Volume 2 / Book 2 — CHAPTER XIII. (continued 3)
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Coligny's disappointment.
Of the other party, Catharine de' Medici alone was jubilant over the edict. On the contrary, the Roman Catholic people of Paris regarded it as an approval of every sort of impiety and wicked action, and the parliament would register it only after repeated commands (on the twenty-seventh of March), and then with a formal declaration of its reluctance.[259] But no one was so much disappointed as the admiral. Hastening from Normandy to Orleans, he reached that city on the twenty-third of March, only to find that the peace had been fully concluded several days before. In the council of the confederates, the next day, he spoke his mind freely. He reminded Condé that, from the very commencement of hostilities, the triumvirs had offered the restoration of the Edict of January with the exclusion of the city of Paris; and that never had affairs stood on a better footing than now,[260] when two of the three chief authors of the war were dead, and the third was a prisoner. But the poor had surpassed the rich in devotion; the cities had given the example to the nobles. In restricting the number of churches to one in a bailiwick, the prince and his counsellors had ruined more churches by a single stroke of the pen than all the forces of their enemies could have overthrown in ten years. Coligny's warm remonstrance was heard with some regret for the precipitancy with which the arrangement had been made; but it was too late. The peace was signed. Besides, Condé was confident that he would soon occupy his brother's place, when the Huguenots would obtain all their demands.
But while the prince refused to draw back from the articles of peace to which he had pledged himself, he consented to visit the queen mother in company with the admiral, and endeavor to remove some of the restrictions placed upon Protestant worship. And Catharine was too well satisfied with her success in restoring peace, to refuse the most pressing of the admiral's requests. However, she took good care that none of her promises should be in writing, much less be incorporated in the Edict of Pacification. "The prince and the admyrall," wrote the special envoy Middlemore to Queen Elizabeth, "have bene twice with the quene mother since my commynge hyther, where the admirall hath bene very earnest for a further and larger lybertye in the course of religion, and so hath obtayned that there shall be preachings within the townes in every balliage, wheras before yt was accordyd but in the suburbs of townes only, and that the gentylmen of the visconte and provoste of Parys shall have in theyr houses the same libertye of religion as ys accordyd elzwhere. So as the sayd admyrall doth now seame to lyke well inoughe that he shewyd by the waye to mislyke so muche, which was the harde articles of religion concludyd upon by the prince in his absence."[261]
On Sunday, the twenty-eighth of March, 1563—the anniversary of that Sunday which they had kept with so much solemnity at Meaux, on the eve of their march to Orleans—the Huguenot nobles and soldiers celebrated the Lord's Supper, in the simple but grand forms of the Geneva liturgy, within the walls of the church of the Holy Rood, long since stripped of its idolatrous ornaments, and on the morrow began to disperse to the homes from which for a year they had been separated.[262] The German reiters, at the same time, set out on their march toward Champagne, whence they soon after retired to their own country.
Results of the war.
The war that had just closed undoubtedly constituted a turning-point in the Huguenot fortunes. The alliance between the persecuted reformers, on the one hand, and the princes of the blood and the nobility of France, on the other, had borne fruit, and it was not altogether good fruit. The patient confessors, after manfully maintaining their faith through an entire generation against savage attack, and gaining many a convert from the witnesses of their constancy, had grasped the sword thrust into their hands by their more warlike allies. In truth, it would be difficult to condemn them; for it was in self-defence, not against rightful authority, but against the tyranny of a foreign and hostile faction. Candidly viewing their circumstances at the distance of three centuries, we can scarcely see how they could have acted otherwise than as they did. Yet there was much that, humanly speaking, was unfortunate in the conjuncture. War is a horrible remedy at any time. Civil war super-adds a thousand horrors of its own. And a civil war waged in the name of religion is the most frightful of all. The holiest of causes is sure to be embraced from impure motives by a host of unprincipled men, determined in their choice of party only by the hope of personal gain, the lust of power, or the thirst for revenge—a class of auxiliaries too powerful and important to be altogether rejected in an hour when the issues of life or death are pending, even if by the closest and calmest scrutiny they could be thoroughly weeded out—a process beyond the power of mortal man at any time, much more in the midst of the tumult and confusion of war. The Huguenots had made the attempt at Orleans, and had not shrunk from inflicting the severest punishments, even to death, for the commission of theft and other heinous crimes. They had endeavored in their camp to realize the model of an exemplary Christian community. But they had failed, because there were with them those who, neither in peace nor in war, could bring themselves to give to so strict a moral code any other obedience than that which fear exacts. Such was the misery of war. Such the melancholy alternative to which, more than once, the reformed saw themselves reduced, of perishing by persecution or of saving themselves by exposing their faith to reproach through alliance with men of as little religion or morality as any in the opposite camp.
It prevents France from becoming Huguenot.
