent Sermons--Outrages
at Orange and Rouen--Objects of the Politiques--Revolt in
Flanders--Position of Affairs--Interview between the King and
Prince Louis of Nassau--Spanish Threats--Coligny’s Marriage--The
Admiral goes to Blois--Conferences with the King--Proposed
Marriage of Henry and Margaret--Murder of Lignerolles--The
Gastine Cross--Queen of Navarre at Blois--Alessandrino’s Special
Embassy--Letters to Rome--Negotiations--Pope refuses the
Dispensation--Fears of the Parisians.
The Peace of St. Germains was a severe blow to the foreigners by whom
the court was infested. Their interests were entirely opposed to those
of France, and their great object was to enrich themselves, by any
means however base and unworthy. They were found everywhere--filling up
the rich sees, wealthy abbacies, court places--where money could be got
without peril to life or toil of body. Their expulsion seemed to be the
only means of saving the country and ensuring that permanent concord at
which the “Politiques” had aimed in supporting the late treaty.
The chief among these foreigners were Gondi, Birague, and Strozzi.
Albert de Gondi--better known in history as Marshal de Retz--was a man
of low origin, his mother acting as wet-nurse to Catherine’s children,
so that Albert and Charles IX. were foster-brothers, and thus there
naturally grew up a strong attachment between them. After the death
of Henry II. Albert rose rapidly, and was made successively knight of
the orders of St. Michael and of the Holy Ghost, first gentleman of
the bed-chamber, privy councilor, general of the galleys, duke, peer,
marshal, and governor of Provence, in which he succeeded Marshal Tende,
“to the great indignation of the nobility,” says De Thou.[461] It was
this man who, appointed governor to the young king Charles, corrupted
and perverted all his promising qualities. His latter days were very
miserable: for twenty years he lingered on, not living but suffering,
and died in 1602, an example of divine justice.[462]
Abstulit hunc tandem Rufini pœna tumultum,
Absolvitque Deos.
Pierre de Gondi was chancellor to the queen, bishop, Duke of Langres,
and then of Paris, the possessor of four abbeys, commander of the order
of the Holy Ghost, and cardinal. There was another brother, Charles,
also well provided for.
René de Birague, who had succeeded the virtuous L’Hopital in the
chancellorship, was a Milanese, and in succession lawyer, soldier,
courtier, priest, chancellor, and cardinal. He was a thorough Italian,
careless of religion, unscrupulous, fond of intrigue, time-serving,
and slavishly submissive to the king’s caprices. Mezeray describes him
as “a magistrate without learning or application, who bent like a reed
before every breath of wind from the court.” It was he who advised
Charles IX. to get rid of the Huguenots, not by the help of soldiers
but of cooks--in other words, by poison. Philip Strozzi, son of the
brave but unfortunate Marshal Pietro Strozzi, became, at the early age
of twenty-two, quarter-master of the French guards, and colonel-general
of the French infantry, which gave him almost unlimited authority. The
French soldiers murmured at being placed under his orders.[463]
Louis de Gonzaga was another of this Italian band. One historian calls
him “a worthy prince,” but his worth was due more to his timidity
than to his honesty.[464] These were the principal confidants of the
queen-mother, and their only aim was to preserve what they had got. The
chief of the Guises was Henry of Lorraine, surnamed “le Balafré.” He
was not so good a soldier as his father, but was a tall, handsome man,
with keen eye, light beard and curly hair; liberal to profusion, easy
in speech, well read in Tacitus, and perfect in all bodily and military
exercises. But his good qualities were marred by an insatiable thirst
for glory and a desire for authority. When Henry III. asked how it was
that Duke Henry enchanted every body, the reply was: “He does good to
all and speaks ill of none.” He had succeeded to most of the great
charges of his father, as grand master, high chamberlain, and governor
of Champagne.
The peace of St. Germains was acceptable to the larger portion of the
Huguenot party, many of whom had not visited their homes since the
first outbreak of the wars, and their affairs had become so disordered
that ruin appeared almost inevitable. The noise of the trumpet and the
drum had drowned the quieter voice of religion, the Protestant churches
were decaying, discipline was relaxed, and doctrine becoming unsound.
A general synod was required to put these matters straight, and this,
the seventh, was by the king’s permission held at Rochelle in April,
1571, under the presidency of Theodore Beza. The Queen of Navarre
and the young princes of Bearn and Condé were present at the opening
ceremony along with the admiral and Count Louis of Nassau. The great
work of this synod was to revise the confession of 1559, and issue an
authoritative text, of which three copies on parchment were made. One
of these standards was to be kept at Rochelle, another at Geneva, and a
third at Pau in Bearn. The first and last disappeared during the civil
wars.
Very different were the occupations of the court, which an historian,
whom I have often consulted with advantage, describes as being “more
licentious than that of Francis I., without the varnish of gallantry
which conceals the excesses of passion.”[465] Catherine was fond of
ease: her voluptuous Italian nature delighted in balls and masquerades,
in _fêtes_ and banquets. She could now once more indulge her
taste for the arts, and during this period we find her busy with her
new palace of the Tuileries, laying out gardens, talking with Bernard
Palissy, now a man of note; or with Jean Bullant, whose reputation has
been dwarfed by the greater renown of his predecessor Philip de l’Orme.
Wherever she went, a gay troop of beautiful women accompanied her.
Their charms were employed to convert the queen’s foes into friends,
and to learn the secrets of her enemies. “Le bal marcha toujours,”
growls that rough old warrior Montluc.
The king’s marriage was an opportunity for gayeties not to be lost.
It is said that one of his motives for concluding the treaty of St.
Germains was the unwillingness of the Emperor Maximilian to part with
his daughter while France was in a state of civil commotion. There
may have been other causes of delay, for very unfavorable reports
of the king’s health and disposition had got abroad. His character
certainly had not improved during the few years he had occupied the
throne. He was fond of athletic sports, and excelled in jumping and
tennis. He took delight in shoeing horses and working at the forge,
like a blacksmith.[466] He was addicted to the chase “even to frenzy,”
passing whole days and nights in the woods.[467] This made him “cruel
toward beasts, but _not_ toward men.”[468] Sometimes he and his
madcap associates would tear along the roads, decapitating any unlucky
donkey he might encounter, or transfixing stray pigs with his hunting
spear.[469] Then, as if maddened by the sight of blood, he would dabble
in their entrails like a butcher. He was fond of practical jokes; often
at night he would break into the bedrooms of his young companions, pull
them out of bed, and flog them as if they were school-boys. He was not
licentious, and Marie Touchet was the object of a sincere passion.
