Short as the war had been it was full of horrors. Wherever the two armies passed the country was laid waste. The towns-people were comparatively safe behind their walls, but the peasantry were between two millstones: there was no escaping except by flight to the woods and leaving the fields uncultivated, the consequence of which was famine and pestilence. In Schiller’s picturesque language, “men became savage like their countries.”[410] After the proclamation of peace a few governors did all they could to check the disorders of the royal troops in their provinces. Marshal Damville, commanding in Guienne, Poitou, and Dauphiny, issued many regulations to pacify the country and restrain the license of the soldiery, who had assumed the administrations of several towns by turning out the magistrates and substituting drum-head justice for the regular courts of law. They appropriated the contents of the city chests, and the only limits to their extortions were the means of the citizens to pay. Many large towns had been half deserted by their inhabitants, who in despair had formed into volunteer partisan corps, which roamed over the country, making the roads unsafe, and plundering friend and foe alike. They were under a rude kind of military discipline, resembling in this as in other respects the brigand bands of modern Greece and Southern Italy. To remedy this great evil, Damville ordered the officers and soldiers to permit the exiles to return on condition that they gave up their arms, gentlemen and others having the privilege of wearing swords being excepted. Charles himself frequently complained that the provincial governors did not attempt to carry out the treaty of Longjumeau. On the 31st March he wrote to Condé regretting that the edict of toleration had not been observed as fully as he had desired, and declared it to be his wish that all his subjects, without respect of religion, should be protected alike. He grieved that justice was not so purely administered as it ought to be—a state of things he would remedy as far as possible.

If it should be urged that these are mere words, which cost the writer nothing, the same objection can hardly be made to the king’s letter to D’Humières of the 30th April, wherein he directed that those who had left their homes during the late troubles should not be hindered from returning and living in liberty according to the edict. There are also other letters extant proving the reality of this conciliatory feeling. Thus on 9th May, 1568, Charles wrote to the mayor of Tours, ordering the place of Reformed worship to be removed as far as possible from Tours, but to that extent sanctioning it.[411] There are several letters on the same subject from others, and in a considerate tone; but the most remarkable of all is one to the mayor from Francis of Bourbon, Duke of Montpensier, dated 15th June, 1568, and referring to the police arrangements in Tours for the approaching Fête Dieu: “Nevertheless, if you know that they are likely to be obstinate and refuse to obey, only so far as concerns the decorations of the streets and houses, and that it may cause offense and disturbance, there will be no harm in your tacitly making good their deficiencies, according to your means, without showing that one is more favored than another, with the assurance that you will be able to arrange matters so wisely that every thing may turn out to the honor and glory of God.”[412]

However unfavorable the treaty of Longjumeau may have been to the Huguenots, there can be no doubt of their desire to live in peace. They had won toleration at the point of the sword; by aiming at supremacy they would risk all they had gained. War could advantage them but little: in peace they might hope to extend the silent conquests of their religion. It is very questionable, however, if the great body of the Catholics, or their leaders, were equally desirous of a permanent cessation of hostilities. Peace might be fatal to the ambitious designs of the house of Lorraine; Condé and the admiral were formidable rivals to the cardinal and the Italian followers of the queen-mother. The treaty was the work of the moderate section of the royal council, to which Marshal Montmorency had given the influence of his name. It was drawn up by the Chancellor L’Hopital, another member of the same party, and supported by the bishops of Orleans and Limoges.[413] Their task had not been without difficulty, for the mere rumor of peace had called forth strong protests from the papal and Spanish embassadors, who almost threatened war if any arrangement were come to with the heretics; but the king is reported to have made a reply that quite startled them.[414] This is just what we should expect from Catherine, whose object all her life was to keep the Spaniard out of France. The Huguenots were the truly national party—the stout defenders of national independence. They were the first to assert the doctrine of non-intervention, although they did not act up to their theory. This was the link which connected them with the moderate section of the Catholic party. While their antagonists esteemed Guise and Philip II. and the pope far more than they did their king, the Huguenots were especially Frenchmen. They were loyal in the best sense of the word, as were the English Catholics, who, under a popish admiral, drove the Armada from the seas.

But the “politicians,” as they are usually called, were in advance of their age: the time for moderation had not yet come. The Cardinal of Lorraine still raised his voice for extermination, and the pride of both Catherine and Charles had been deeply wounded by the undignified flight from Meaux. Philip II., who dreaded to see France at peace, continued to intrigue with the most bigoted of the king’s advisers. Alva, too, reminded the queen-mother that it was “much better to have a kingdom ruined in preserving it for God and the king by war, than to have it kept entire without war, to the profit of the devil and his heretical followers.”[415] In addition to all this, the peace had made Catherine unpopular even among those of her own religion; both she and the king were most absurdly suspected of heresy, and, adds Claude Haton, “it is certain that they were the support and prop of the rebel Huguenots.” Speaking of the Lent Sermons in this year (1568) he says, that “the clergy from the pulpits taxed the king, his mother, and the council, with being by the said peace the cause of the entire ruin of the kingdom and of the Catholic religion.” This language was reported to their majesties, who immediately ordered the clergy to preach the Gospel, and not abuse their sovereign, under pain of the severest punishment. But if the preachers moderated their tone toward the king and the queen-mother, they became more violent in their attacks upon the Huguenots. From every pulpit fanatical monks hounded on their already too eager listeners to farther deeds of blood, not only by proclaiming that faith ought not to be kept with heretics, but that it was a meritorious act to slay them. The system of forced baptisms was continued, the rights of the individual being as little regarded under Charles IX. in 1568 as under Louis XIV. at the close of the following century. At Provins, a babe six weeks old was carried to the church and christened, the mother being taken thither in the custody of the police, and the father left in the hands of the soldiers until the ceremony was over. In the municipal archives of Tallard we read: “Paid six sols to a royal sergeant sent by the deputy bailiff of Gap to publish an order that the children who had been baptized in the new religion should be rebaptized in the Catholic religion.”[416] At Dieppe, the midwives were required to make a declaration within two hours of the birth of every Huguenot infant, who was taken away and christened publicly.

