Unfortunately, Tanquerel's treasonable thesis and Hans's excited declamation were not mere harmless speculations which might never be of any practical importance to the state. The King of Spain had taken the pains to inform the queen mother that he had fully made up his mind to interfere in the affairs of France, and to enforce Catholic supremacy at the point of the sword. She might accept or decline the offers of the self-appointed champion of orthodoxy; but, if she declined, he was resolved none the less to afford his succor to any true friend of the Church that chose to request it. Timid and irresolute Catharine, who desired to steer clear of the Scylla of Spanish intervention quite as much as of the Charybdis of Huguenot supremacy, trembled for the security of her unballasted bark. But the watchful old man who sat on St. Peter's reputed seat was thrown into a paroxysm of delight. When the Ambassador Vargas handed him a copy of the message his master had sent to St. Germain, Pope Pius paused a moment, after he had read the undisguised threat, then burst out with a flood of benedictions on the head of the Spanish king. "There," he cried, "is a truly Catholic prince, there a true defender of the faith! I expected no less of him."[1240] And Philip intended to carry his menaces into effect. On the twenty-fifth of October his secretary, Courteville, left Madrid, ostensibly on a visit to his infirm father in Flanders, but in reality intrusted with a very important commission, which, in an age when it was no uncommon thing for a messenger to be waylaid and robbed of his despatches, could scarcely be otherwise discharged. He was to make diligent inquiries of Margaret of Parma, Regent of the Netherlands, as to the actual condition of the provinces, and the material support they could give the undertaking upon which Philip has set his heart. While passing through Paris he was to confide his dangerous secret to the Ambassador Chantonnay, and instruct him to support any of the Roman Catholic nobles that might show a disposition to rise,[1241] or to instigate them to action by the promise of Philip's support. Neither Margaret nor Chantonnay, however, could fulfil the monarch's desires. The former thought that Philip had thrown away the golden opportunity by failing to interfere while the question of Catharine's and Navarre's claims to the administration was in dispute, and when the number of sectaries was much smaller than at present; and by the time Courteville reached Poissy, where Chantonnay was stopping, the assembled nobles had dispersed to their homes, and the Guises were practically farther from Paris than from Brussels. So the execution of Philip's plan, both agreed, must be deferred for some time.[1242]
The ill-starred Medici family.
The Venetian envoy's lugubrious account of France.
It could not be denied that the situation was critical in the extreme. Long-headed diplomatists of the conservative school shook their heads ominously. They hinted that there might be only too much truth in the current Catholic saying that the Medici family was destined to be fatal to Christendom. Under Leo the Tenth Germany was lost to the papacy, under Clement the Eighth England had apostatized, and now under Pius the Fourth, a third Pope of the same ill-starred race, France was on the brink of ruin. The king was a boy, without experience and without authority, the council full of discord, the supreme power in the hands of the queen, who, though sagacious, was yet only a woman, and both timid and irresolute. The King of Navarre, while noble and gracious, was a prince of little constancy and limited practice in government. The people were in disorder and manifest division. Everywhere there were seditious and insolent men, who, under the pretext of religion, had disturbed the general peace, overturned customs and discipline, and put in doubt the royal authority and the safety of all. Oh, that Philip the Second had the courage of his father, or that Charles the Fifth had had his son's glorious opportunity—then would France be France no longer![1243] For just so certainly as the Spanish king was looked upon with suspicion by the rulers, was he longed for by all that hated the present state of things, and, most of all, by the prelates and the rest of the Catholics, who knew not in what other quarter to look for salvation.[1244]
Romish complaints of Huguenot boldness.
It was not possible that peace should long be maintained under such circumstances. It could not be but that the Huguenots, conscious of their growing numbers, confident of the near approach of the day when their rights were to be formally recognized, and impatient of the fetters with which their enemies still attempted to embarrass their progress, would assert their rights from day to day with increasing boldness. The priests and the rabble, on the other hand, regarded this new courage with suspicion, and interpreted every action as springing from insufferable insolence. They were on the watch to detect fresh examples of Huguenot audacity. They complained of the numbers that flocked to hear the reformed preachers, of the arms which some carried for self-defence—a precaution not very astonishing in view of the excited feelings of the Parisians and the frequent outbursts of their fury, and still less extraordinary on the part of the "noblesse," who were accustomed to wear a sword at all times. They went so far as to assert that the Huguenot multitude usurped the entire pavement, and were become so overbearing that they were ready to pick a quarrel with any one that presumed "to look at them." A peaceable Catholic must needs, to avoid abuse and hard blows, show more skill in getting out of their way than he would in shunning a mad dog. The streets resounded with their profane psalm-singing, and ill fared it with the unlucky wight that ventured to remonstrate, or dared to find fault with their provoking use of meat on the prohibited days. He was likely to have a broken head for his pains, or be shut up in prison by judges who sympathized with the "new doctrines."[1245] The court, however, more correctly ascribing the disturbances that occurred on such occasions to the attacks made upon the Protestants by their opponents, detached the "chevalier du guet" and his archers to attend the meetings and to prevent the disturbance of the worshippers on their way to and from the places assigned for the Protestant services in the suburbs.