Perjury seemed to him nothing but a figure of speech and no crime; he
therefore violated his word as often as it seemed profitable to do
so. But fortunately for the human race “men are not all evil,” and in
his lucid moments--for Charles was at times quite insane--he appears
affectionate and desirous of doing what is right. When at Bayonne, he
quite disgusted the unscrupulous Alva by saying that to take up arms
against his own subjects was quite out of the question, and could only
be followed by general ruin. Though no soldier, he had seen service
at the sieges of Bourges, Rouen, Havre, and St. Jean d’Angely, and
possessed all the ambition of his race to extend the frontiers of
his kingdom. There were times when he courted the society of men
of letters, and would shut himself up with “his friends” Ronsard,
Baif, Passerat, or Theodore Corneille, to compose verses. Nor was he
himself a stranger to the Muses, if the fragments ascribed to him
are really from his pen. Even his treatise on hunting--_La Chasse
royale_--shows him to have possessed considerable skill. Such was
the man to whose word the Huguenots had entrusted their property and
lives, and to whom the Emperor of Germany was about to entrust his
daughter. Perhaps it was hoped that the amiable Elizabeth would tame
him down, as in later years and in another country Peter the Czar was
controlled by the low-born Catherine.
The betrothal took place at Spires on the 22d of October, and the
marriage was solemnized on the 26th of November at Mézières. The
festivities by which it was followed lasted all winter. In the
following March the new queen entered Paris under a rustic gate-way,
“finer than had ever been seen before, and looking quite natural on
account of the herbs, snails, and lizards depicted on it.” We could
almost fancy it a contrivance of Bernard Palissy’s. The queen rode
in an open litter hung with cloth of silver within and without, and
the mules that bore it were similarly adorned. Elizabeth herself
was covered with jewels, and wore a dazzling crown on her head. The
corporation of the city made their usual tiresome harangues, which they
followed up by presenting the young queen with a silver gilt buffet,
and then invited her to partake of a collation at the Hôtel-de-Ville,
at which the refreshments were of the choicest description. “There was
every kind of fruit found in the world, and every sort of meat and
fish, all made out of sugar and looking quite natural.” The dishes
containing these _chefs-d’œuvre_ of the confectionery art were
also of silver. Poets and musicians contributed in their respective
departments, and the king was so pleased with their performances that
they were induced--especially Baif and Theodore Corneille--to propose
the founding of an Academy of Music and Poetry.
The decorations of the bridge of Notre Dame will serve to show the
magnificence of the age and the feelings entertained by the court with
regard to the recent pacification. A triumphal arch had been erected
at each extremity, and the roadway covered in by an awning on which
the ciphers and heraldic bearings of the royal pair were represented
in flowers and evergreens. “It looked like a vision of the Elysian
fields.”[470] Between every window on the first floor of the houses
were half-figures of nymphs bearing fruits and flowers; above them
were wreaths of laurel from which depended the shields of the several
members of the royal family with emblematical devices. At the crown of
each arch stood a statue on an altar: in one place a Victory, bound to
an olive-tree, “indicated allegorically how the marriage of Charles and
Elizabeth secured the welfare and repose of their people.” On one of
the panels of the base an altar was represented, by the side of which
stood a priest in his sacerdotal robes, and near him a lamb for the
sacrifice. This was intended to signify that whosoever violated the
Edict of Pacification should suffer the fate of the lamb. At the four
corners stood four armed men representing the four marshals of France,
empowered to carry out and enforce the edict. _Fœdus immortelle_
was the motto. On another panel bees were represented storing honey
among a pile of arms, with two lines from Ovid, showing the happy
effects of peace.
In another place a spider was seen weaving his web over a bundle of
swords, gauntlets, morions, and such like, with an inscription from
Theocritus, explaining how sure a sign this was of peace and oblivion
of past quarrels. But among the masques given during these nuptial
festivities there was one in which Charles IX. appeared as Jupiter,
Elizabeth as Minerva, and Catherine as Juno, while the Huguenots were
represented as Typhon and the Giants. One of the devices was strikingly
suggestive of impending treachery:
Cadme, relinque ratem; pastoria sibila finge;
Fas superare dolo, quem vis non vincit aperta.
It would, however, be unfair to give political importance to what was
probably nothing more than the unauthorized language of a court poet.
One little incident connected with these rejoicings may be adduced,
however, to show the bigoted temper of the Parisians: they were
scandalized that the court should amuse itself with balls and banquets,
and other festivities during the season of Lent!
One thing was wanting to these rejoicings--none of the Protestant
leaders were present. They still kept aloof at Rochelle, endeavoring to
give consistency to their affairs. “And they did wisely,” says the Abbé
Perau in his Life of Coligny; “for orders had been issued to arrest
the principal of them immediately upon their arrival.” This statement,
although corroborated by the compiler of the “Mémoires de l’Etat de
France,” may well be doubted. The air was thick with suspicions, some
of which had evidently reached the German Protestant courts; and to
show the interest they took in the condition of their co-religionists
in France, the electors-palatine of Saxony and Brandenburg, the dukes
of Bavaria, Brunswick, and Wurtemburg, and others, resolved to send
an embassy to congratulate Charles on his marriage. Charles received
the embassadors at Villars-Cotterets, a magnificent mansion built by
Francis I. They began by complimenting him: “Our masters know that your
majesty, being so young, was not the author of the late war. It was the
work of certain turbulent and wicked men, who take delight in disorders
and confusion. Continue to deserve that most august of titles--the
_Peacemaker_--and punish sternly every one who attempts to cause
any fresh disturbance in your kingdom.... In the multitude of people,
as the Wise Man saith, is the king’s honor (Proverbs xiv. 28), and
the principal law imposed by God and nature upon kings and princes
is the preservation of their subjects. Those who would induce you to
break your faith, saying that it is impossible for a state to exist
where there is a diversity of religion, speak differently from what
they think, or are ignorant of what has been done in many great and
flourishing states.” The embassadors showed him that the Grand Turk
permitted Christians to live at peace in his dominions, that the
Emperor Charles V. had come to terms with the Protestants of Germany,
and that even the pope suffered Jews to settle in his states. “God
alone,” they said, “can command the consciences of men; and be assured,
Sire, that those are your best subjects and your best friends who urge
you to the observance of all you have promised in your edicts of
peace.” Charles thanked them for their kind expressions, and said that
it was his ardent desire to maintain peace between all his subjects,
as the sole means of prosperity to his kingdom. He then dismissed the
embassadors in the most courteous manner, embracing them and loading
them with presents. Charles used similar language in his address to
the Parliament of Paris in March, 1571. “I thank God,” he said “that
the troubles are over, and hope above all things to establish peace so
surely, that my subjects will never fall again into the calamities from
which they have been rescued. I will set to work earnestly, and trust
that you will support me.”[471]
Such an appeal was quite necessary, for the conciliatory Edict of St.