The petty annoyances and vexations to which the Reformed were subjected, were at times harder to bear than actual persecution. In the one case pride and conscience might make the severest torture endurable; in the other, there was all the consciousness of the martyr without a sufficient injury to awaken the sympathy of others. The annoyances inflicted by the municipal authority on the Huguenots of Provins must have been to many more intolerable than any amount of physical pain. They were forbidden to take lodgers, to assemble in any manner, or to leave their houses after 7 P.M. in the summer and 5 P.M. in the winter. They were not allowed to walk on the ramparts by night or by day, under pain of death; and they could not take a stroll into the country without the written pass of the officer of the gate.[417] At Amiens the privilege of keeping inns was taken from them; they were turned out of such of their houses as happened to be near the walls or the gates; they could not meet more than three together, and were liable to be hanged if found in the streets between seven at night and six in the morning.[418]

During this “peace which was no peace,” as La Noue says, more than 2000 Huguenots—surely an exaggerated number—were put to death at Amiens, Bourges, Rouen, and other places. The teaching of the clergy had produced the desired effect. Under the pretext of imaginary crimes, Sigognes, governor of Dieppe, arrested all whom he suspected, or drove them out of the town. The soldiers insulted the women as they went to their meetings; the men interfered to protect them; there was a riot, and the governor always sided with the ruffians. Open war seemed better than such insecurity. M. de Cypierre was murdered, with thirty-six of his companions and suite, as he was passing through Provence. Remonstrances and appeals for justice were vainly made to the government, which affected to be more powerless than it really was. Under these circumstances, it is no wonder that the Huguenots again took up those arms in self-defense which they had laid aside in accordance with the treaty; no wonder that in their fury they once more defiled the altars, destroyed the churches, and perpetrated a thousand retaliatory atrocities. Briquemaut, one of their leaders, cheered them on to murder, wearing a string of priests’ ears round his neck. On the other side, Louis de Bourbon, Duke of Montpensier, far surpassed all others in barbarity, even to the disgust of Charles himself, who was not over-nice in such matters. One punishment, which he was proud of inventing, is so foul and horrible that we dare not name it. Correro, the Venetian embassador, describes the whole population as in a state of fury.

Pope Pius V. actively supported the fanatical party in their opposition to the treaty of 1568, by letters of advice and pecuniary aid. On the 5th of July he wrote to the Duke of Nemours, congratulating him on being the first who, in the cities of Lyons and Grenoble, refused to observe the conditions of Longjumeau, “as fatal to the Catholic religion and derogatory to the king’s dignity.” “Would to God,” he continues, “that all the great ones of the kingdom and all governors of provinces would imitate your example.”[419]

Meanwhile, great changes had taken place in the royal council. By slow degrees the Italian party had recovered their supremacy, and were advocating the most violent measures. The Moderate party was listened to with impatience. “Even the king no longer dared give his opinion,” says L’Hopital, who felt it a duty to resign his office rather than countenance measures of which he disapproved. He was succeeded for a brief interval by Jean de Morvilliers.

In the middle of 1568 the foundations were laid of that formidable League which shook the throne and brought France to the brink of destruction. On the 25th June, “The Associates of the Christian and Royal League of the province of Champagne” met and took a solemn oath “to maintain the Catholic Church in France, and preserve the crown in the house of Valois, so long as it shall govern according to the Catholic and Apostolic religion.”[420] Seventy years later another famous league was signed “for the defense of religion,” which brought a king to the scaffold. Those who admire the Scottish Covenant should not find fault with a Romish league which brought two kings of France to a sudden and bloody end.

At Toulouse a somewhat similar league had been formed, and a proclamation issued against the followers of the new religion. In that singular document, which was founded on a bull issued by Pius V. in March, 1568, the Protestants are described as “atheists, men living without God, without faith, and without law.” Jesus Christ himself inspires all good Catholics with “the idea of assuming the cross, taking up arms, and preparing a war like Mattathias and the other Maccabees.” The faithful are reminded of the heretical Albigenses destroyed in that very district to the number of 60,000; and are exhorted to pursue with the same fervor these “new enemies of God,” and to show them no mercy. If the crusaders die in the expedition, “their blood will serve them as a second baptism, washing out all their sins; and they will go with the other martyrs straight to paradise.” The qualifications for taking up the cross in this holy war were “to confess their sins and arm themselves with the body and blood of our Lord;” but these arms were not thought sufficient. “If the capitouls [magistrates] will lend a few cannons, things will go on all the better. Resolved at Toulouse, 21st September, 1568. The above is done under the authority of our Holy Father the Pope.” Priests were to be the captains of this “holy army of faith,” and its motto was: Eamus nos; moriamur cum Christo.[421]

Immediately after the signing of the treaty of Longjumeau the Protestant army had been disbanded, and the reiters in their pay had returned to Germany, not without excesses on the road; but under various excuses the royal army, including the Swiss mercenaries and the Italian auxiliaries, was still kept on foot. The motive soon became apparent: the reactionary party meditated a bold stroke that should cripple, if not entirely crush, the Huguenot party. Condé, the admiral and other chiefs were to be seized, and of the fate intended for some of them there can be no doubt. Only two months earlier, Alva’s “blood council” had condemned Counts Egmont and Horn to a violent death. As early as May, all the bridges along the Loire were guarded. This may have been a mere matter of police in the disturbed state of the country; but the Huguenots very reasonably considered it as a means of controlling their movements and preventing their escape, if danger threatened them. Their leaders were widely separated; Andelot was in Brittany, La Rochefoucault in Angoulême, D’Acier in Languedoc, Bruniquet and Montglas in Gascony, Genlis and Mouy in Picardy, Montgomery in Normandy, the Admiral at Tanlay, and Condé at his castle of Noyers in Burgundy. These two places are so near that tradition speaks of a subterranean passage between them. Tanlay is placed in a secluded spot between Tonnerre and Montbard. On a splendid chimney-piece in the large hall may still be seen a head of Coligny in a plumed helmet, admirably carved in delicately tinted marble.[422]

The admiral had gone to this charming retreat, to consult with his brother to whom it belonged, and who had joined him there. The aspect of affairs was threatening. The news which they had received from their friends at court, as well as the frequent movements of troops to the Loire, were enough to fill them with suspicion. Attended by fifty horsemen, they rode over to Noyers, and while there an intercepted dispatch from Tavannes, the governor of the province, bade them in ambiguous but significant language look to their safety: “Le cerf est aux toiles, la chasse est préparée.” With all secrecy the Huguenot leaders prepared for flight, and though encumbered by women and children, succeeded in escaping to Rochelle (August, 1568). A ford near Sancerre had been left unguarded, and by it the fugitives were able to cross the Loire, and were protected from pursuit by a sudden rise of the waters.[423] “It touched the hearts of all men with sincere commiseration,” says Matthieu, “to witness the lamentable plight in which the first prince of the blood traveled. The heat of the weather was intense; the princess, being great with child, traveled in a litter; the prince had three little children in the cradle; besides which he was accompanied by the admiral and his family, by Andelot and his wife, there being altogether a great number of children and nurses. Their escort consisted of only 150 men.”

The enemy followed them so closely as to come in sight of the fugitives, but the swollen river lay between them. The Cardinal of Chatillon, at that time living quietly in his episcopal palace at Beauvais, received timely warning and escaped to England. Joan of Albret, Queen of Navarre, who was threatened in her own estates, also sought a refuge within those walls which already sheltered the Prince of Condé. She brought her son Henry with her, then a boy of 15, and a force of 4000 men, the nucleus of an army that soon swelled to more formidable dimensions than that which had been disbanded a few months before. The command was offered to Henry, but graciously refused by him in favor of his uncle Condé.