The first civil war prevented France from becoming a Huguenot country. This was the deliberate conclusion of a Venetian ambassador, who enjoyed remarkable opportunities for observing the history of his times.[263] The practice of the Christian virtue of patience and submission under suffering and insult had made the reformers an incredible number of friends. The waging of war, even in self-defence, and the reported acts of wanton destruction, of cruelty and sacrilege—it mattered little whether they were true or false, they were equally credited and produced the same results—turned the indifference of the masses into positive aversion. It availed the Huguenots little in the estimate of the people that the crimes that were almost the rule with their opponents were the exception with them; that for a dozen such as Montluc, they were cursed with but one Baron des Adrets; that the barbarities of the former received the approbation of the Roman Catholic priesthood, while those of the latter were censured with vehemence by the Protestant ministers. Partisan spirit refused to hold the scales of justice with equal hand, and could see no proofs of superior morality or devotion in the adherents of the reformed faith.
Huguenot ballads and songs.
Besides their psalms, hallowed by so many thrilling associations, the Huguenots possessed a whole cycle of song. The meagre portion of this that has come down to us is among the most valuable of the monuments illustrative of their modes of thought and their religious and political aspirations. At the same time it brings vividly before us the great crises of their history. M. Henri Bordier has done a service not easily estimated at its full worth, by the publication of a considerable collection of the popular songs of the Protestants, under the title, "Le Chansonnier Huguenot du XVIe Siècle" (Paris, 1871). These songs are grouped in four divisions: religious songs, polemic and satirical songs, songs of war, and songs of martyrdom.
The three oldest Huguenot songs known to exist belong to the first two divisions, and have been saved from destruction by the enemies of their authors, in the very attempt to secure their suppression. They have recently been found upon the records of the Parliament of Paris, where they obtained a place, thanks to the zeal of the "lieutenant général" of Meaux in endeavoring to ferret out the composers of anti-papal ballads. They were entered, without regard to metre, as so much prose. A stanza or two of the song entitled Chanson nouvelle sur le chant: "N'allez plus au bois jouer," and evidently adapted to the tune of a popular ballad of the day, may suffice to indicate the character of the most vigorous of these compositions. It is addressed to Michel d'Arande, a friend of Farel, whom Bishop Briçonnet had invited to preach the Gospel in his diocese of Meaux, and begins:
Ne preschez plus la vérité, Maistre Michel! Contenue en l'Evangille, Il y a trop grand danger D'estre mené Dans la Conciergerie. Lire, lire, lironfa. Il y a trop grand danger D'estre mené Dans la Conciergerie Devant les chapperons fourrez Mal informez Par gens plains de menterie. Lire, lire, lironfa.
The "chants religieux," of which M. Bordier's collection reproduces twenty-five, are partly poetical paraphrases of the Ten Commandments, the Lord's Prayer, etc., and partly original compositions on a variety of themes, such as patient endurance of insult, etc. They display great familiarity with the Holy Scriptures, and sometimes not a little poetic fire.
The "chants polémiques" treat of a number of subjects, prominent among which are the monks and nuns, and the doctrines of the papal church. In one the expiring papacy is represented as summoning to her bedside cardinals, bishops, and other members of the clergy, to witness her last struggles. In another the Sorbonne is held up to ridicule, in company with all the mediæval doctors of theology. In a third the poet more seriously combats the belief in purgatory as unscriptural. But it is the mass that bears the brunt of attack. The Host figures under the designation, current in the literature of the sixteenth century,[264] of Le Dieu de Pâte, or Le Dieu de Farine. The pompous and complicated ceremonial, with its repetitions devoid of meaning for the illiterate spectator, is, on the whole, the favorite object of satire. In strict accordance with the spirit of the rough controversy of the times, little mercy is shown to religious antagonists. There is a good specimen of this style of treatment in an interesting song dating from about 1564, entitled "Noel nouveau de la description ou forme et manière de dire la Messe, sur ce chant: Hari, bouriquet." Of the fifteen stanzas of which it is composed, two or three may serve as samples. The preliminary service over, the priest comes to the consecration of the wafer:
Un morceau de paste Il fait adorer; Le rompt de sa patte Pour le dévorer, Le gourmand qu'il est. Hari, hari l'asne, le gourmand qu'il est, Hari bouriquet! Le Dieu qu'il faict faire, La bouche le prend; Le cœur le digère, Le ventre le rend, Au fond du retrait! Hari, hari l'asne, au fond du retrait, Hari bouriquet! Le peuple regarde L'yvrongne pinter Qui pourtant n'a garde De luy présenter A boire un seul traict. Hari, hari l'asne, à boire un seul traict, Hari bouriquet! Achève et despouille Tous ses drapeaux blancs, En sa bourse fouille Et y met six blancs. C'est de peur du frais. Hari, hari l'asne, c'est de peur du frais, Hari bouriquet!
A somewhat older song (written before 1555) purports to be the dirge of the Mass uttered by itself—Désolation de la Messe expirant en chantant. The Mass in perplexity knows not how to begin the customary service:
Spiritus, Salve, Requiem, Je ne sçay si je diray bien. Quel Introite, n' Oremus Je prenne; Sancti, Agimus. Feray-je des Martyrs ou Vierges? De ventre ad te clamamus! Sonnez là, allumez ces cierges: Y a-t-il du pain et du vin? Où est le livre et le calice Pour faire l'office divin? Ça, cest autel, qu'on le tapisse! Hélas, la piteuse police. Ame ne me vient secourir. Sans Chapelain, Moine, Novice, Me faudra-il ainsi périr?