Germains--a mere repetition of the articles of the treaty--had not
always been scrupulously carried out. This depended in great measure
upon the views the provincial governors took of the edict; some
rendering it almost nugatory by the way in which they interpreted it,
others giving it the most liberal construction. Thus in the regulations
published at Gap (10th February, 1571), Montmorency-Damville, relying
upon the Thirteenth Article of the treaty, forbade the Reformers to
assemble to the number of more than ten at the funeral of one of their
co-religionists. And yet this was considered a pacificatory order. He
also assigned the town of Chorges, four leagues north of Gap, as the
authorized place of worship for the Upper Alps. It was a long distance
for the Reformers to go every Sunday; but these were times of religious
fervor, and as the Huguenots walked along, singing their hymns, they
forgot the fatigues of the way.[472]
In many places, the clergy in their pulpits pandered to the worst
passions of their ignorant flocks. The king and the queen-mother were
denounced as traitors--one was a Judas, the other a Jezebel--because
they did not order the “rascally heretics” to be slaughtered. The fires
of Sodom and Gomorrah were invoked upon the heads of the Huguenots.
“Arise, Joshua, and smite Makkeddah with the edge of the sword.” Joshua
was Anjou, and Makkeddah Rochelle. These ravings did not fall to the
ground.[473] On Sunday, the 4th March, 1571, as the Protestants of
Rouen were going to divine worship outside the city walls, they were
attacked and beaten, and fifteen were killed. Still greater atrocities
had been perpetrated at Orange in the preceding month, the murders
continuing for three days, during which the popular fury spared neither
women nor children. Such things naturally tended to make the Huguenot
chiefs suspicious, and to perpetuate the division of the people into
two hostile camps.
The great object of the _Politicians_ who had brought about the
Treaty of St. Germains, was to make France independent at home and
respected abroad; above all things, to get rid of Spanish influence
in their domestic affairs. That patriotic party knew well how Philip
II. had fomented their civil dissensions,[474] and they saw that a
long continuance of peace was hopeless unless the foreign intriguers
could be got rid of. The king himself had a glimpse of this truth, and
was besides very jealous of the position assumed by his brother of
Anjou. The queen-mother also expressed her dislike of the attitude
taken by Philip; but she was so thoroughly false that no reliance could
be placed upon any thing she said. It is not necessary to go back
to the Treaty of Cateau-Cambresis in 1559, which contained nothing
particularly humiliating, and had been condoned by the subsequent
intercourse between the two countries, although it must have been very
galling to French pride--as indeed to the pride of any nation--to
surrender its conquests. The active interference of Spain in the
politics of France began with the criminal intrigues of the house
of Lorraine. Their fanatical and spurious orthodoxy was, as we have
seen, ardently supported by Philip II., who never ceased personally,
or through his embassador, to urge the complete destruction of the
Huguenots. He even went so far, on more than one occasion, as to
threaten war, if the court made any concession to the heretics. We
have seen the result: France had been rent in pieces by civil war, and
Protestantism was as strong as ever. To this Spain had brought them:
might it not be possible, by reversing the policy, to reverse the
results? The opportunity was not unfavorable, and there were grievances
to be redressed. The Flemings were still in open revolt: the cruelties
of the blood-thirsty Alva had given an intensity to their hatred,
which nothing but total extermination could subdue. It would not be
prudent to allow the duke to go too far, and if by a word from France
the insurgents could be stimulated to farther sacrifices, Philip II.
would be so weakened that he would cease to be a dangerous neighbor. It
must not be forgotten that Spain was at this time the first power in
Europe. The successes of Alva, the expulsion of the Moors, the victory
of Lepanto, and the conquests in Northern Africa, showed that her vigor
was undiminished; and though her humiliation was at hand, nothing at
this time indicated any failure of her resources. It was the image of
Daniel: gold, silver, brass, and iron, but with feet of clay; and the
small stone destined to smite it was one of the smallest powers in
Europe. Had France seen her own true interest, she, and not England,
might “have become a great mountain and filled the whole earth.”
The Venetian embassador, Correro, writing on the prospect of war with
Spain, represents, as one of the many grounds of hatred between the
Spaniards and the French, that Flanders naturally belongs to France,
and that a campaign to recover it would give employment to the cadets
of the noble families. It would not cost a drop of blood, if France
were only to promise “the same liberty of conscience which her own
subjects enjoyed.” Add to this, Charles was offended: “Spain seemeth to
set the king here very light, which engendreth in him a great desire of
revenge, but lacketh treasure to make open demonstration thereof.”[475]
These were the ideas, not of Protestants only, but of undoubted
Catholics, men of whose orthodoxy there can be no suspicion. L’Hopital
had once been the directing spirit of this moderate party; but, since
his retirement from public life, Marshal Francis Montmorency, eldest
son of the constable, became their leader. Philip knew him well, and
feared him as the most formidable of his enemies in France. He was
seconded by his brother Damville, by Cossé, Biron, and others. It
was Montmorency who (according to Tavannes) had saved the Huguenots
at Moncontour by preventing the victory from being followed up; and,
according to Walsingham, the Peace of St. Germains was his work. By
the mere force of personal character, he had become a very influential
man, and Charles showed him the greatest affection. One day, when the
king had visited him at his castle of Chantilly, he told his royal
master that there could be no lasting peace, unless Protestants and
Catholics could be persuaded to live together in harmony: that, or the
extermination of one of the parties, was the only alternative. But how
was the present hostile state of things to be remedied? By uniting both
parties against their common enemy, Spain.[476] It is not known with
whom the idea arose, whether with Montmorency or Cossé; but it was
eagerly taken up by the king, who hoped in the coming war to gather
laurels that would shame those won by his brother of Anjou.