The position of the Huguenot chiefs was full of peril; but they saw clearly that they were standing in the breach of Protestantism, and fighting not merely their own battle but the battle of the Reformed religion in every country. In Flanders Alva was not only trampling out Protestantism with his iron heel, but usurping the rights of the Prince of Orange. This was a matter that touched Condé nearly, for he too was thought worthy of the hatred of “the Demon of the South.” All the nobility indeed were, more or less, affected by any attack on the rights of the princes of the blood; but the majority willfully shut their eyes against it. The meeting at Bayonne was bearing fruit. In February, 1568, the Spanish Inquisition solemnly condemned all the inhabitants of the Netherlands to death as heretics—a few persons only being excepted by name. Nor was this condemnation a mere idle form, for ten days later Philip II. issued a proclamation, ratifying the sentence and ordering it to be carried into instant execution without regard to sex, age, or condition. The eloquent historian of the Dutch republic has told us how the king was obeyed, and unveiled the perfidious designs of the Spanish cabinet. These were strongly suspected by the French Huguenots, who had not the opportunity we possess of reading the secret dispatches of Philip and his ministers. But Condé and Coligny knew quite enough to make them suspicious: they knew that if the Flemish Protestants were crushed, their turn would come next; and they not only prevented the French government from assisting Alva, but by their attitude made the King of Spain unwilling to send the reinforcements to the Low Countries, which Alva so much needed to complete his crusade. Had they done no more than this, they would have earned the eternal gratitude of all Protestantism. By paralyzing Alva at this moment the Reformed religion on the Continent was saved. We may even go farther, and say that our own liberties were dependent on this Huguenot movement. The French leaders had heard that the Protestant Queen of England was threatened, that a bill of excommunication was to be fulminated against her, that a hundred daggers were preparing to be plunged into her heart. Though Elizabeth never cordially helped the Huguenots, and with her lofty monarchical notions looked coldly on them and the Flemings as rebels, yet a common enemy and a common danger drew them together, and for a time smoothed away all differences. She forwarded to Rochelle six pieces of artillery with their ammunition, and a sum of 100,000 angelots (50,000l.) with a promise of more,[424] and permitted Henry Champernon,[425] a near kinsman of Sir Walter Raleigh, then only seventeen years old, to raise a troop of 100 gentlemen volunteers, with which he passed over into France. De Thou describes them as “a gallant company, nobly mounted and accoutred, having on their colors the motto: Finem det mihi virtus: Let valor decide the contest.” They fought at Jarnac and again at Moncontour, but beyond what Raleigh says himself, there is no trace of them in history.[426]

The fanatical party, not content with drawing the sword, threw away the scabbard. The great want of the court was money, and in July—the treaty of Longjumeau had only been signed in March—the queen-mother obtained a papal bull, permitting her (as we have seen) to alienate church property to the amount of a million and a half of francs, on condition that the money was employed in the extirpation of Huguenotry. It does not appear that any of the money was spent as Pius V. stipulated, and with a view to hide the misappropriation and satisfy the urgent demands of the pope, the king issued several edicts in September, 1568, completely annulling that of January, forbidding the public celebration of the Reformed worship under pain of death, and ordering the ministers to leave the kingdom within a fortnight. In this revocation of religious privileges it is easy to trace the influence of the more violent members of the privy council—the Cardinal of Lorraine and René de Biragues.

Henry of Anjou, a youth only fifteen years old, was once more placed at the head of the royal army, with Tavannes by his side to direct the military operations. Tavannes’s object was to confine the Protestants to Poitou and Saintonge, while the Huguenot plan was to march into Burgundy and meet the troops which the Prince of Orange was levying for their support. But the winter of 1568 passed away without any striking event, the Huguenot army losing 5000 men through illness and the inclemency of the season. The cold was so intense that the water in a caldron set before the fire was frozen at the back while boiling at the front. All the rivers were cartable, and wine became so solid in the casks that it was cut up and carried away in sacks.[427]

As soon as the weather broke, the two armies were once more in the field, and on the 13th March, 1569, came into collision at Jarnac on the banks of the Charente, between Angoulême and Cognac. There is still the same wide plain, under tillage, with a cluster of houses in one corner, that could easily be turned into a barricaded fort. It is near a little hill, at whose foot still flows the sluggish brook on whose banks the chief struggle occurred. The Huguenot force had been injudiciously divided, while that under Anjou had been reinforced by 2200 reiters commanded by the Rheingrave and Bassompierre. It was Anjou’s plan to prevent the junction of Condé’s forces, but he was disappointed in this by the prince’s sudden march to Niort, thence by St. Jean d’Angely to Cognac, and next day to Jarnac, where he met Andelot with the advanced guard of cavalry, supported by four guns. The following morning, Condé, accompanied by the admiral and his brother, advanced with all the cavalry to reconnoitre Anjou’s position, and had the audacity to offer battle. The king’s brother declined the offer and moved away in the direction of Cognac, where he was again met by Condé with the second division, the admiral being left with the first at Jarnac. The result of these marchings and counter-marchings was that the Huguenot cavalry was taken by surprise, when the infantry was so far off as to be quite unserviceable. Condé stood his ground manfully, but what could 1500 men do against a force twice as strong? He made desperate efforts to cut his way through the dense ranks of the enemy, though his leg had been broken by a kick from a horse ridden by one of his suite.[428] At last his horse fell, and he lay at the mercy of his foes. Being recognized by two gentlemen, he called to one of them: “Ho! D’Argence, my friend, save my life, and I will give you one hundred thousand crowns.” D’Argence promised, and raised the prince from the ground. Seeing the Duke of Anjou approach, Condé said: “There is Monseigneur’s troop; I am a dead man.” “No, my lord” replied D’Argence; “cover your face,” for he had taken off his helmet. At this moment up rode Montesquieu, captain of the duke’s Swiss guard, who, recognizing the prisoner, foully shot him in the back of the head. “Now I hope you are satisfied,” exclaimed the prince, and they were his last words.[429] It is supposed that orders had been given to spare none of the Huguenot leaders. The celebrated La Noue, who was made prisoner in this battle, owed his life to the intervention of the veteran Martigues, “the soldier without fear.” The Scotchman who had murdered the constable at the battle of St. Denis himself met with a similar end, while other prisoners like him were slain in cold blood. A little episode of this unequal fight shows the sterling stuff of which the Huguenot army was composed. When Condé was thrown from his horse, among those who made a living rampart of their bodies to protect him was an old man, Lavergne de Tressan by name, who, with twenty-five young men, his sons, grandsons, and nephews, fought desperately until he and fifteen of the heroic band were killed.