Pope and cardinals are summoned in vain. No one comes, no one will bring reliquary or consecrated wafer. The Mass must finally resign all hope and die:
Hélas chantant, brayant, virant, Tant que le crime romp et blesse Puis que voy tost l'ame expirant, Dites au moins adieu la Messe. A tous faisant mainte promesse Ore ai-je tout mon bien quitté Veu qu'a la mort tens et abaisse Ite Missa est; donc Ite, Ite Missa est.
The "chants de guerre" furnish a running commentary upon the military events of the last forty years of the sixteenth century, which is not devoid of interest or importance. The hopeful spirit characterizing the earlier ballads is not lost even in the latest; but the brilliant anticipations of a speedy triumph of the truth, found before the outbreak of the first civil war, or immediately thereafter, are lacking in other productions, dating from the close of the reign of Henry the Third. In a spirited song, presumably belonging to 1562, the poet, adopting the nickname of Huguenots given to the Protestants by their opponents, retaliates by applying an equally unwelcome term to the Roman Catholics, and forecasting the speedy overthrow of the papacy:
Vous appellez Huguenots Ceux qui Jesus veullent suivre, Et n'adorent vos marmots De boys, de pierre et de cuyvre. Hau, Hau, Papegots, Faictes place aux Huguenots. Nostre Dieu renversera Vous et vostre loy romaine, Et du tout se mocquera De vostre entreprise vaine. Hau, Hau, Papegots, Faictes place aux Huguenots. Vostre Antechrist tombera Hors de sa superbe place Et Christ partout règnera Et sa loy pleine de grâce. Hau, Hau, Papegots, Faictes place aux Huguenots.
The current expectation of the Protestants is attested in a long narrative ballad by Antoine Du Plain on the siege of Lyons (1563), in which Charles the Ninth figures as another Josiah destined to abolish the idolatrous mass:
Ce Roy va chasser l'Idole Plain de dole Cognoissant un tel forfait: Selon la vertu Royale, Et loyale, Comme Iosias a fait.
It is noticeable that the words "va chasser l'Idole" are an anagram of the royal title Charles de Valois—an anagram which gave the Huguenots no little comfort. The same play upon words appears with a slight variation in a "Huictain au Peuple de Paris, sur l'anagrammatisme du nom du tres-Chrestien Roy de France, Charles de Valois IX. de ce nom" (Recueil des Choses Mémorables, 1565, p. 367), of which the last line is,
"O Gentil Roy qui chassa leur idole."
But after the massacre of St. Bartholomew's Day the hopes of the Huguenots were blighted. If the king is not referred to by name, his mother figures as the guilty cause of all the misfortune of France. She is a second Helen born for the ruin of her adopted country, according to Étienne de Maisonfleur.
Hélène femme estrangère Fut la seule mesnagère Qui ruina Ilion, Et la reine Catherine Est de France la ruine Par l'Oracle de Léon.
"Léon" is Catharine's uncle, Pope Leo the Tenth, who was said to have predicted the total destruction of whatever house she should be married into. See also the famous libel "Discours merveilleux de la vie de Catherine de Medicis" (Ed. of Cologne, Pierre du Marteau, 1693), p. 609.
The massacre of St. Bartholomew's Day naturally contributes a considerable fund of laments, etc., to the Huguenot popular poetry of the century. A poem apparently belonging to a more remote date, discovered by Dr. Roullin, and perhaps the only Breton song of the kind that has come down to us, is as simple and unaffected a narrative as any of the modern Greek mœrologia (Vaurigaud, Essaie sur l'hist. des églises réf. de Bretagne, 1870, i. 6). It tells the story of a Huguenot girl betrayed to the executioner by her own mother. In spite of a few dialectic forms, the verses are easily understood.
Voulz-vous ouir l'histoire D'une fille d'espit Qui n'a pas voulu croire Chose que l'on lui dit. —Sa mère dit: "Ma fille, A la messe allons donc!" —"Y aller à la messe, Ma mère, ce n'est qu'abus. Apportez-moi mes livres Avec mes beaux saluts. J'aimerais mieux être brûlée Et vantée au grand vent Que d'aller à la messe En faussant mon serment." —Quand sa très-chère mère Eut entendu c' mot là, Au bourreau de la ville Sa fille elle livra. "Bourreau, voilà ma fille! Fais à tes volontés; Bourreau, fais de ma fille Comme d'un meurtrier." Quand elle fut sur l'échelle, Trois rollons jà montée, Elle voit sa mère Qui chaudement pleurait. "Ho! la cruelle mère Qui pleure son enfant Après l'avoir livrée Dans les grands feux ardents. Vous est bien fait, ma mère, De me faire mourir. Je vois Jesus, mon père, Qui, de son beau royaume, Descend pour me quérir. Son royaume sur terre Dans peu de temps viendra, Et cependant mon âme En paradis ira."