A feeling of uneasiness and distrust had for some time past been
growing up between France and Spain. When the Duke of Alva had asked
permission to recruit volunteers in France for the Flemish war,
it was refused, lest the Huguenots should think it “a device to
reach themselves.”[477] To the demand that certain ships, supposed
to be fitting out at La Rochelle against Spain, should be seized,
Mondoucet, the French agent to Alva, replied that some of the ships
were intended to act against the pirates who infested the narrow seas,
and as for those which belonged to private persons, the crown could
not interfere. St. Goar, the embassador at Madrid, was instructed to
make similar explanations. This was a mere evasion, for the power of
the crown had never been so limited in France. As William of Orange
was in want of funds to carry on his heroic struggle in Flanders, his
brother Louis of Nassau endeavored to procure a loan from Duke Cosmo
I. of Florence. Charles supported the scheme by offering to recognize
the duke’s title to the crown of Tuscany, and aid him in his attempt
on Corsica, provided he would assist the Flemish insurgents with
money.[478] The duke refused, but the king still continued faithful
to his idea of a war against Spain. The diplomatic correspondence of
the period is full of references to it. During all this time Coligny
was actively corresponding with Montmorency; and at his suggestion a
private interview was arranged between Charles and Count Louis, which
took place in a garden of the castle of Lumigny, about a league from
Fontenay-en-Brie, where the king had gone on the pretense of rabbit
hunting. Its object was kept a secret from the royal councilors; for
Charles was well assured that if they became acquainted with it, they
would communicate it to the court of Spain. We may imagine that the
count spoke of his recent conversations with the admiral, and that, as
a Protestant, he would not start objections to any plan of assisting
his fellow-countrymen which the king might entertain. He gave weight
to his prayer for aid by offering in return the valuable provinces of
Flanders and Artois (for which promise he had no authority from his
brother William); and hinted that, at the next vacation of the empire,
the choice of the electors might fall upon Charles. Louis succeeded in
convincing him that his former advisers had counseled him unwisely,
and that he had narrowly escaped falling into the same position as
Philip II. held toward his Flemish subjects. The king promised to take
into his most serious consideration all that the count had told him,
reserving to himself the right to disavow any projects that might
be ascribed to him, until the time for action had arrived.[479] The
secret interview soon became known, and the Spanish embassador, Alava,
threatened the displeasure of his royal master. Charles and his mother
both answered evasively, adding: “As for fearing us with wars, you
do mistake us; let every one do therein what best liketh him.”[480]
Affairs were hurrying on more quickly than Charles had anticipated;
Spain was threatening war, and no preparations had been made. A
matrimonial alliance between Anjou and Elizabeth, which would place
the resources of England at the disposal of France, was the key of the
position; but the queen was coy, and refused to give a decided answer.
Without such close alliance war with Spain was impossible; for England
cast a longing eye on Flanders, and would regard the French conquests
in that quarter with suspicion. What was to be done? Should Charles
give way, or brave the consequences? There was only one man in France
competent to advise on such a point, and he still remained aloof at
Rochelle.
When Louis of Nassau left that city to confer with Charles, he bore a
letter from the admiral, complaining of a plot that had been got up to
treat the Huguenots worse than before, and that no attempt had been
made to punish the perpetrators of the outrages at Orange and Rouen.
He then went on to justify his suspicions and his absence from the
court: “It will be difficult for those of the religion to believe that
your majesty desires things should go on well, so long as they see the
authors of the tumults about him.” He followed up this side-blow at
the Guises by suggesting that all suspicions would be allayed were the
king to punish the perpetrators of the outrages at Rouen and Orange.
Charles IX. acted upon the advice: he sent a commission of inquiry to
Rouen. Many of the rioters were hanged, but the ringleaders escaped
and found shelter among the Catholics, who seem to have received them
rather as heroes than as criminals; much in the same way as a murderer
is still harbored among the Irish peasantry. The king also manifested
great displeasure toward his brother of Anjou, and so openly insulted
the Duke of Guise that he had no alternative but to leave the court.
Count Louis returned to Rochelle strongly impressed with the king’s
gracious demeanor, and urged Coligny to accept his sovereign’s
invitation to court. He spoke of the projected matrimonial alliance
between England and France, which was manifestly hostile to Spain,
and would strengthen the Huguenot cause; and showed the draft of a
treaty, by which Charles promised to attack Flanders on one side, while
the Prince of Orange attacked it on the other. Marshal Cossé, one of
the “Politicians,” confirmed this report. The admiral’s son-in-law,
Teligny, had also returned from the court with a flattering account of
the king’s demeanor. Charles at this time was seen in a most favorable
light, and it was evident that the quiet influence of his amiable wife
was beginning to be felt in his character. He was less boisterous in
his amusements, less changeable in temper, and seemed to have buried
the past in oblivion. Indeed he went so far in his display of good-will
toward the Huguenots as to raise a suspicion that he supported them
designedly against his mother, his brother Henry, and the Guises. “I
am no longer so young,” he said, “as to need a governor. I am willing
to listen to advice, but will receive no orders. I am sick of war,
and _my peace_ shall be observed. I have been deceived all along
about the Huguenots, and for the future will keep the factions in order
myself.” He complained to Teligny, for whom he had conceived a strong
liking,[481] that his mother kept him in thraldom, and preferred Anjou
to him; that she governed the realm in such a way that he was of no
account; and that to remedy this he was resolved to send both of them
away from the court; and that he wanted Coligny’s advice, especially
with regard to the proposed war in Flanders. In fact every thing seemed
now to turn upon the admiral’s presence at court.
While these negotiations were in progress, the little Huguenot court at
Rochelle was the scene of nuptial festivities, the admiral having taken
a second wife, and given his daughter Louisa to Teligny.[482] Coligny’s
marriage had a tinge of romance in it that could hardly have been
expected. Jacqueline of Montbel, Countess of Entremont, and widow of
Claude, Baron of Anthon, who was killed at Dreux (or, as others write,
at St. Denis), was so captivated by his heroism that she made him an
offer of her hand, having the ambition (as she said) to be the Marcia
of the new Cato.[483] As if he were of royal lineage, the admiral was
married by proxy. When the bride approached Rochelle, escorted by fifty
gentlemen of her kindred, the bridegroom went out a league to meet her.
Cannon roared a noisy salute, and all the bells which the Huguenots
had spared rang merrily from the steeples, as the noble lady entered
the city. To show their esteem for the admiral, the citizens mustered
under arms and lined the streets from the gate to the Hôtel Coligny,
where a great concourse of nobles and gentlemen had assembled to do
him honor. The marriage was a happy one, despite the inversion of the
ordinary mode of courtship. On becoming a widow once more, Jacqueline
returned to Savoy, where she was imprisoned on a charge of witchcraft,
her wealth being the real crime. Henry IV. ineffectually interceded for
her, and she died insane at the castle of Nice, 1599.
Coligny, happy in his domestic life, had little desire to leave
Rochelle for the treacherous atmosphere of the court. But Charles could
not do without him, and Elizabeth of England felt that his presence was
necessary for the success of the delicate negotiations then in hand.
