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Preface

The title of this book requires a gloss. ‘Rise’ may be construed as a move towards political order, economic prosperity and social contentment; ‘fall’ as a lapse into political confusion, economic depression and social unrest. France in the sixteenth century experienced both conditions. This book attempts to describe and, I hope, to explain this duality in the period often called ‘the Renaissance’. Fixing the chronological limits has not been easy, for history can never be strictly compartmentalized. The division traditionally drawn between the Middle Ages and modern times is nothing more than an academic convenience; historically it makes no sense. French institutions in the sixteenth century were rooted in the Middle Ages. The significance which historians have traditionally attached to the year 1494 as ending the Middle Ages has little validity. It was then that King Charles VIII invaded Italy, setting in train a series of French wars in the peninsula which lasted on and off until the Peace of Cateau-Cambrésis in 1559. I have chosen to begin my story with Charles VIII’s accession in 1483. Ideally, I should have traced the origins of the ‘rise’ back to the formative reign of Louis XI, often regarded as the founder of French national unity, but this would have lengthened the book too much. As for the ‘fall’, I might have ended with the assassination of the last Valois king in 1589. Henry IV’s reign that followed is often taken to mark the recovery of France, but there is a strong case for thinking that the real recovery did not start till 1651, after the Fronde.

In the early sixteenth century France seemed set to become the most powerful nation in Europe, yet by 1600 she had sunk to one of the lowest points in her history. Half a century of more or less continual civil conflict, allegedly over religion, had brought desolation and despair to her inhabitants. Her economy had been almost destroyed, her society was in disarray and her political system was on the brink of collapse. The very origins of a monarchy, which had once been revered as God’s lieutenancy on earth, were being questioned. Much of the interest that springs from studying sixteenth-century France resides in probing the causes of her precipitous decline. Was religion the only cause of dissension among her people, or were they responding to other factors? Why was a monarchy which had seemed so strong under Francis I and Henry II reduced to little more than an impotent figurehead? These are merely two questions among many that the reader might care to ponder. I hope to provide some answers, but the subject is vast and controversial.

The past cannot change, but history does. The last fifty years have seen considerable changes in historical thinking, particularly in France, where the Annales school has turned away from ‘the history of events’ (histoire évènementielle) to that of a wide-ranging interdisciplinary study of the past. This has led to a greater preoccupation with socio-economic issues, mentalités and other aspects of human activity which historians traditionally had overlooked or not seen as their concern. Recently, however, there has been a reaction. A new school of historians, less doctrinaire than their elders, have returned to the ‘history of events’ with a sharpened awareness of its complexities. The massacre of St Bartholomew’s day, for example, is no longer seen simply as the slaughter of Protestants by Catholics. The sociology of denominational violence as well as its psychological context have come under close scrutiny.

This book along with its companions in the series adheres to a chronological, not a thematic, plan, for the reader needs to be made aware of the sequence of events. However, I have tried, wherever possible, to feed analysis into the narrative, taking into account modern research. For example, the nature and effectiveness of the French monarchy has become controversial. Was it ‘absolute’, as the kings often claimed, or was it subject to limitations? The crucial importance of finance at a time when the technology of war was making unprecedented demands on the traditional resources of the state is now recognized. The French Reformation is no longer seen simply as a German import; its indigenous roots have been brought to light. We also know far more about the problems posed for the crown by the upsurge of religious dissent and about the policies by which it hoped to solve them. Religion was once dismissed as a cause of the civil wars that bear its name. It was alleged that the nobility used religion as a cover for their internecine greed. Modern research has demonstrated that religion was indeed a major source of conflict, and also an important component of popular culture, which until recently was virtually a closed book. Those pages have now been opened, and historians are better able to probe the thoughts of ordinary French men and women during the Renaissance. The psychology of denominational conflict, as reflected in a vast pamphlet literature, has been exhaustively analysed. The Wars of Religion also provided a fertile soil for political thinkers. While some upheld the doctrine of absolutism, others championed resistance to a monarchy they viewed as ungodly and therefore tyrannical. Under the cumulative impact of persecution, Protestants, who had for long adhered to the Pauline doctrine of obedience to ‘the powers that be’, turned into revolutionaries willing to condone even tyrannicide.

During the past half-century French historians have been more interested in looking at French society and mentalités than at political events. Two great pioneering works by E. Le Roy Ladurie (Les Paysans de Languedoc) and Jean Jacquart (La Crise rurale en Ile-de-France, 1550–1670) have revolutionized knowledge of the countryside and its inhabitants who made up the bulk of the population. We know far more now about the economic difficulties they had to face and also about the impact on their lives of natural disasters and war. The towns too have received much attention lately. Their social structure has been examined as well as their administrative, economic and religious role. Demographic historians have considered the reasons for the growth of towns during the century. Notarial registers have yielded information about humble Frenchmen who, one might have assumed, had vanished without trace. Scholars now know that the Parisian League, which was once identified with the rabble, was far from proletarian. Another major source of interest has been the nobility. The old notion of a complete economic collapse of the class under the mounting pressure of inflation has been exploded, while the importance of clientage as a bond between great and lesser nobles has been stressed. So has the importance of provincial governors in either buttressing the crown’s authority or undermining it. The careers and fortunes of several individual noblemen have recently been the subject of detailed studies. Another welcome development of recent years has been the use which art historians have made of history. No longer are they content to judge style without reference to the historical context. Patronage and iconography are now seen as crucially important to the study of Renaissance art. A royal château was designed for use, not merely as decoration.

In the course of writing this history I have incurred debts to many scholars. Among them are Bernard Barbiche, Joseph Bergin, Richard Bonney, Monique Chatenet, Denis Crouzet, Robert Descimon, Mark Greengrass, Philippe Hamon, Jean Jacquart, Anne-Marie Lecoq, Nicole Lemaitre, David Nicholls, David Parker, David Parrott, David Potter, and Penny Roberts. John Bourne and W. Scott Lucas have guided me through the mysterious world of the computer. My copy-editor, Betty Palmer, has been a model of efficiency and tact. They all have my warmest thanks, as does my old friend and colleague Douglas Johnson, who kindly invited me to contribute to this series and for his helpful advice as general editor. I am also deeply grateful to Philip Gwyn Jones of HarperCollins for his patience and generosity. My biggest debt, as always, is to my wife, Maureen, without whose tolerance this book could never have been written.

Note

The names of French kings are given in French before their accession and in English thereafter: e.g. François d’Angoulême becomes Francis I, Henri duc d’Orléans becomes Henry II and Henri de Navarre becomes Henry IV.

BIRMINGHAM, February 1996