Читать книгу History of the Reformation in Europe in the Time of Calvin (Vol. 1-8) - J. H. Merle D'Aubigné - Страница 50

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A woman reigned in the councils of the king. Inclined at first to ridicule the monks, she had after the defeat of Pavia gone over to the side of the priests. At the moment when the kingly authority received such a blow, she had seen that their power remained, and had made them her auxiliaries. This woman was Louisa of Savoy, Duchess of Angoulême, mother of Francis I., worthy predecessor of Catherine de’ Medici. A clever woman, ‘an absolute lady in her wishes both good and bad,’ says Pasquier; a freethinker, who could study the new doctrine as a curiosity, but who despised it; a dissolute woman, of whom Beaucaire, Brantôme, and others relate many scandalous anecdotes; a fond and absolute mother, who all her life preserved an almost sovereign authority over her son,—Louisa held in her hand two armies which she managed at will. One of these was composed of her maids of honour, by whose means she introduced into the court of France gallantry, scandal, and even indecency of language; the other was formed of intelligent, crafty men, who had no religion, no morality, no scruples; and at their head was Duprat.

The latter was the patron upon whom the Sorbonne thought they could rely. Enterprising and systematic, at once supple and firm, slavish and tyrannical, an intriguer and debauchee, often exasperated, never discouraged, ‘very clever, knowing, and subtle,’ says the Bourgeois de Paris; ‘one of the most pernicious men that ever lived,’ says another historian:633 Duprat sold offices, ground the people down, and if any of them remonstrated against his disorders, he sent the remonstrants to the Bastille.634 This man, who was archbishop of Sens and cardinal, and who aspired to be made legate a latere, having become a prince of the Roman Church, placed at its service his influence, his iron will, and even his cruelty.

But nothing could be done without the king. Louisa of Savoy and the cardinal, knowing his fickleness and his love of pleasure, and knowing also that in religious matters he cared only for pomp and ceremony, hoped to induce him easily to oppose the Reformation. Yet Francis hesitated and even resisted. He pretended to have a great taste for letters, of which the Gospel, in his eyes, formed part. He yielded willingly to his sister, who pleaded warmly the cause of the friends of the Gospel. He detested the arrogance of the priests. The boldness with which they put forward ultramontane ideas; set another power (the power of the pope) above his; attacked his ideas in conversations, pamphlets, and even in the pulpit; their restless character, their presumptuous confidence in the triumph of their cause,—all this irritated one of the most susceptible monarchs that ever reigned; and he was pleased at seeing a man like Berquin take down the boasting of the clergy.

Yet it may well be that the king was influenced by higher motives. He saw the human mind displaying a fresh activity in every direction. The literary, the philosophical, the political, the religious world were all undergoing important transformations in the first half of the sixteenth century. In the midst of all these different movements, Francis I. may have sometimes had a confused feeling that there was one which was the mainspring, the dominant fact, the generating principle, and, if I may use the words, the fiat lux of the new creation. He saw that the Reformation was the great force then acting in the world; that all others were subordinate to it; that to it belonged, according to an ancient prophecy, the gathering of the people;635 and in these moments, when his sight was clear, he wished to join himself to that invisible power which was effecting more than all the other powers. Unfortunately his passions soon disturbed his sight, and after having caught a glimpse of the day, he plunged back again into night.

As for Duprat he felt no hesitation; he resolutely put himself on the side of darkness, impelled by ambition and covetousness: he was always with the ultramontanists. The struggle was about to begin between the better aspirations of the king and the plots of the court of Rome. It was hard to say with which of these two powers the victory would ultimately remain. The chancellor-cardinal had, however, no doubt about it; he arranged the attack with skill, and thought he had hit upon a way, as vile as it was sure, of checking the Reform.