Walsingham had written to her, recommending that she should hint to
La Mothe-Fénelon, the French embassador, that she would like to see
Charles “calling the princes and admiral to court, and that so rare a
subject as the admiral is, was not to be suffered to live in such a
corner as Rochelle.” Walsingham adds that the king was now “very well
affected toward him” (Coligny). In another letter he says he is going
to Blois, where the princes and the admiral are to meet, and that all
“opposition was vain.” “I am most constantly assured that the king
conceiveth of no subject he hath better than of the admiral, and great
hope there is that the king will use him in matters of greatest trust;
for of himself he beginneth to see the insufficiency of others: some
for that they are more addicted to others than to himself; other, for
that they are more Spanish than French.... The queen-mother, seeing
her son so well affected toward the admiral, laboreth by all means to
cause him to think well of her.”[484] Catherine had assured Teligny
and Count Louis that she earnestly desired the Treaty of St. Germains
to be observed for the repose and welfare of the kingdom; that the
king needed the admiral’s advice; and that it was a sad thing for the
princes of the blood to keep aloof from the court. Coligny gave way at
last; and when the Queen of Navarre expostulated with him he replied:
“Madame, I confide implicitly in the word and honor of my royal master.
It is not life to exist in the midst of perpetual alarms; and I would
rather die by one effectual blow, than live a hundred years subject to
cowardly apprehensions.” He received many warnings, but took no heed of
them.
The admiral left Rochelle escorted by fifty gentlemen, “not because he
doubted the king’s word, but to be secure against private enemies,” and
arrived at Blois on the 12th September, where he was received with the
most flattering attentions. Being conducted into the audience-chamber
he fell on his knees, but Charles raised him up saying, as he embraced
him, “Father, we have you at last; you shall not escape when you wish.
This is the happiest day of my life. You are more welcome than any
one I have seen these twenty years.” The queen-mother kissed him,
and took him into Anjou’s apartments, for the young duke was just
then “a little indisposed.”[485] The admiral was quite charmed with
his youthful sovereign: they were so much together, and so often in
private conference, that Catherine grew jealous: “He sees too much of
the admiral,” she said, “and too little of me.”[486] The chief topic
of their conversation was the proposed war in Flanders. It was a maxim
with Coligny, that France could not be quieted down except by engaging
in a foreign war. When Brantome was at Rochelle he told the gossiping
abbé, that if “the Huguenots were not occupied and amused abroad, they
would certainly begin their quarrels again at home; such restless
fellows are they, and so fond of plunder.” In the Low Countries he saw
a field for their activity. Warming at the thoughts of the sufferings
which the Protestants of Flanders had endured so long, he expatiated
to the king on the heroic patience of William of Orange, and the
glorious opportunity then presented of repaying Spain for the evils she
had inflicted on France. Charles caught fire at the eloquent appeal:
the martial ardor of his race broke out in him: “I too shall win
battles--in my own name--with my own sword.” He entered into the scheme
with his whole heart, and promised effectual help to the Prince of
Orange, to whom he had already restored his little principality on the
banks of the Rhone. Nor did he forget the admiral, whose property had
been confiscated: he was reinstated in his seat at the council-board,
and received a present of 100,000 crowns, “not so much a wedding-gift
as a tribute to the first captain of the age.” Charles farther promised
to use his influence with the Duke of Savoy to restore the estates
of his wife which had been sequestered. He also interceded in behalf
of certain Vaudois, who for fighting under Coligny had been stripped
of their property and expelled from their homes. “I wish to make you
a request,” wrote the king to the duke, “and it is on a matter that
I have very much at heart. At my special prayer and recommendation,
pray receive these poor creatures into favor again, and restore them
to their homes and their goods. The cause is so just and so earnestly
desired on my part, that I feel assured you will listen to me. Written
at Blois, 28th September, 1571.”
After a brief stay at court the admiral went to Chatillon, where he
tried to restore order to his affairs. The king regularly corresponded
with him, chiefly on his favorite subject, the war with Spain.
Meanwhile the Duke of Guise was in Paris, and the rumor of his
proceedings and conversations became so threatening, that Coligny
petitioned for a guard of soldiers to protect him. Charles replied with
his own hand, that he would be pleased to see the admiral “using all
diligence in providing for his personal safety,” and permitted him to
have the guard he needed.[487] Coligny stayed five weeks at Chatillon,
receiving many warnings as to the treachery of the court, but paying
no attention to them, making the same answer to all which he had given
to his wife before leaving Rochelle: “I must not upon ill-grounded
suspicion cause the king to change the good feeling he entertains for
us into a hatred which it would be impossible to make him lay aside
again.” At the end of October he went to Paris, whither he had been
summoned. Catherine took him in her arms and kissed him, and Charles
received him as if honoring him above all his subjects.[488] The object
of the visit was to consult about the marriage of Henry of Bearn with
Margaret of Valois, the king’s sister.