Condé’s body was treated with the utmost contumely. “We found him,” says the biographer of the Duke of Montpensier, “lying across an ass, and the Baron de Magnac asked me if I should know him again? But as he had one eye beaten out of his head, and was otherwise much disfigured, I knew not what to answer. The corpse was brought in before all the princes and lords, who ordered the face to be washed, and recognized him perfectly. They then put him into a sheet, and he was carried before a man on horseback to the castle of Jarnac, where the king’s brother went to lodge.” Thence the remains of the ill-fated prince were removed to the church, and afterward given up to his friends. La Noue, who knew Condé well, thus writes his epitaph: “In boldness or courtesy no man of his time excelled him. Of speech he was eloquent, rather by nature than by art. He was liberal and affable unto all men, and withal an excellent captain, although he loved peace. He bare himself better in adversity than in prosperity.” In 1818, a monument was raised to his memory on the field of Jarnac, with the inscription:

HIC
NEFANDA NECE OCCUBUIT
ANNO MDLXIX ÆTATIS XXXIX
LUDOVICUS BORBONIUS CONDÆUS,
QUI IN OMNIBUS BELLI PACISQUE ARTIBUS
NULLI SECUNDUS;
VIRTUTE, INGENIO, SOLERTIA
NATALIUM SPLENDOREM ÆQUAVIT;
VIR MELIORI EXITU DIGNUS.

Great was the exultation at court when the news of this brilliant success arrived,[430] and the nominal conqueror, Henry of Anjou, was extolled in language that would have been extravagant if applied to a Marlborough or Napoleon. He fought well, and had a horse killed under him; but Charles was not far wrong when he asked whether Tavannes and Biron were not the real heroes of the day? A solemn Te Deum was chanted for the victory at Jarnac, and the captured standards, twelve in number, were sent to Rome as a present to the pope. Pius V., who in earlier days had exercised the office of inquisitor-general in Lombardy with fanatical severity, wrote to congratulate the king on the victory, bidding him “be deaf to every prayer, to trample upon every tie of blood and affection, and to extirpate heresy down to its smallest fibres (etiam radicum fibras funditus evellere).” He pointed to the example of Saul slaying the Amalekites, and condemned every feeling of clemency as a temptation of Satan.[431] This was the same pope who, having sent military aid to the French Catholics, blamed their commander “for not obeying his orders to slay instantly every heretic that fell into his hands:”[432] and yet he would complain with all sincerity that “but for the support of prayer, the cares of the papacy would be more than he could endure.” Contemporary writers tell us that “he performed his religious duties most devoutly, frequently with tears;” and always rose from his knees with the conviction that his prayers had been heard. Such are the contradictions in the human heart!

When the news of the victory reached Provins, there was the usual holiday: the shops were closed, the houses decorated, and a general procession of clergy and laity, bearing relics and banners, marched through the crowded streets to the Jacobin’s convent to hear the Lent preacher. He was an apt pupil of the foul-mouthed Father Ivole. With thundering voice, and animated gestures, he declared the prince’s death to be a divine judgment, and described him as “the chief of robbers, murderers, thieves, rebels, Huguenots, and heretics in France; a prince degenerated from the virtues and religion of his ancestors, a man foresworn, guilty of treason against God and the king, a profaner of temples, a breaker of images, a destroyer of altars, a contemner of the sacraments, a disturber of the peace, a betrayer of his country, and a renegade Frenchman,” with many other flowers of monkish rhetoric, which the chronicler Haton forbears to quote.

Although the loss of the Prince of Condé was, considering his rank and influence, a great blow to the French Protestants, they comforted themselves by the thought that it was “rather an advancement than a hindrance to their affairs,” as Sir Walter Raleigh said, in consequence of his “over-confidence in his own courage.” Coligny naturally succeeded to the command of the Huguenot forces, which soon recovered from the disaster at Jarnac. While they were rallying and reorganizing at Niort, Joan of Albret suddenly appeared in their camp, bringing with her two youths of fifteen. One of them was her nephew Henry, son of the murdered prince; the other her own son, Henry of Bearn, destined after many struggles to become Henry IV. of France. Addressing the assembled captains in a tone well calculated to raise their drooping spirits, she said: “I offer you my son, who burns with a holy ardor to avenge the death of the prince we all regret. Behold also Condé’s son, now become my own child. He succeeds to his father’s name and glory. Heaven grant that they may both show themselves worthy of their ancestors!”

The Huguenot troops hailed the young Prince of Bearn with acclamations as their commander-in-chief, and the protector of their churches. The gallant boy welcomed the perilous commission, and coming forward exclaimed: “Soldiers, your cause is mine. I swear to defend our religion, and to persevere until death or victory[433] has restored us the liberty for which we fight.” In the “Memoirs of Nevers” there are some letters written two years before this by the principal magistrate of Bordeaux, containing several interesting particulars of the young prince’s person and manners:—“He is a charming youth. At thirteen he has all the riper qualities of eighteen or nineteen. He is agreeable, polite, obliging, and behaves to every one with an air so easy and engaging, that wherever he is, there is always a crowd. He mixes in conversation like a wise and prudent man, speaks always to the purpose, and when it happens that the court is the subject of discourse, it is easy to see that he is perfectly well acquainted with it, and never says more or less than he ought wherever he may be. I shall all my life hate the new religion for having robbed us of so worthy a subject.... His hair is a little red, yet the ladies think him not less agreeable on that account. His face is finely shaped, his nose neither too large nor too small, his eyes full of sweetness, his skin brown but clear, and his whole countenance animated with an uncommon vivacity.”[434]

The Huguenot loss at Jarnac was not great numerically—400 men at the utmost; and the various scattered corps were so soon brought together, and presented so bold a front to the enemy, that Anjou did not care to risk his newly-acquired laurels in a second encounter. He appeared to have lost all energy. Tavannes proposed the laying waste of Poitou, “the Huguenot milch cow;” but, instead of following his advice, the young duke seems to have thought that the best means of terminating the war would be to capture Rochelle, the real base of Huguenot operations. And probably victory would have crowned his plans, had he moved rapidly on that city, which was hardly in a condition to withstand a coup de main. But the middle course which he adopted served no other purpose than to strengthen his enemies. While he was besieging Cognac, Duke Wolfgang of Deux Ponts, with an auxiliary force of 14,000, succeeded in marching across France, and effecting a junction with the admiral, despite the efforts of Nemours and Aumale to stop him. On other points the royal forces had been equally unsuccessful. Anjou was forced to raise the siege of Cognac, stoutly defended by D’Acier with 1500 men, and lost one of his best officers, Cossé-Brissac, before the walls of a petty fortress in Périgord. Living or dying, Brissac, although rather a favorite of the queen-mother’s, had but little influence on the course of events; but if not naturally cruel, he was a striking illustration of the hardness of heart engendered by civil strife. A contemporary, who knew him well, describes him as “quick to slay, and so fond of killing, that he would attack a person with his dagger, and cut him so that the blood spurted in his face.”