The king had to provide for the heavy charges which the treaty of Madrid imposed upon him, and he had no money. He applied to the clergy. ‘Good!’ said they; ‘let us take advantage of the opportunity given us.’ They furnished 1,300,000 livres, but demanded in return, according to Duprat’s suggestion, that his Majesty ‘should extirpate the damnable and insupportable Lutheran sect which some time since had secretly crept into the kingdom.’636 The king, who wanted money, would be ready to grant everything in order to fill his coffers; it seemed, then, that all was over not only with Berquin, but with the Reformation.

Margaret, who was then at Fontainebleau with the King of Navarre, heard of the demand the clergy had made to the king, and trembled lest Francis should deliver up her friends to the persecutions of the cardinal. She immediately endeavoured to exercise over her brother that influence to which in those days he yielded readily. She succeeded: the king, although putting the contribution of the clergy into his treasury, did not order ‘the extirpation of the Lutheran heresy.’

Yet Margaret did not feel secure. She experienced the keenest anguish at the thought of the danger which threatened the Gospel.

True God of heaven, give comfort to my soul!

she said in one of her poems. Her soul was comforted. The aged Lefèvre, who was at that time translating the Bible and the homilies of St. Chrysostom on the Acts of the Apostles, and teaching his young pupil, the Duke of Angoulême, to learn the Psalms of David by heart, rekindled her fire, and with his failing voice strengthened her in the faith. ‘Do not be afraid,’ he said; ‘the election of God is very mighty.’637—‘Let us pray in faith,’ said Roussel; ‘the main thing is that faith should accompany our prayers.’ The friends at Strasburg entreated Luther to strengthen her by some good letter. As soon as Erasmus heard of the danger which the Gospel ran, he was moved, and, with the very pen with which he had discouraged Berquin, he wrote:

‘O queen, still more illustrious by the purity of your life than by the splendour of your race and of your crown, do not fear! He who works everything for the good of those whom he loves, knows what is good for us, and, when he shall judge fit, will suddenly give a happy issue to our affairs.638 It is when human reason despairs of everything that the impenetrable wisdom of God is made manifest in all its glory. Nothing but what is happy can befall the man who has fixed the anchor of his hopes on God. Let us place ourselves wholly in his hands. But what am I doing?... I know, Madame, that it is not necessary to excite you by powerful incentives, and that we ought rather to thank you for having protected from the malice of wicked men sound learning and all those who sincerely love Jesus Christ.’639

The queen’s condition tended erelong to give a new direction to her thoughts. She hoped for a daughter, and often spoke about it in her letters. This daughter was indeed given her, and she became the most remarkable woman of her age. Calm and somewhat dejected, Margaret, who was then living alone in the magnificent palace of Fontainebleau, sought diversion in the enjoyment of the beauties of nature, during her daily walks in the park and the forest. ‘My condition,’ she wrote on the 27th of September, 1527, ‘does not prevent my visiting the gardens twice a day, where I am wonderfully at my ease.’ She walked slowly, thinking of the child about to be given her, and rejoicing in the light of the sun. Then reverting to him who held the chief place in her heart, she called to mind the true sun (Jesus Christ), and, grieving that his rays did not enlighten the whole of France, exclaimed:

O truth, unknown save to a few,

No longer hide thyself from view

Behind the cloud, but bursting forth

Show to the nations all thy worth.

Good men thy coming long to see,

And sigh in sad expectancy.

Descend, Lord Jesus, quickly come,

And brighten up this darkling gloom;

Show us how vile and poor we are,

And take us, Saviour, to thy care.640

It seems that Margaret’s presence near the king checked the persecutors; but she was soon compelled to leave the field open. The time of her confinement drew near. Henry d’Albret had not visited Bearn since his marriage; perhaps he desired that his child should be born in the castle of Pau. In October 1527 the King and Queen of Navarre set out for their possessions in the Pyrenees.641 On the 7th of January, two months later, Jeanne d’Albret was born; the statement that she was born at Fontainebleau or at Blois is a mistake.

