Margaret, who was then at Fontainebleau with the King of Navarre, heard of the demand the clergy had made to the king, and trembled lest Francis should deliver up her friends to the persecutions of the cardinal. She immediately endeavoured to exercise over her brother that influence to which in those days he yielded readily. She succeeded: the king, although putting the contribution of the clergy into his treasury, did not order ‘the extirpation of the Lutheran heresy.’
Yet Margaret did not feel secure. She experienced the keenest anguish at the thought of the danger which threatened the Gospel. True God of heaven, give comfort to my soul!
she said in one of her poems. Her soul was comforted. The aged Lefèvre, who was at that time translating the Bible and the homilies of St. Chrysostom on the Acts of the Apostles, and teaching his young pupil, the Duke of Angoulême, to learn the Psalms of David by heart, rekindled her fire, and with his failing voice strengthened her in the faith. ‘Do not be afraid,’ he said; ‘the election of God is very mighty.’[637]—‘Let us pray in faith,’ said Roussel; ‘the main thing is that faith should accompany our prayers.’ The friends at Strasburg entreated Luther to strengthen her by some good letter. As soon as Erasmus heard of the danger which the Gospel ran, he was moved, and, with the very pen with which he had discouraged Berquin, he wrote:
‘O queen, still more illustrious by the purity of your life than by the splendour of your race and of your crown, do not fear! He who works everything for the good of those whom he loves, knows what is good for us, and, when he shall judge fit, will suddenly give a happy issue to our affairs.[638] It is when human reason despairs of everything that the impenetrable wisdom of God is made manifest in all its glory. Nothing but what is happy can befall the man who has fixed the anchor of his hopes on God. Let us place ourselves wholly in his hands. But what am I doing?... I know, Madame, that it is not necessary to excite you by powerful incentives, and that we ought rather to thank you for having protected from the malice of wicked men sound learning and all those who sincerely love Jesus Christ.’[639]
The queen’s condition tended erelong to give a new direction to her thoughts. She hoped for a daughter, and often spoke about it in her letters. This daughter was indeed given her, and she became the most remarkable woman of her age. Calm and somewhat dejected, Margaret, who was then living alone in the magnificent palace of Fontainebleau, sought diversion in the enjoyment of the beauties of nature, during her daily walks in the park and the forest. ‘My condition,’ she wrote on the 27th of September, 1527, ‘does not prevent my visiting the gardens twice a day, where I am wonderfully at my ease.’ She walked slowly, thinking of the child about to be given her, and rejoicing in the light of the sun. Then reverting to him who held the chief place in her heart, she called to mind the true sun (Jesus Christ), and, grieving that his rays did not enlighten the whole of France, exclaimed:
O truth, unknown save to a few,
No longer hide thyself from view
Behind the cloud, but bursting forth
Show to the nations all thy worth.
Good men thy coming long to see,
And sigh in sad expectancy.
Descend, Lord Jesus, quickly come,
And brighten up this darkling gloom;
Show us how vile and poor we are,
And take us, Saviour, to thy care.[640]
It seems that Margaret’s presence near the king checked the persecutors; but she was soon compelled to leave the field open. The time of her confinement drew near. Henry d’Albret had not visited Bearn since his marriage; perhaps he desired that his child should be born in the castle of Pau. In October 1527 the King and Queen of Navarre set out for their possessions in the Pyrenees.[641] On the 7th of January, two months later, Jeanne d’Albret was born; the statement that she was born at Fontainebleau or at Blois is a mistake.
The Queen of Navarre had hardly left for Bearn, when Duprat and the Sorbonne endeavoured to carry their cruel plans into execution. Among the number of the gentlemen of John Stuart, Duke of Albany, was a nobleman of Poitou named De la Tour. The Duke of Albany, a member of the royal family of Scotland, had been regent of that kingdom, and De la Tour had lived with him in Edinburgh, where he had made the most of his time. ‘When the lord duke was regent of Scotland,’ people said, ‘the Sieur de la Tour sowed many Lutheran errors there.’[642] This French gentleman must therefore have been one of the earliest reformers in Scotland. He showed no less zeal at Paris than at Edinburgh, which greatly displeased the priests. Moreover, the Duke of Albany, who was in high favour with the king, was much disliked by the ambitious chancellor. An indictment was drawn up; Francis I., whose good genius was no longer by his side, shut his eyes; De la Tour and his servant, an evangelical like himself, were condemned by the parliament for heresy. On the 27th of October these two pious christians were bound in the same cart and led slowly to the pig-market to be burnt alive. When the cart stopped, the executioners ordered the servant to get down. He did so and stood at the cart’s tail. They stripped off his clothes, and flogged him so long and so severely that the poor wretch declared that he ‘repented.’ Some little mercy was consequently shown him, and they were content to cut out his tongue. They hoped by this means to shake De la Tour’s firmness; but though deeply moved, he raised his eyes to heaven, vowed to God that he would remain true to him, and immediately an ineffable joy replaced the anguish by which he had been racked. He was burnt alive.
Margaret must have heard at Pau of the death of the pious De la Tour; but however that may be, she left for Paris immediately after her delivery, giving her people orders to make haste. What was it that recalled her so promptly to the capital? Was it the news of some danger threatening the Gospel? A council was about to assemble at Paris; did she desire to be at hand to ward off the blows aimed at her friends? That is the reason given by one historian.[643] ‘She had determined to make haste,’ and, her confinement scarcely over, this weak and delicate princess, urging her courier to press on, crossed the sands and marshes of the Landes. In a letter from Barbezieux, she complains of the bad roads by which her carriage was so roughly jolted. ‘I can find nothing difficult, nor any stage wearisome. I hope to be at Blois in ten days.’[644]
It was time. De la Tour’s death had satisfied neither the chancellor nor the Sorbonne. They desired ‘the extirpation of heresy,’ and not merely the death of a single heretic. Not having succeeded by means of the clergy tax, they were determined to strive for it in another manner. Duprat listened to the reports, and took note of what he observed in the streets. Nothing annoyed him so much as hearing of laymen, and even women, who turned away their heads as they passed the churches, slipped into lonely streets, met in cellars or in garrets, where persons who had not received holy orders prayed aloud and read the Holy Scriptures. Had he not in 1516 abrogated the pragmatic sanction and stripped the Gallican Church of its liberties? Would he not, therefore, succeed with far less trouble in sacrificing this new and free Church, a poor and contemptible flock? As a provincial council was to be held at Paris, Duprat resolved to take advantage of it to strike a decisive blow.
On the 28th of February, 1528, the council was opened. The cardinal-archbishop having gone thither in great pomp, rose and spoke amid dead silence: ‘Sirs, a terrible pestilence, stirred up by Martin Luther, has destroyed the orthodox faith. A tempest has burst upon the bark of St. Peter, which, tossed by the winds, is threatened with dreadful shipwreck.[645] ... There is no difference between Luther and Manichæus.... And yet, reverend fathers, his adherents multiply in our province; they hold secret conventicles in many places; they unite with laymen in the most private chambers of the houses;[646] they discuss the catholic faith with women and fools.’ ...