More serious were the deaths of Wolfgang and Andelot, both caused by fatigue and anxiety.[435] The former, who did not live to meet Coligny, was succeeded by the Count of Mansfield; the latter by Jacques de Crussol, better known as Jacques d’Acier, the chivalrous leader of the southern Huguenots. The admiral was deeply afflicted by the loss of his brother, whom he describes as “a most faithful servant of God, and most excellent and renowned captain. No one,” he continues in a letter to his own children and to their bereaved cousins, “surpassed him in the profession of arms.... I have never known a juster or more pious man; and I pray God that I may quit this life as piously and happily as he did.... Temper my grief by showing his virtues living again in yourselves.”

Coligny, strengthened by the arrival of the German mercenaries and of reinforcements from Languedoc, now marched out to meet the royal army, still superior in numbers but weakened by disease and divided authority. They came in sight of each other at Roche-Abeille: 25,000 men marched under the Huguenot banners; Anjou’s force had been increased to 30,000 by auxiliaries from every quarter. The pope had sent a body of 4000 foot and 800 horse under the Count of Santa Fiore, one of the most experienced captains of the age. The Duke of Tuscany sent 2200 men; and Alva spared from Flanders 300 lances and a regiment of Walloons 3000 strong. The country round Roche-Abeille is woody and irregular, and the royal army was posted on the top of a rugged hill, at whose foot ran a small stream. A marsh, crossed by a narrow road, protected the Huguenot position. The king’s troops, having the city of Limoges in their rear, were well supplied with provisions; while Coligny found it difficult to feed his army in the mountains and barren country behind him. Should he starve, retreat, or fight? The only safety lay in fighting, for the Germans had already begun to murmur. At day-break the Huguenots were under arms, and with six cannons, two companies of horse, and two brigades of infantry, prepared to attack Anjou’s position. Strozzi, the new colonel-general of the French infantry, had thrown up some rude breastworks round his camp with an advanced battery for his artillery, which swept the marsh over which the enemy would have to pass. The gallant De Piles, who led the attack, was at first repulsed, and severely harassed by four ensigns of Italian horse, who came down the hill while he was engaged in trying to extricate his guns which had stuck fast in the ground. Disengaging himself from the marsh, he renewed the attack, and having driven off the Italian horse, Coligny ordered Anjou’s position to be assaulted in flank, while a fierce cannonade was directed against the advanced battery. An opening was soon made in the enemy’s line, through which the Huguenot cavalry poured like a torrent, and the day was won, Strozzi being made prisoner (23d June, 1569). Six hundred of the royal army, including thirty officers, were left upon the field, the Huguenots showing no mercy to the Italian troops, “the soldiers of Antichrist,” as they were called. The result would have been still more fatal had it not been for the skill displayed by Tavannes in remedying Anjou’s mistakes. But, notwithstanding his success, Coligny was compelled to retire to a more convenient position, and not long after the king’s army was broken up, the weather being too hot for field operations. Davila mentions that this resolution was agreed to by a council at which Catherine was present and advised moderation. “It is not usual,” she said, “to cut off a diseased limb, except in extreme necessity.”

Coligny had taken advantage of his success at Roche-Abeille to make overtures for peace. He wrote to the king that the Huguenots “desired nothing but to live in peace, pursue their avocations in quiet, and enjoy their property in security;” and that, in religious matters, they asked for toleration only until the assembling of a national council. The letter was sent through Montmorency, who was instructed to answer that “the king would hear nothing until the Huguenots had returned to their obedience.” The admiral saw clearly that to lay down their arms without conditions would be to expose themselves to certain destruction; he therefore replied to the marshal’s letter, that “having done their part to avert the dangers which threaten ruin to the state, they must now more than ever seek their own remedies.” Accordingly he resumed hostilities, his plan being to clear Poitou of the Royalist forces. Overruled by his officers, he consented to begin by attacking Poitiers, thus repeating the blunder which Anjou had committed before Cognac. The admiral not only failed after a two months’ siege, but his forebodings as to the damage to his own army were more than realized. With a force weakened by the loss of 3000 men and disunited by the quarrels of the German auxiliaries, he once more encountered Anjou’s army in the wide and treeless plain of Assay near Moncontour. The duke, who had been reinforced, was on his way to Loudun, hoping to cut off the Huguenot magazines, when Coligny, divining his plans, pushed forward to the plain of St. Clair, to the left of the village of La Chaussée, on the road from Loudun to Poitiers, where he drew up in order of battle; but as no enemy appeared, he retired toward Moncontour, whither he had sent his guns and baggage. Before this movement was completed, the Duke of Montpensier suddenly appeared and fell on the rear-guard, driving it in confusion before him. Coligny continued his march, supposing the whole of the royal army to be behind him; but when he discovered that it was only Montpensier’s division, he turned and drove it back, capturing two flags. This gave him the opportunity of crossing the Dive in safety, over which little stream the enemy made a vain attempt to pursue him. As soon as it was night he continued his march, and reached Moncontour on the 2d October, where a council of war was held, at which Coligny proposed a farther retreat to Airvault, but the majority decided for immediate battle. The Germans now declared they would not lift a lance until they were paid, and with some difficulty the money was found; but so much precious time had been lost, that the admiral was unable to select an advantageous position to compensate for his inferiority in number.

From eight in the morning until three in the afternoon (3d October, 1569), the two armies kept up a fierce cannonade upon each other, two of Anjou’s batteries on a hill causing great damage, and finally compelling some Huguenot regiments to shift their ground. Anjou observing this, ordered a forward movement, with the right wing strengthened so as to turn the enemy’s left. At the first shock both wings gave way. Coligny rallied them, and by a vigorous onset beat back Anjou’s first line. The duke immediately brought up his second line, and the Huguenot centre began to waver, when Anjou’s German cavalry rode down upon them like a hurricane, and in half an hour all was over. The Huguenots went into battle 18,000 strong, and before night it was a difficult matter to collect 1000 men to cover the retreat of the two princes to Parthenay. There was little mercy shown by the conquerors.[436] A brigade of German lansquenets laid down their arms and begged for quarter, which was refused, with shouts of “Remember Roche-Abeille.” A body of French infantry met with a similar fate. One incident of the battle deserves to be rescued from the dusty oblivion of the old histories. When all was in confusion, the Count of St. Cyr, a veteran soldier of eighty-five, whose snow-white beard flowed down to his waist, contrived to rally three companies of cavalry with which he attempted to cover the retreat. His chaplain, who rode by his side, suggested that he should say a few words to encourage his little troop. “Brave men need few words,” he cried; “do as you see me do.” Then setting spurs to his horse, he rode a score or so of yards in front of his men, and fell, struggling to the last against the advancing enemy. Two hundred colors were taken, and “the slaughter was greater than any for these hundred years past.”[437] The number of Huguenots alone who were left upon the field has been estimated at little less than 6000. The retreat was covered by Count Louis of Nassau,[438] who by his ability saved the relics of the broken and fugitive army. “I was an eye-witness of it,” says Raleigh, who had good reason to thank him for it.[439]

