In another ballad we are told that

Even Beza conferred on him the martyr’s crown, and Cecil “was very glad to hear of the duke’s hurt, and could wish his soul in heaven.”[332]

The times were favorable for peace. The Duke of Guise dead and the constable a prisoner, there was no one to take the command of the royal army. “I was obliged to command it myself,” said Catherine, “for Brissac was so ill that he could not leave his bed.” On the other hand, the Prince of Condé, with all his desire for liberty, was unwilling to change “the soft air of the court and the smiles of the ladies” for the austerities of the Huguenot camp. His offer to become the channel of negotiations between the two religions was accepted, though not without opposition from the embassadors of Philip II. and the pope, who were for continuing the war. The Duke of Tuscany expressed his dissatisfaction at the negotiations; and the queen-regent, to quiet them, seems to have hinted that the pacification would be only a trap. Santa Croce writes: “If any opportunity is found of infringing the articles of this treaty, they will not be kept.... Should the queen do as she promises, means will be found of punishing these people when they are disarmed and dispersed.” But the peace party was too strong, and the terms of a treaty were soon agreed upon. Before finally accepting them, the Prince of Condé consulted the synod then assembled at Orleans; but that impracticable body, while claiming absolute liberty for themselves, would have denied it to those whom they called “atheists, libertines, and anabaptists.” As it would have been useless to attempt to reconcile the extreme fanatics on both sides, the Pacification of Amboise was signed on the 19th March, 1563. The right of public worship conceded by the Edict of January was greatly restricted, the Huguenots being no longer permitted to assemble outside the walls of the cities, but only in a single place within every bailliage inhabited by Protestant nobles and their retainers. On the other hand, one clause expressly bore that “every man should live at liberty in his own house, without search or molestation, and without being vexed or constrained for conscience’ sake.” Although the treaty was acceptable to the majority of the Huguenot party, who were growing tired of the war, all were not equally pleased. The admiral, who had protested against it, characterized it by a single phrase: “That stroke of the pen throws down more churches than the enemy’s soldiers could have destroyed in ten years.”

Notwithstanding the insinuations of Cardinal Santa Croce, that “she would pacify every thing in a few hours whenever she pleased,”[333] there does not appear to be any reason to doubt Catherine’s sincerity. It was her interest to pacify the country in a sense very different from that intended by the papal envoy: she had something more to fear than the hostility of the Huguenots. Spain was looking on, eager to take advantage of the distresses of France, and a continuation of the war could bring nothing but disaster whichever side prevailed. Less than a year of civil strife had been sufficient to exhaust the finances of the country, to accumulate an immense debt, to destroy commerce, and to throw half the land out of cultivation. Castelnau’s testimony in this matter is indisputable: “Agriculture was abandoned; multitudes of towns and villages, pillaged and burned, were deserted, and the poor laborers, driven from their homes, dispoiled of their furniture and cattle, robbed to-day by one party, to-morrow by another, fled like wild beasts, leaving all they had to the mercy of those who were without mercy. Commerce was quite given up: no one was secure of his property or life.... Thus the war, undertaken for religion, annihilated religion and piety.”[334] “The Catholics,” adds Claude Haton, “were as great thieves and brigands as the Huguenots.” The husbandman, no longer able to till his fields in safety, either joined the army or turned robber—a difference more in name than in reality. In many parts they banded together to protect themselves, but they soon became little better than brigands, attacking travelers, and ransoming the smaller towns and villages. In the Vendomois they were so violent that the gentlemen of the province united to repress their excesses and restore order, putting at their head the poet Ronsard, a gentleman and also a parish priest. “There are too many people in France,” shouted the leader of one of the wild gangs called Barefeet (Pieds-Nus); “we will kill a lot of them and make bread cheap.”[335] These ruffians committed horrible atrocities in Champagne, sacking the houses of rich and poor alike, killing the men and reserving the women for a worse fate. At Céant-en-Othe, inhabited chiefly by Protestants, they burned the villagers alive in their cottages. A poor girl, after enduring unutterable barbarities, was covered with straw and roasted alive, as they would have scorched a dead pig. One man was tied to a post and used as a target for their arquebuses.

Trade suffered not less than agriculture, for commerce can not thrive without the security of peace and law. Intercourse between town and town was almost entirely cut off, for the highways were no longer safe except to strong bodies of armed men. Tradesmen and mechanics, therefore, quitted their counters and workshops for the camp; and members of the inferior clergy, whose revenues had been extinguished by the troubled state of affairs, flung aside the frock and assumed the cuirass. And as if to make the confusion more complete, justice could not be administered, so much were the tribunals overawed everywhere. In Paris the anarchy seems to have been complete, each man being a law to himself. Not even in the terrible revolution that closed the eighteenth century were the bonds of society more thoroughly relaxed.

The royal edict which carried out the provisions of the treaty of Amboise met with considerable opposition from the Catholics. At first, all the parliaments of the kingdom refused to register it, and their resistance was only to be overcome by the direct intervention of the crown. The Parliament of Paris yielded under protest; that of Dijon would not give way. The Duke of Aumale, brother to the murdered Francis of Guise, and governor of Burgundy, supported the parliament in their resistance, and declared, “There shall sooner be two suns in heaven than two religions in my government.” When the municipality of Amiens was in due course instructed to act in conformity with the edict, they pleaded that the instructions were insufficient, and put them aside until the king wrote to them in a tone that was not to be trifled with. The disappointment of the fanatic Catholics is manifest from a plot formed by a “fraternal association” to massacre all the Huguenots in the capital. All not of the Guise faction, and such as were moderate either in religion or politics, were termed “suspects,” and as such condemned to be sacrificed. L’Hopital, “the traitor chancellor,” and Montmorency, “le mauvais riche,” were to be the first victims. The plot was discovered and frustrated by Joan of Navarre, and some of the most violent of the civic conspirators were hanged at their own windows without any form of trial.[336]

The pope did not openly protest against the Pacification of Amboise, but virtually condemned it by a bull to the cardinal inquisitors-general (7th April, 1563), permitting them to take proceedings against heretics and their supporters, even in the states beyond their jurisdiction. The opposition of the court of Spain was entirely selfish. Philip II. knew that peace in France was dangerous to tyranny in the Netherlands. Strengthened by his discontent, the Spanish faction openly set the treaty at defiance. The government, however, was sincere in its desire for tranquillity, and Catherine labored earnestly to conciliate the malcontents. When Jacques Philippeaux was sent to Gap, he called upon the Huguenots to deliver up their arms, but granted them liberty of conscience, and permitted them to bury their dead in the general cemetery with their own forms and ceremonies, until another place could be provided. But such instances of toleration and charity were rare; for France was like the sea, where the waves continue to rise long after the storm has ceased.

Early in the course of the war, Coligny had the misfortune to lose his son after a short illness of six days. He felt the blow keenly, and to comfort his wife, who took it very much to heart, he wrote the following letter: “Although you may grieve over the loss of our dear child, yet I must remind you that, as it was God’s pleasure to take him, so it should be ours to obey His will. He was a good child, and we might have entertained great hopes of one so well conducted; but remember, dearest, that we can not live without offending God, and that our boy is happy in dying at an age when he was exempt from sin. It was God’s will, and I offer Him my other children, if it be His pleasure. Do the same, if you desire He should bless you, for in Him we should place all our hope. Farewell, my dearly beloved. I hope to see you shortly, which will be a great joy to me.”