While Charles was on a visit to Chantilly, Francis of Montmorency had
suggested that the best means of conciliating the hostile parties
would be to unite his sister Margaret to Prince Henry of Bearn.[489]
This union between the two branches of the royal house was no new
scheme. The prince, while yet a child, was presented to Henry II.,
who was so pleased with the boy that he asked him if he would be his
son. “This is my father,” replied the child in the Bearnais patois,
pointing to the King of Navarre. “Well then,” said the king, “will you
be my son-in-law?” “Oh! with all my heart,” answered the sturdy little
fellow, and from that time his marriage with Margaret, a princess four
years old, was resolved upon. Anthony of Navarre was delighted, and
wrote to his sister the Duchess of Nevers (Margaret of Bourbon), that
“this alliance was the thing in the world he most desired to obtain,
and which from thenceforward placed both his repose and prosperity
upon a secure basis.” Joan also wrote to an old friend: “To cheer and
console you in your sickness, I send you the news ... that his majesty
has been pleased to grant this favor, for which I will not try to
conceal the joy and satisfaction I feel.” This was in 1557; and in
1560, soon after the death of Francis II., Catherine wrote to the Queen
of Navarre, pressing her to visit the court, and proposing to connect
the families still closer by a marriage between “little Catherine” of
Bearn and Henry Duke of Anjou: “Such an alliance,” she said, “will
render our union indissoluble.” This, however, never came to any thing;
but in 1562 we find the project revived, when Catherine feared that
Anthony of Navarre was slipping out of her control.[490]
At one time it had been proposed to give Margaret to Sebastian of
Portugal, the same romantic king who died battling valiantly against
the Moors in Africa. But that match failing through the hostility
of Philip II., who grossly insulted the French court, an alliance
was sought nearer home. Margaret tells us how the matter was first
broached, and what was her reply: “I begged my mother to remember
that I was very Catholic.” Joan of Navarre, who had since adopted the
Reformed creed, was not so eager for the marriage as she had once
been. Far from being dazzled by the prospect of such a brilliant
alliance for the heir of the petty house of Navarre, she said: “I
would rather descend to be the lowliest woman in France, than sacrifice
my son, or my son’s soul, to grandeur.”[491] It would have been well
for Prince Henry had the obstacles raised against the marriage proved
insurmountable. It was naturally opposed by the Guises; not, as some
write, because the duke aspired to Margaret’s hand; for he had been
married several months to Catherine of Cleves, the widow of Prince
Porcien;[492] but because it would strengthen the throne, and make the
Huguenot influence predominant. The nuncio and the Spanish embassador
also opposed the match;[493] but Charles was not to be diverted from
his purpose.[494]
Thus the summer of 1571 passed away: on the one side, Spain, the pope,
and the house of Lorraine striving to prevent a reconciliation between
the two religious parties; on the other the “Politicians,” with Coligny
and the English embassador, trying to bring about two marriages that
would, it was hoped, counterbalance the influence of the Catholic
powers. Catherine was ostentatiously sincere,[495] and Charles anxious
to do what was right, and in his weakness leaning on Coligny, whom he
had learned to trust as a child trusts his father. There was much in
the admiral to attract the king: he was a man of probity and honor,
actuated by no mean or selfish motives, but by the purest desire for
the greatness of France. Charles had never possessed such a friend
before. What he thought of those about him may be conjectured from his
remarks one day to Teligny: “Tavannes is a good councilor, but jealous
of any encroachment upon his fame; Vieilleville loves nothing but good
wine; Cossé is a miser, who would sell every thing for ten crowns;
Montmorency is a good man, but then he is always away with his hawks
and hounds; Retz is a Spaniard in heart, and the rest of my court and
council are fools. My secretaries are traitors, so that I do not know
whom to trust.”[496] The censure is too sweeping; but the language
shows how weary Charles had grown of his old councilors, and how he
clung to the new. At another time, conversing with the admiral about
the Flemish campaign, he said: “Father, there is another matter which
you must carefully heed. The queen, my mother, is always poking her
nose everywhere, as you well know, and she must not be told of this
enterprise, at least not in detail. She would mar our design.” “As you
please, Sire; nevertheless I hold her majesty for so good a mother,
that even if she were told all, she would offer no obstacle; on the
contrary, she might naturally aid our design; while I apprehend many
difficulties in hiding the matter.” “You are quite wrong,” rejoined the
king; “leave the matter to me. My mother is the greatest mischief-maker
on the face of the earth.”
If this anecdote were authenticated, it would show that the king
and the admiral were actually plotting against the government; for,
whatever may have been Coligny’s position as private adviser to his
sovereign, he was not a minister, although in the council, and held
no responsible position. But it is scarcely credible that Catherine,
with her influence and means of procuring information, could have been
kept in the dark; and, besides, it is quite clear from her language
to the Spanish embassador, that she knew all about the proposed war
in Flanders. Nor does she appear at any time to have objected to it.
If the English matrimonial alliance was the key of her policy, the
war against Spain was an inevitable pendant. Union between France and
England in the sixteenth century necessarily meant armed opposition to
the policy of Philip II.
During the winter an event occurred which has tended very much to
complicate this period of history. The king had gone to Bourgueil
on the Loire, about ten miles from Saumur, to receive a Protestant
deputation. Their chief spokesman, Briquemaut, after complaining of
the infringement of the Edict of St. Germains, more by omission than
commission, imprudently added that, unless their grievances were
remedied, it was to be feared that the Huguenots would take counsel
of despair, and once more rush to arms. The king listened calmly and
dismissed the deputation graciously; but as soon as they had retired,
he burst into a violent passion, and indulged in sanguinary threats.
Lignerolles, one of the “mignons” of the Duke of Anjou, drawing near,
whispered in his majesty’s ear: “Be patient, Sire, a little while
longer, and you will have them all in your net.” The king was startled
to hear another give utterance to his own secret thoughts, and resolved
to make away with a man whom he suspected of knowing the particulars
of a plot which had been craftily devised to get rid of the admiral
and the chief Huguenots at one blow. The authenticity of this very
circumstantial story is more than doubtful. All we know for certain is,
that Lignerolles was murdered, and that the assassins were imprisoned,
and would have been punished, had not the great massacre intervened,
when they were liberated. Five versions of the story are current, the
most probable of all being Walsingham’s, namely, that Lignerolles was
an instrument employed by the Guise faction to prevent the English
marriage.[497] He represents the death “as no small furtherance to the
cause.” But why was he murdered? Perhaps the following passage from a
letter written by the queen-mother to the French embassador in England
may supply an answer: “We strongly suspect Villequier, Lignerolles, or
Sarret; and it is possible that all three may be the authors of these
fancies [Anjou’s refusal to marry Elizabeth]; if I were sure of it, I
give you my word they should repent it.”
If this foul murder be supposed to tell against the king, the affair
of the Gastine Cross should be taken as a proof of his desire to
conciliate his Protestant subjects. In the Rue St. Denis at Paris there
lived a wealthy tradesman, Philip Gastine by name, who with his son
Richard was accused and hanged for heresy and lending money to the
rebels; another son was sentenced to the galleys for life; and the
third banished (30th June, 1569). His house was pulled down, and in its
place was erected a huge cross, with an inscription to the effect, that
they had suffered “principally because they had celebrated the Lord’s
Supper in that place.” According to the thirty-second article[498]
of the Third Edict of Pacification, this cross was to be destroyed.