The position of the admiral was most discouraging: he had lost half his army, his jaw had been fractured by a pistol-shot, he had been declared a traitor, a price of 50,000 livres had been set upon his head, he had been hanged in effigy in Paris, his house had been burned down, and his estates pillaged,[440] the wreck of his forces were in mutiny, and many of his friends had forsaken him with reproaches. Yet, in the midst of all these troubles, we find him within a fortnight rising from his sick-bed and writing the following letter to his children. It bears date 16th October, 1569:—“We must not count upon what is called prosperity, or repose our hopes on any of those things in which the world confides, but seek for something better than our eyes can see or our hands can touch. We will follow in the steps of Jesus Christ, our great commander, who has gone before. Men have taken from us all they can, and as such is the good pleasure of God, we will be satisfied and happy. Our consolation is, that we have not provoked these injuries by doing any wrong to those who have injured us; but that I have drawn upon me their hatred through having been employed by God in the defense of his Church. I will, therefore, add nothing more, except that, in his name, I admonish and conjure you to persevere undauntedly in your studies and in the practice of every Christian virtue.”

When the news of the great victory reached the court, the exultation surpassed even that caused by the success at Jarnac. Anjou was extolled in terms that excited the jealousy of his brother Charles. “Am I to play the sluggard king,” he said one day to his mother, “and let the duke be my mayor of the palace? I will lead my own armies to the field, like my grandfather.” Pius V. wrote to congratulate Charles on his victory, and exhorted him not to screen the conquered from the vengeance of heaven, “for there is nothing more cruel than such mercy. Punish all who have taken up arms against the Almighty.”[441] Philip II. wrote in a somewhat similar strain, but apparently with no effect upon the royal councils. Tavannes once more urged Anjou to act with decision; but once more that frivolous youth lost valuable time in sieges, when he should have been pressing hard upon Coligny’s scattered and disheartened forces. He was detained for two months before St. Jean d’Angely, a little town of Saintonge, in a valley on the banks of the Boutonne, a tributary of the “gently flowing Charente.” It fell at last (2d December, 1569), but at the cost of 4000 men and one of the king’s best generals, Viscount Martigues. Charles was present during the siege, and constantly in the trenches, exposing his life, as if he were a common soldier. He was so fascinated with the excitement of war, that he declared he would gladly share the crown with his brother of Anjou, if he might alternately command the forces.

Winter was now coming on: the nights were growing cold, and the rains had set in. The pope and the King of Spain had recalled their troops, and Anjou was sick. As there was nothing more to be done until spring, Charles, dismissing a large portion of his army, retired to Angers. This town had been recovered some time before by “that savage butcher,” the Duke of Montpensier. The Catholic historian of the city enumerates fifty-two persons who suffered a violent death, ten of them being murdered by the mob. The whole province now submitted, with the exception of a rough old soldier named Desmarais, who held out in the ruined castle of Rochefort. Here he was besieged in form, and for a time he kept off the enemy by means of frequent sorties. Suffering from want of men, food, and gunpowder, he crossed the hostile lines and reached Saumur, where his friends would have detained him, as his defeat was certain. “I promised to go back and die with them,” he said, and prepared to return with thirty men, who all deserted him through fear. After a bombardment, in which every man of the garrison was wounded, a traitor opened the gate and all were murdered, except Desmarais, whose life was promised him. Montpensier, however, declaring that no faith was to be kept with heretics, dragged him to Angers. There his limbs were broken on a cross, after which he was fastened to a wheel, and for twelve hours the old Puritan fought against death, amid the insults and jeers of a cruel and cowardly mob.

Immediately after the disaster at Moncontour, the Queen of Navarre, and the chiefs of the Huguenot party had written to their friends in England, Germany, and Switzerland, representing the defeat as far less decisive than it really was, and asking for more help, on the ground that their destruction would be the ruin of all the countries that had embraced the Reformed religion. The position was indeed desperate. Their army had been so cut up that it was alike impossible to make any resistance in the open field, or reorganize it in the presence of the enemy. It was therefore determined to retire from the open country and take shelter behind the walls of Niort, Angoulême, St. Jean d’Angely, and La Rochelle, while Coligny moved southward in quest of recruits, hoping at the same time to draw a portion of the royal army after him, and thus relieve the pressure upon the troops left in garrison behind him. And now began that celebrated march through France, almost unexampled in modern history. His aim was to reach the mountains of Upper Languedoc, where he could winter unmolested by the royal army, and recruit his forces.

Starting from Saintes with 3000 men, chiefly cavalry, and unencumbered with baggage, he crossed the Dordogne, and pushing through Guienne, Rouergue and Quercy, he passed the Lot below Cadenac. Halting for two days at Montauban, he was there joined by Montgomery and 2000 veterans from Bearn. This nobleman had been engaged in putting down an insurrection of the Catholics in that province, which he did with savage harshness. Orthez was stormed, and so many of the inhabitants were put to death without distinction of age or sex, that the river Gave was dammed up by the number of bodies thrown into it. The monasteries and nunneries were burned, not one inmate escaping—the total slaughter being estimated at 3000. When the citadel was taken, every ecclesiastic who was proved to have borne arms—and the proof was none of the strictest—was bound hand and foot, and tossed over the bridge into the river. From Montauban Coligny marched up the Garonne to Toulouse, where he avenged the cruelties that had been inflicted on Rapin, the bearer of the king’s dispatch announcing the peace of 1568. Advancing still nearer to the Mediterranean, he placed his army in winter-quarters round Narbonne.

Let us take advantage of this interval of repose to see what had been doing in other parts of France. A certain Captain Blosset, who held a small castle at Regeane in the diocese of Auxerre, was besieged by the Catholics of the neighborhood and forced to surrender. He contrived to make his escape, but all the garrison were cruelly murdered. One of these, Cœur de Roy by name, was taken to Auxerre, stripped, killed, and cut in pieces. His heart was torn out of his body, and slices of it were offered for sale. Some were such brutes (says the historian) as to set them on the fire and eat them half-roasted. “And these are the pious Christian duties,” he adds, “which we are taught by these troubles!” This was in June: in August (1569) the houses in which 200 Huguenots had been shut up at Orleans were set on fire by the mob, who drove back such as endeavored to escape from the flames. “A part of them,” says a contemporary, “were seen clasping their hands in the fire and calling upon the name of the Lord.” Some jumped out of the windows and were immediately “bludgeoned” by the people in the street. Others were shot like game. Some women also were killed, who, heedless of the sacking of their houses, were lamenting the deaths of their husbands, brothers, and others, whom they saw so pitilessly burned. It is pleasanter to read of Marie de Barbançon, a widow lady, who gave an asylum in her castle of Bonegon to the fugitive Protestants. The little fortress, which was defended by 50 men only, was attacked by a force of 3000 horse and foot provided with artillery. They battered the walls for fifteen days, but the brave woman still held out, and would not surrender until all of her little garrison were killed or wounded.[442] Nismes was captured in a singular manner. A Huguenot inhabitant of the city, by the patient labor of fifteen nights, filed away the bar of an iron gate which ran across a brook, and through the opening twenty of the banished citizens re-entered the place and made themselves masters of it in a few minutes.