The Queen of Navarre had hardly left for Bearn, when Duprat and the Sorbonne endeavoured to carry their cruel plans into execution. Among the number of the gentlemen of John Stuart, Duke of Albany, was a nobleman of Poitou named De la Tour. The Duke of Albany, a member of the royal family of Scotland, had been regent of that kingdom, and De la Tour had lived with him in Edinburgh, where he had made the most of his time. ‘When the lord duke was regent of Scotland,’ people said, ‘the Sieur de la Tour sowed many Lutheran errors there.’642 This French gentleman must therefore have been one of the earliest reformers in Scotland. He showed no less zeal at Paris than at Edinburgh, which greatly displeased the priests. Moreover, the Duke of Albany, who was in high favour with the king, was much disliked by the ambitious chancellor. An indictment was drawn up; Francis I., whose good genius was no longer by his side, shut his eyes; De la Tour and his servant, an evangelical like himself, were condemned by the parliament for heresy. On the 27th of October these two pious christians were bound in the same cart and led slowly to the pig-market to be burnt alive. When the cart stopped, the executioners ordered the servant to get down. He did so and stood at the cart’s tail. They stripped off his clothes, and flogged him so long and so severely that the poor wretch declared that he ‘repented.’ Some little mercy was consequently shown him, and they were content to cut out his tongue. They hoped by this means to shake De la Tour’s firmness; but though deeply moved, he raised his eyes to heaven, vowed to God that he would remain true to him, and immediately an ineffable joy replaced the anguish by which he had been racked. He was burnt alive.

Margaret must have heard at Pau of the death of the pious De la Tour; but however that may be, she left for Paris immediately after her delivery, giving her people orders to make haste. What was it that recalled her so promptly to the capital? Was it the news of some danger threatening the Gospel? A council was about to assemble at Paris; did she desire to be at hand to ward off the blows aimed at her friends? That is the reason given by one historian.643 ‘She had determined to make haste,’ and, her confinement scarcely over, this weak and delicate princess, urging her courier to press on, crossed the sands and marshes of the Landes. In a letter from Barbezieux, she complains of the bad roads by which her carriage was so roughly jolted. ‘I can find nothing difficult, nor any stage wearisome. I hope to be at Blois in ten days.’644

It was time. De la Tour’s death had satisfied neither the chancellor nor the Sorbonne. They desired ‘the extirpation of heresy,’ and not merely the death of a single heretic. Not having succeeded by means of the clergy tax, they were determined to strive for it in another manner. Duprat listened to the reports, and took note of what he observed in the streets. Nothing annoyed him so much as hearing of laymen, and even women, who turned away their heads as they passed the churches, slipped into lonely streets, met in cellars or in garrets, where persons who had not received holy orders prayed aloud and read the Holy Scriptures. Had he not in 1516 abrogated the pragmatic sanction and stripped the Gallican Church of its liberties? Would he not, therefore, succeed with far less trouble in sacrificing this new and free Church, a poor and contemptible flock? As a provincial council was to be held at Paris, Duprat resolved to take advantage of it to strike a decisive blow.

On the 28th of February, 1528, the council was opened. The cardinal-archbishop having gone thither in great pomp, rose and spoke amid dead silence: ‘Sirs, a terrible pestilence, stirred up by Martin Luther, has destroyed the orthodox faith. A tempest has burst upon the bark of St. Peter, which, tossed by the winds, is threatened with dreadful shipwreck.645 ... There is no difference between Luther and Manichæus.... And yet, reverend fathers, his adherents multiply in our province; they hold secret conventicles in many places; they unite with laymen in the most private chambers of the houses;646 they discuss the catholic faith with women and fools.’ ...

