Antoine de Bourbon, the head of his race, had espoused Jeanne d’Albret, who had conferred upon him the title of king of Navarre, without giving him the kingdom. He was an irresolute, indolent prince; and, timid by character, though occasionally courageous, he floated between the two doctrines, sometimes causing the Reformed faith to be preached in Béarn, Saintonge, and Poitou, and going to sing psalms at the Pré-aux-Clercs, in 1558, in spite of the shouts of the Sorbonne; sometimes returning towards the (Roman) Catholic religion and persecuting the faithful. The first and last passion of his life was to recover the kingdom of Navarre, or equivalent domains. He died without succeeding, and this long dream only begat for him the mockery and desertion of every one.
His brother, the prince Louis de Condé, had a more penetrating genius and a more masculine character. Witty, merry, sometimes trifling, but intrepid above all, and loved by the soldiery, he valiantly defended the cause of the Reformers, without ever inspiring them with full confidence. Instructed in the new opinions by his wife and his stepmother, he showed more ambition than religion, and the looseness of his manners has always left a doubt upon the sincerity of his faith.
It may be asked whether the Bourbons, Henry IV. included, did not damage more than profit the French Reformation. They launched it into politics, drove it into the battle-field, dragged it into their particular quarrels; and then, when it had gained them the crown, they denied it.
Another family, less high in rank, but more eminent for its virtues,—that of the Châtillons, served the cause with more fidelity. It consisted of three brothers: Odet de Châtillon, François d’Andelot, and Gaspard de Coligny. Their mother, Louise de Montmorency, sister of the Constable, leaned to the Reformation. She was virtuous, in those times of license, a rare example of chastity. In her dying moments she refused the presence of a priest, saying that God had given her the grace of fearing and loving Him.
François d’Andelot, the youngest of the three brothers, was the first to declare himself frankly for the new religion. Made prisoner in the wars of Italy, and detained in the castle of Milan, he had received some pious books from the hands of Rénée de France. Sent afterwards to Scotland, he had the opportunity of studying more closely the doctrine and practices of the Reformation. He was a brave and loyal knight, without fear or reproach, the worthy successor of Bayard.
Going to Brittany, where the property of his house was situated, he took with him a pastor who preached from town to town, with open doors: an unheard-of thing in 1558. Henry II. reproached him sharply for it. “Sire,” answered D’Andelot, “you must not think it strange that, after doing my duty in your service, I employ the rest of my time for the safety of my soul. Wherefore I supplicate you to leave my conscience safe, and to keep for your service my body and my goods, which are entirely yours.” “But I did not give you that order,” said the king, pointing to the collar about his neck, “to use it thus. You have promised and sworn to go to mass and to follow your religion.” “I did not then know,” replied the knight in his integrity, “what it was to be a Christian, and I would not have accepted it on that condition, had God touched my heart as He has since.”
The king, who could contain himself no longer, threw across the table his plate, which struck the dauphin, and he would have pierced D’Andelot with his sword. He had him imprisoned, and took away from him his commission of colonel-general of the infantry, which was given to Blaise de Montluc.
This matter made a great noise. Calvin wrote to the prisoner to felicitate him on his courage, and Pope Paul IV. was indignant that the offender had not been led straight to execution. The ambassador of France represented to him in vain that it was out of the question to treat a Châtillon in this way, the nephew of the Constable, the brother of the Admiral. The intractable pontiff exclaimed, “A heretic never repents; it is an evil for which there is no remedy but the fire.”
Relations and friends intervened; D’Andelot consented to allow a mass to be said in the chamber of his prison, but without taking any part in it, and he was set at liberty.
Gaspard de Coligny, the greatest layman of the French Reformation, will detain us longer. We shall endeavour above all to describe the religious side of his character, and the details of private life neglected by other historians.