At Cognat, near Gannat, the Calvinists of Auvergne, under the command of Poncenac and Valbeleix, gained a pitched battle over the Catholics, in whose ranks the Bishop of Le Puy, armed in helmet and cuirass, fought like Orson with a ponderous club. At Dieppe the Huguenots were commanded to leave the town or go to mass, and all refugees were summoned to return under pain of having their property confiscated. Not one obeyed the order. No Catholic was allowed to keep a Huguenot servant; and all resistance was punished by the strappado, or by a penitential progress through the city, which sometimes ended in a flogging in the market-place, more frequently in a hanging. But violence was not confined to one side only. The Protestants of the neighborhood of Aurillac surprised that city, which in retaliation for the brutalities committed in 1562 they sacked and destroyed. They buried some Catholics alive up to the chin, and after a series of filthy outrages, used their heads as targets for their muskets.[443] Four hundred persons were put to death, of whom 130 were heads of families.

Early in the spring the Huguenot army moved northward, and halting at Nismes, which they reached in April, Coligny laid before them the plan of his new campaign. He proposed marching up the Rhone, and through Burgundy, so as to threaten Paris on the east, while the royal armies were occupied in the west, and separated from him by rugged mountain ranges. The boldness of the design startled the southern Protestants, who refused to be taken so far from their homes; but about 5000 men agreed to follow him, of whom 3000 were arquebusiers, whom he mounted on horseback.[444] With this flying camp he advanced to the Rhone, and sending a detachment up the right bank to seek recruits in the Vivarrais and the Cevennes, he crossed with the remainder into Dauphiny, where Gordes was too weak to make effectual resistance. Continual skirmishes, and petty sieges harassed, but did not interrupt, Coligny’s progress; but the army suffered such great hardships, that his illness, which compelled them to halt on St. Etienne in Forez, was considered as any thing but a calamity. For some time he lay between life and death, and his soldiers now first learned his value from their fear of losing him. During three weeks the troops remained inactive; a precious time which they employed in repairing some of the damage they had suffered during their long march, and where they received a most welcome reinforcement of 1500 cavalry under Briquemault.

Here, too, they were joined by the corps detached to the Vivarrais. They had to make their painful way over rugged crests and along horrible precipices, “the image of a world falling into ruin and perishing of old age.”[445] Nothing grows on the stony flanks of these exhausted craters but chestnut-trees, whose coarse fruit was not then ripe.[446] In the higher passes the snow lay deep, as it frequently does far into summer, and horse and rider often missed the way and were seen no more. Few towns or even villages are to be found even now in these wild districts, and the peasantry fare hard upon the scanty supply of their flocks of sheep and goats. From gloomy gorges, many of which are aptly named Enfer or Diable, where black precipitous rocks almost exclude the day, and through which dash impetuous torrents, often dry in summer, and in winter impassable—from these gorges the army suddenly emerged into a smiling valley, now the scene of a most thriving industry!

As soon as Coligny had recovered his strength, the army was once more put in motion, and in June reached Arnay-le-Duc in Burgundy, after a march of nearly 1200 miles. Here Marshal Cossé attempted to stop him with an army of 12,000 foot and 4000 horse with artillery, while the Huguenot force barely exceeded 6000 men, mostly cavalry and no guns, so great had been the losses since they left Poitou the previous autumn. The battle began on the edge of a little brook which the Catholics attempted to cross; but all their attacks, whether in front or in flank, were unsuccessful. Throughout that long summer day (27th June, 1570), Cossé tried again and again, but every movement was met promptly and resisted vigorously. At length night came—a welcome relief to the petty band of Huguenots, whose losses, though numerically small, were greater than Coligny could afford. The next day the two armies remained face to face, the marshal being evidently afraid of so desperate an enemy. “Here,” says Prince Henry, “was my first exploit in arms,[447] the question being whether I should fight or retire. My nearest place of retreat was forty miles distant, and, if I halted, I must certainly lie at the mercy of the country people. By fighting, I ran the risk of being taken or slain, for I had no cannon, and the king’s forces had, and a gentleman was killed not ten paces distant from me by a cannon shot. But commending the success of the day to God, it pleased him to make it favorable and happy.”[448] Coligny warmly complimented the young prince on his courage, and gave him some advice which he did not forget in after years: “Do not ask how many have fallen? They are Frenchmen, and I hope that ere long you and I will have to shed no more French blood in our own defense.... If I have taught you by my firmness to triumph over the cruelest obstacles, you have still to learn a more valuable lesson from me—to avoid civil war at any price.”

Arnay le Duc is only sixty leagues from Paris, toward which Coligny was advancing with a speed which the defeated and encumbered army of Marshal Cossé could not overtake, even if he were anxious (which is doubtful) to do so. A fresh body of auxiliaries was on its way from Germany to reinforce Prince Henry; La Noue had not only saved Rochelle, but recovered the greater part of Poitou; and the admiral had reached Chatillon-sur-Loing, his patrimonial seat.[449] This was enough to alarm the court and turn their thoughts to peace. After the battle at La Roche-Abeille there had been an attempt at arrangement, and also after Moncontour, but in both cases the language of the king and council was very discouraging. At this juncture, however, the Moderate party had recovered their ascendancy in the cabinet: “Five out of the eight were atheists or Huguenots,” says the Spanish embassador.[450] Yielding to their influence, the king and his mother were inclined to be conciliatory, and to grant any reasonable terms; for the treasury was empty, and the Swiss auxiliaries were threatening to return home unless their arrears were paid. Nor were the Huguenots much better off. Their army had received no pay for some time, their arms and equipments were worn out, and they were far from their resources. La Noue tells us that the prospect of a cessation of hostilities was not popular with the extreme party on either side: the Catholics declaring it to be “an unworthy deed to make peace with heretics, who deserved grievous punishment; the Huguenots deeming it to be nothing but treason.” Coligny himself appears to have held back at first, thinking probably that no good could come from the negotiations; but his feelings on the matter may be gathered from the faithful La Noue, who reports that after the peace was signed he exclaimed: “I would rather die than fall into the like confusions again, and see so many mischiefs committed before my face.”