The king gave the necessary orders, and Claude Marcel, provost of the
merchants, fearing opposition, began to pull it down one dark night
in December. He was interrupted by the populace, who paraded the city
calling to arms. “The common people,” said Walsingham, “ease their
stomachs only by uttering certain seditious words.” They went however
beyond words, for there was a fierce riot, during which the mob burned
two houses and killed a “sermoner.” The provost seems to have been
rather faint-hearted in the matter, and the parliament actually wrote
to remonstrate with the king for keeping his promise. Charles, who was
then at Amboise, returned a very sharp answer (15th December, 1571):
“I have received your remonstrance, which I will always listen to
graciously so long as you show me due obedience. But seeing how you
have behaved since my accession, and that you imagine I will suffer my
orders to be despised, I will let you know that there never was a king
more determined to be obeyed than I am.”[499] The captain of the watch
was sent to Amboise to explain: he found the king very excited. “I am
thoroughly vexed,” said Charles, “that the cross has not been pulled
down or removed. I will have no delay: it is time it were down and
over.[500] If you catch any rioter, hang him up at once with a label
of _Séditieux_ round his neck.” The parliament apologized, and
said very falsely that they had had nothing to do with the riots. On
the night of the 19th December the cross was taken down and re-erected
in the cemetery of the Innocents;[501] but the people were in such
a mutinous state, and it was so difficult to keep the peace, that,
on the 21st, the Duke of Montmorency hurried to Paris with a strong
force of soldiers to put down the rioters. Some were killed, many ran
away, and the mob was cowed at last by the exemplary punishment of a
coster-monger, who was hanged from the window of a house he had just
plundered.
A report from the Provost of the Trades to the king shows the condition
of the capital in the winter of 1571: “After curfew, there is much
stabbing in the streets. A great number of dead bodies have been fished
up at St. Cloud, or found on the river-bank near Chaillot.... In
consequence of this hugonotry, trade is almost dead, manufacturers are
frightened away by our divisions, and cross the mountains to settle in
Italy. The Catholics want to have an end of it.... Would your majesty
but reflect; your crown is endangered, Paris alone can save it.” But
Charles knew the Parisians well, and desired to have his crown upheld
by trustier supporters than the unruly populace of the capital.
Before the end of the year, Coligny paid another visit to Blois, when
the war in Flanders and the marriage of the Prince of Bearn became
once more the chief subjects of deliberation. It is not necessary
to trace the proceedings day by day. The admiral’s arguments were
very cogent, but the most pressing matter was the marriage. On this
subject Coligny wrote to the Queen of Navarre, praying her not to
oppose a union wherein the Reformed would have the advantage. “It
will be,” he said, “a seal of friendship with the king; and the
greatest mistake you can fall into will be to show suspicion.” The
king too was very earnest in the matter. “I have made up my mind,” he
said to one of Joan’s agents, “to give my sister to my good brother
Henry; for by this means I hope to marry the two religions.” When
it was again objected that the proposal could hardly be regarded as
sincere, so long as the Guises continued about the court: “They are
my subjects,” Charles replied, “and I will make them conform to my
behests.” Catherine wrote to the Queen of Navarre: “I pray you gratify
the extreme desire we have to see you among us. You will be loved and
honored as you deserve to be.” Biron was the bearer of this letter,
and Joan gave way at last. In the month of February she started for
Blois, and, traveling slowly, reached that city early in March.[502]
The king gave her a hearty welcome, calling her “his dear good aunt,
his best beloved, his darling,” and so on, just as he had been wont to
do in earlier days. He kept by her side, and was so demonstrative in
his marks of affection, that, according to the gossiping chronicler,
“every one was astonished.” In the evening, after Joan had retired,
Charles turned to Catherine laughing, and said: “Now, mother, confess
that I play my little part well.”--“Yes, you play it well enough,
but you must keep it up.”--“Trust me for that,” said the king; “you
shall see how I will lead them on.”[503] Many of these stories are
nothing but idle street gossip, and some of them, in which we may
include the one before us, were invented in after years to support the
theory of a long-premeditated plot. But the words, even if accurately
reported, will hardly bear such a formidable superstructure: they
may refer to the marriage, which was yet unsettled, as well as to
the projected massacre. Farther, if Charles compassed the death of
Lignerolles because the wretched man was supposed to have become master
of the king’s secret, would Charles (with his presumed craft and
reticence) have spoken thus openly of what he desired to keep in utter
obscurity?[504]
Never had the little town of Blois been more gay than it was in the
spring of 1572. Banquets, balls, and _fêtes_ followed each other
in rapid succession, much to the discomfort of Joan, whose principles
and sober taste did not harmonize with such gayeties. The king, who was
delighted at the share his young queen took in these amusements, was
among the liveliest of the court, and was seen to the best advantage.
If the marriage of Henry and Margaret was part of the scheme by which
the Huguenots were to be lured to their destruction, there was very
little probability in March, 1572, that it would ever be accomplished.
Even the mere rumor of it had aroused all the antagonism of Spain
and Rome; but now that it appeared certain, those powers tried every
means to thwart it. The pope ordered his nephew, then legate at
the court of Portugal, to hasten to France and stop the marriage.
Alessandrino actually reached Blois before the Queen of Navarre, having
rudely passed her on the road. The particulars of his interviews
with Charles are given by several contemporary writers, but all are
manifestly derived from the same source. The cardinal, one of the
most accomplished and eloquent men of his day, pressed the king to
give Margaret to the King of Portugal, as had been once proposed,
and enter into the holy alliance then forming against the Turks. The
connection between these proposals is not very clear; but Alessandrino
probably hoped that the excitement of war, which might bring increase
of territory to France, would divert Charles from subjects nearer home.
“It would be ruinous to your realm and to the Catholic Church,” urged
the nuncio, “to form any alliance with the Huguenots.”
At the close of one of these interviews, when Alessandrino had been
more than usually pressing, Charles took him by the hand: “What you
say is very good, and I thank you and the pope for it. If I had any
other means of being revenged upon my enemies, I would not go on with
this marriage; but I have not.” When Alessandrino heard of the August
massacre, he exclaimed: “This, then, is what the King of France was
preparing. God be praised, he has kept his promise.”[505] At the close
of the interview, Charles drew a valuable ring from his finger, and
pressed the nuncio to accept it, as a pledge of his good faith and
obedience to the holy see. He declined, saying, with a bitterness of
manner that greatly displeased the king: “The most precious of your
majesty’s jewels are but mud in the eyes of the faithful, since your
zeal for the Catholic religion is so cold.”[506] Sir Thomas Smith, who
was at Blois, wrote to Burghley: “The foolish cardinal went away as
wise as he came: he neither brake the marriage with Navarre, nor got no
dimes, ... and the foolishest part of all his going away, he refused a
diamond which the king offered him of 600 crowns.”[507]
There are serious objections to this story--especially to Catena’s
version of it--which is in contradiction to documents above all
suspicion. One of these is a letter from Charles to his embassador at
Rome, with instructions about the dispensation. On the 31st July he
recapitulates to De Ferrails the four conditions on which the pope
is willing to grant the said dispensation, and says that Henry will
never concede them.[508] He then argues that the marriage will be the
best means of converting the prince, and hopes the pope “will not risk
every thing by holding the cord too tight in matters which belong
much more to state policy than to religious scruples.” He threatens
that he will do without a dispensation, if he should be driven to
consult on the best means of tranquilizing his kingdom and proceeding
to the said marriage. In a postscript the king adds, that he has
just seen Salviati, the papal nuncio, to whom he had communicated
the substance of the dispatch, and begged him to write to the pope
to the same effect. Did Salviati write as requested? He did, and all
his correspondence shows that up to the very day of the massacre he
was entirely ignorant of any treachery being contemplated. On the
very day of the massacre the king gave instructions to Beauville, who
was going to Rome, to the effect that the marriage was justifiable
on the ground that it would bind the Huguenots to the crown, and he
also wrote to De Ferrails on the same date, that the marriage was
necessary, and therefore it had been solemnized without waiting for
the dispensation, “to the great satisfaction of all his subjects.”