The "tumult of Saint Médard."
At length, on Saturday, the twenty-seventh of December, a serious commotion took place. One of the two spots where Catharine, at the chancellor's suggestion, had permitted the Huguenots of the capital to meet for worship, was a spacious building on the southern side of the Seine, outside the walls and not far from the gate of St. Marceau. It bore the enigmatical designation of "Le Patriarche," derived—so antiquarians alleged—from the circumstance that it had been built long before by a patriarch of Alexandria expelled from his see by the Moslems.[1246] Here a congregation of several thousand persons[1247] had assembled in the afternoon. The introductory services over, the pastor, Jean Malot, had been preaching for a quarter of an hour, when his sermon was noisily interrupted. Separated from the "Patriarche" by a narrow lane stood the parish church of Saint Médard. Under the pretext of summoning the people to vespers, the priests had ordered all the bells in the tower to be rung violently, and hoped by the din to put an end to the heretical worship in the vicinity. Finding it impossible to make himself heard, the minister endeavored to restrain his excited audience, and after the singing of a psalm resumed his discourse. It was all in vain: St. Médard's bells pealed out the tocsin, and the sound of the discharge of fire-arms, and the crash of stones hurled from the belfry, increased the confusion. Meanwhile two Protestants had quietly gone over to the side door of the church, to request an abatement of the interruption. Their civil request was answered with violence. One of the men barely escaped with his life; the other, a deacon of the church, was killed on the spot. Five or six royal archers, commanded by the provost, Rouge-Oreille, next summoned the party within the church to desist, but met with no better success. At length the people, now congregated around the entrance, and subjected to a storm of missiles from the windows and the tower, forced open the doors and entered the church. Here they discovered the corpse of their murdered brother. The priests and sacristans, though armed with swords and clubs, were soon driven to take refuge in the belfry. In the struggle the ecclesiastics themselves became iconoclasts, and, when their supply of less sacred implements ran low, broke in pieces the images of saints, and rained the fragments upon the Huguenot crowd. Finally a threat to set fire to the belfry put an end at once to the ringing of the tocsin and to the holy shower. Meantime the tumultous peals of St. Médard's bells had drawn to the spot the "chevalier du guet," one Gabaston, who, on learning the circumstances, promptly lent aid in quelling the disturbance, and arrested a number of the leaders in the riotous proceedings. Yielding to an injudicious impulse, the motley crowd of Huguenots and of persons who had been attracted to the scene by the noise resolved to accompany the prisoners to the "Petit Châtelet," and the march assumed the appearance of a triumphal procession. Between Gabaston's troop of over two hundred mounted and foot archers, and the detachment of Rouge-Oreille, walked a band of unarmed Protestants, followed by the Roman Catholic prisoners, many of them in their ecelesiastical dresses, and tied together two by two. It was deemed little short of a miracle that the procession, even with its escort of soldiery, should be suffered to enter the city and pass through its densely crowded streets on a public holiday, without being attacked by the intensely Roman Catholic populace.[1248]
Such was the famous "tumult of Saint Médard"—the result of a plan adopted expressly to stir up the inveterate hostility of the Parisians against the adherents of the Reformation, and to serve as the pretext for demanding the prohibition of the Protestant "assemblies."[1249] The popular explosion that had been expected instantly to follow the application of the match was deferred until the morrow, when a rabble such as the capital alone could pour forth gutted the interior of the "Patriarche" and would have set it on fire, had it not been repulsed by a small body of Huguenot gentlemen.[1250] The plot had proved abortive; but it was the innocent victims and the friends of good order, not the conspirators, who paid the penalty of the broken law. While the priest of Saint Médard and his accomplices were promptly discharged, without even a reprimand, Gabaston and one "Nez-d'Argent," royal officers who had interfered to restore order, were executed by command of parliament.[1251]
Assembly of notables at St. Germain.