It will be seen that it was not heresy, properly so called, that the chancellor condemned in the Reformation, but liberty. A religion which was not exclusively in the hands of priests was, in his eyes, more alarming than heresy. If such practices were tolerated, would they not one day see gentlemen, shopkeepers, and even men sprung from the ranks of the people, presuming to have something to say in matters of state? The germ of the constitutional liberties of modern times lay hid in the bosom of the Reformation. The chancellor was not mistaken. He wished at one blow to destroy both religious and political liberty. He found enthusiastic accomplices in the priests assembled at Paris. The council drew up a decree ordering the bishops and even the inhabitants of the dioceses to denounce all the Lutherans of their acquaintance.

Would the king sanction this decree? Duprat was uneasy. He collected his thoughts, arranged his arguments, and proceeded to the palace with the hope of gaining his master. ‘Sire,’ he said to Francis, ‘God is able without your help to exterminate all this heretical band;647 but, in his great goodness, he condescends to call men to his aid. Who can tell of the glory and happiness of the many princes who, in past ages, have treated heretics as the greatest enemies of their crowns, and have given them over to death? If you wish to obtain salvation; if you wish to preserve your sovereign rights intact; if you wish to keep the nations submitted to you in tranquillity: manfully defend the catholic faith, and subdue all its enemies by your arms.’648 Thus spoke Duprat; but the king thought to himself that if his ‘sovereign rights’ were menaced at all, it might well be by the power of Rome. He remained deaf as before.

‘Let us go further,’ said the chancellor to his creatures; ‘let the whole Church call for the extirpation of heresy.’ Councils were held at Lyons, Rouen, Tours, Rheims, and Bourges, and the priests restrained themselves less in the provinces than in the capital. ‘These heretics,’ said the fiery orators, ‘worship the devil, whom they raise by means of certain herbs and sacrilegious forms.’649 But all was useless; Francis took pleasure in resisting the priests, and Duprat soon encountered an obstacle not less formidable.

If it was the duty of the priests to denounce the ‘enchanters,’ it was the business of the parliament to condemn them; but parliament and the chancellor were at variance. On the death of his wife, Duprat, then a layman and first president of parliament, had calculated that this loss might be a gain, and he entered the Church in order to get possession of the richest benefices in the kingdom. First, he laid his hands on the archbishopric of Sens, although at the election there were twenty-two votes against him and only one for him.650 Shortly after that, he seized the rich abbey of St. Benedict. ‘To us alone,’ said the monks, ‘belongs the choice of our abbot;’ and they boldly refused to recognise the chancellor. Duprat’s only answer was to lock them all up. The indignant parliament sent an apparitor to the archbishop’s officers, and ordered them to appear before it; but the officers fell upon the messenger, and beat him so cruelly that he died. The king decided in favour of his first minister, and the difference between the parliament and the chancellor grew wider.

Duprat, who desired to become reconciled with this court, whose influence was often necessary to him, fancied he could gain it over by means of the Lutheran heresy, which they both detested equally. On their side the parliament desired nothing better than to recover the first minister’s favour. These intrigues succeeded. ‘The chancellor and the counsellors mutually gave up the truth, which they looked upon as a mere nothing, like a crust of bread which one throws to a dog,’ to use the words of a reformer. Great was the exultation then in sacristy and in convent.

As chancellor, Sorbonne, and parliament were agreed, it seemed impossible that the Reformation should not succumb under their combined attacks. They said to one another: ‘We must pluck up all these ill weeds;’ but they did not require, however, that it should be done in one day. ‘If the king will only grant us some little isolated persecution,’ said the enemies of the Reform, ‘we will so work the matter that all the grist shall come to the mill at last.’

But even that they could not obtain from the king; the terrible mill remained idle and useless. The agitation of the clergy was, in the opinion of Francis, mere monkish clamour; he desired to protect learning against the attacks of the ultramontanists. Besides, he felt that the greatest danger which threatened his authority was the theocratic power, and he feared still more these restless and noisy priests. The Reformation appeared to be saved, when an unexpected circumstance delivered it over to its enemies.