That no allusion is made to a plot in these dispatches is proof that
none such existed.[509] We must not, therefore, lay too great stress
upon Ossat’s letter, which, after all, only repeats hearsay.[510] The
strongest evidence in favor of Alessandrino’s story is found in the
mysterious ending of a letter in which he alludes to matters that had
passed between him and Charles, and that he had reserved for the pope’s
ear alone.[511] The veil of this mystery--if there really was any
mystery--has never been uplifted.
Joan’s arrival at Blois did not accelerate the negotiations for the
marriage so much as had been anticipated. The queen-mother appeared
of late to have grown indifferent, if not averse, to the proposed
union, and every possible obstacle was thrown in the way. Her inventive
faculties were severely tested by the good faith of the Queen of
Navarre.[512] She could have managed a diplomatist of her own stamp,
but honesty was a weapon she did not understand. “Certes,” says an old
writer, “her majesty’s adulterations of truth were of the most amazing
extent and description.” Joan, who heartily disliked Catherine, at last
refused to treat with her, and the negotiations were almost broken off,
when it was agreed to appoint three commissioners on each side, by whom
the final arrangements should be made. Margaret--whose “Memoirs” must
be read with extreme caution--interested herself but little in the
marriage.
In those days young maidens, whether of high or low degree, had little
voice in the selection of a husband. Of her proposed daughter-in-law,
Joan writes thus to her son on the 8th March: “Madame is handsome,
graceful, and discreet, but she has been brought up in the midst
of the most vicious and corrupt court that can be imagined. Your
cousin [afterward wife of Prince Henry of Condé] is so changed by it,
that there is no appearance of religion in her save thus far, that
she does not go to mass; but as to the rest of her mode of living,
except idolatry, she does the same as the Papists, and my sister [the
Princess of Condé] still worse.” In a pregnant phrase she describes
the corrupt nature of court life: “It is not the men here who entice
the women, but the women who entice the men.” To this Catherine and
her “flying squadron” of gay damsels had brought the court. The Queen
of Navarre was a rigid Calvinist, and her opinions on court amusements
and pleasures were probably rather austere. At another time she writes
to Henry: “Madam Margaret has paid me every honor and welcome in her
power to bestow, and frankly owned to me the agreeable ideas she has
formed of you. [They had not seen each other since the meeting at
Bayonne.] With her beauty and wit, she excites great influence over the
queen-mother and the king.”[513]
The difference of religion was long an almost insuperable obstacle.
Catherine pretended scruples of conscience on behalf of her daughter;
and Joan of Navarre, who was really anxious on the matter, hesitated
so much, that up to the 29th March the marriage continued doubtful.
“I have now the wolf by the ears,” said the Queen of Navarre, “for in
concluding or not concluding the marriage, I see danger every way.”
“But,” adds the English embassador, “I do not think assuredly that
hardly any cause will make them break--so many necessary causes there
are why the same should proceed.”[514] The Huguenot ministers, like
unpractical divines as they were, looked more coldly upon the projected
union than the nobility and gentry, who valued it as a great stroke of
policy. There were some even of these who foreboded nothing but evil.
Rosny, father of the illustrious Sully, refused to take any part in
the ceremony, declaring that “the wedding-favors would be crimson.”
His party stoutly advocated a marriage with Elizabeth of England. What
would have been the fortunes of the two countries had they been thus
united?
At length all the negotiations were ended, the settlements drawn up,
and the contract signed by the plenipotentiaries on each side (11th
April, 1572). A few days later Charles expressed to La Mothe-Fénelon
his satisfaction at the happy conclusion of the tedious business,
adding that “if the queen had been a little more strengthened against
those ailments, which are usual to women in her condition, the
wedding-day would have been already fixed. We shall depart hence
[Blois?] to go toward Paris and Fontainebleau, where my wife will
lie in.” The only obstacle now was the dispensation, which Pius V.
refused to grant: “I would rather lose my head than grant a marriage
dispensation to a heretic.”[515] Charles determined to proceed in
spite of the pope: “If he tries it on too far, I will take Margaret by
the hand and see her married in open conventicle.”[516] His written
answer to Pius V. was to the same effect, but in more courtly strain.
He expressed his sincere love for the Catholic Church, but urged that
the country and the exchequer were exhausted by civil war. As for the
marriage and the heresy, he continued: “Mild remedies are usually more
efficacious than sharp ones in curing this disease, especially in the
minds of princes. I am persuaded that Henry will not only become all
that you can wish him, but will some day be a great ornament and help
to the Church.... If he who is now the chief of the wanderers should
be brought back to the true fold, how great the advantage!” Charles
then proceeded to indulge in that ambiguous language which has made
this period of history so difficult to understand: “I confess that I
am under necessity, and have had to put up with many disagreeable
things; but I swear I would rather imperil my kingdom than leave the
outrages against God unpunished. But what my designs are can not yet
be told.”[517] To the Cardinal of Lorraine, then in Rome, he wrote
that whether the pope’s answer was favorable or not, he should go
on with the marriage.[518] To his friends he repeated his assurance
that he married his sister not only to the Prince of Bearn but to
the whole Protestant party: “It will be the strongest bond between
my subjects,” he said, “and a sure evidence of my good-will toward
those of the religion.” It was Joan’s desire that the wedding should
be celebrated at Blois, on account of the fanatical temper of the
inhabitants of the metropolis; but as Charles objected with reason to
a solemn state ceremony being performed anywhere but in the capital,
the Queen of Navarre gave way. It is a curious coincidence that the
Parisians should have been equally adverse to the celebration of the
marriage within their walls. “They feared,” says Claude Haton, “that
they would be robbed and despoiled in their own houses by the seditious
Huguenots.”[519]