After some preliminary discussion, five negotiators were appointed—Teligny, Beauvais, La Nocle, Cavaignes, and La Chassetière—by whom the conditions of a treaty were soon arranged and presented for the ratification of the king and the confederate princes. Once more the papal nuncio and the Spanish embassador exerted all their influence to prolong the war, even threatening Charles with their master’s displeasure. But the French king, who had set his mind upon peace, would listen to nothing, and the treaty was signed at St. Germains in August, 1570. It conceded a full amnesty for the past, all prisoners of war were to be released, and all confiscated property restored; the appropriated churches were to be given back to the Catholic priests; no one was to be troubled on account of his religion; and the right of public worship was conceded to the Reformed under certain restrictions. Huguenots were to enjoy equal rights with the Catholics, and be eligible to every office in the State. The right of appeal from the provincial parliaments was extended, and—galling condition!—four cities (La Rochelle, Montauban, Cognac, and La Charité) were to be held for two years by Huguenot garrisons as pledges for the fulfillment of the treaty stipulations.

Immediately after the signing of the treaty, the Huguenots disbanded their army; the German auxiliaries were paid off by a levy on the Protestant churches; and the leaders proceeded to La Rochelle, where Joan of Navarre was holding a little court. The royal army was marched to various garrison towns and then partly disbanded. On their route northward, an incident occurred which shows how little regard was felt for human life: nothing hardens the heart more than civil war. When Strozzi had to cross the Loire, he found his march so embarrassed by the number of female camp-followers, who would not obey the proclamations to leave the army, that he threw more than 800 of them into the Loire at Pont de Cé above Angers.[451]

The color given to the next two years of the reign of Charles IX. depends much upon the view we take of the Peace of St. Germains. Was the court sincere, or only playing a part to entice the Huguenots into a trap, and so get rid of them at one blow? This is the opinion of many, and particularly of Davila, who says positively that the peace was a snare.[452] But he is occasionally too subtle: he belongs to that class of historians who think that kings and statesmen regulate their policy by grand schemes of far-sighted calculation, instead of living, as it were, from hand to mouth. The imprévu, to use an apt French word, plays a much more important part in human affairs than some historians are willing to believe. The Treaty of St. Germains—and we have Walsingham’s express testimony to that effect[453]—was the work of the Politicians, all good Catholics, like Cossé, Damville, and Montmorency. Walsingham adds that the king had sharply rebuked the mutinous Parisians, and told them that he meant to have the treaty “duly observed.” He farther explains why Charles should have desired peace: “His own disposition, necessity, pleasure, misliking with certain of his council and favoring of others.” Walsingham already saw the small cloud rising that would soon overshadow France: “Monsieur (Anjou) can hardly digest to live in the degree of a subject, having already the reputation of a king.”[454]

Languet’s testimony is equally decisive as to the pacific disposition of Charles IX.[455] Contarini speaks doubtfully about the treaty, although he says “peace was the aim and desire of the king and queen.”[456] Indeed it was not Catherine’s policy to crush the Huguenots utterly: she needed them as a counterpoise to the Guises, who, though at this time rather out of favor at court, were, perhaps, all the more popular among the fanatic masses.

It must be farther borne in mind that, at this turning-point of Catherine’s policy, not only the pope was not consulted, but the court, in making peace, acted in direct opposition to his representations. In January, Pius V. strongly advised a continuance of the war,[457] and when he heard of the treaty of St. Germains, he wrote to the Cardinals of Lorraine and Bourbon, expressing his “fears that God would inflict a judgment on the king and all who counseled and took part in the infamous negotiations. We can not refrain from tears as we think how deplorable the peace is to all good men; how full of danger, and what a source of bitter regret.”

It would have been very easy to quiet the holy father by telling him that the treaty was a snare; but nothing of the kind was done; and, on the contrary, the king and his mother both represented to him the necessity of peace. Pius replied in angry tones, and the court made answer that the king was master in his own dominions to do as he pleased. In a somewhat similar manner, Spain tried to thwart the negotiations; Philip II. even offered to send Charles a force of 3000 horse and 6000 foot, provided he would engage never to make peace with the heretic rebels. But this attempt to prolong the war also failed, and we learn from Walsingham’s dispatches that a great coolness sprang up between the two courts.

There is a letter written on the 10th December, four months after the signature of the treaty, which shows very plainly the feeling of the government. The clergy of Tours had complained of the licensed Protestant meeting-place at Maillé, and petitioned that it should be removed to Montdoubleau or elsewhere. Charles replied that he would willingly grant their prayer, could he do so without contravening the Edict, which he was determined “to keep and observe inviolably;” but he promised to consult with Navarre and Condé on the matter, and if possible, with their consent, the change should be made.[458] Two months later (13th February, 1571), Charles writes to Humières, governor of Peronne and an old friend, expressing his satisfaction at the peaceful state of the country and his intention to reduce the army.[459]

In the Archives of Gap there is a letter from the king to the baillis, in which he rejoices at the prosperous state of the kingdom and good conduct of the people; testifies the liveliest desire to consolidate union and concord between all his subjects, and recommends them “de tenir la main à l’exécution exacte de son édit de pacification, et de punir ceux qui y contreviendraient” (4th May, 1572). Charles was proud of the treaty of St. Germains, spoke of it as his own treaty and his own peace, artfully insinuating (adds Sully, a prejudiced witness) that he consented to this peace in order to support the princes of the blood against the overweening presumption of the Guises, whom he accused of conspiring with Spain to throw the kingdom into confusion. The Guises certainly had nothing to do with the treaty. They opposed it instead of supporting it; a course they would hardly have adopted had they been aware that it was a trap for the Huguenots. The Cardinal of Lorraine even wished to leave the court, so strongly did he disapprove of the negotiations. Fornier indeed, in his unpublished history of the house of Guise, says that it was the cardinal who proposed “ce grand coup d’état”—the peace and the massacre—and that it was approved of by the king in a council to which the queen-mother, Anjou, the Duke of Guise, and De Retz, “tous gens d’un secret inviolable,” were summoned;[460] but the duke was not in favor at the time, and the statement is entirely unsupported. It is also positive that Anjou greatly disapproved of the negotiations.

But it is contended that all these things were part of the plot—Anjou’s dislike, the duke’s absence, the king’s zeal. It may be so; but this hypothesis involves us in greater difficulties than the other. If we assume that the government was sincere, every thing becomes clear for the next two years; if we adopt the contrary opinion, the course of events up to the eve of the massacre is an inextricable maze. True, it is impossible to say whether Catherine accepted the treaty without any arrière-pensée, any mental reservation; for she accepted every thing, and was sincere in nothing except her master-passion—to govern France. For this, she not only played one party against the other, but habitually dallied with opposing schemes, intriguing now on this side, now on that, deceiving and betraying all. The most serious objection to the sincerity of the government is the shyness, the unwillingness of the Reformed chiefs to go to court, or even to visit their own estates. But then, if they suspected treachery, why did they consent to the treaty of St. Germains, or to any treaty, thus preparing a snare for themselves? Better die in the field struggling for liberty, than perish ingloriously like rats in a trap. Sully, in a measure, clears away the doubt just raised. In his “Royal Economies” he says: “With a view of giving a more solid foundation and consistency to their affairs, they resolved to take up their residence permanently at La Rochelle, within the walls of which they could alone consider themselves in security.”