This pardon, almost a disgrace to the king who granted it, was the only and the last expression of Francis's pity; after having given way to his sister, he gave way to the courtiers, the cardinals, the Sorbonne, and parliament. The king's indulgence to the three doctors served but to hasten the terrible persecutions that were about to begin in France. The people, especially at Paris, ignorant and superstitious, and not imagining there could be any other religion than that which they had been taught, were astonished, disturbed, and uneasy at seeing the great number of men and women won to the Gospel; they were even touched by the serenity of the martyrs. The chiefs of the ultramontane party, alarmed at the agitation which was gradually spreading all over the capital, and desirous of strengthening the faith of the masses, began to solicit the king very earnestly. They reminded him of the paper against the mass, and called for severer punishments and more striking satisfaction; they represented to him that 'the inhabitants of Paris were much disturbed by the multitude of those who had gone astray from the faith.'[247] They seemed to see the waves of Luther's doctrine impetuously advancing from Germany, and on the point of breaking over France. At all risks a dyke must be raised up sufficient to stop them. 'Sire,' they said, 'transmit faithfully to your successors that glorious title of eldest son of the Church which you have received from your forefathers.... You know how greedy the French mind is for novelties,[248] and where may that lead us.... Give a public proof of your attachment to the faith.' Francis had not forgotten the placard fastened by night to the door of his chamber, and that evangelical remonstrance seemed in is eyes a scandalous libel aimed at his majesty. Let there be more burnings then.... But it is desirable that they should be accompanied with unusual pomp. By a royal law and constitution, it was ordered that they should pray to the Almighty for the destruction of heresy, and to that end there should be a solemn procession and an expiatory sacrifice. Francis intended to crown it with acts of barbarity.
All Paris was astir: the streets were hung with drapery, reposoirs[249] were erected, the most magnificent dresses were preparing in the palace, and the victims in the dungeons were counted. Francis had many motives for giving a grand spectacle and accompanying it with bloody interludes: public policy was not without a share in them. He wished to silence the evil tongues that were raving about his friendly relations with Henry VIII. and the good grace with which he had received the ambassador from the Grand Turk; he wished to draw down the blessings of heaven upon his arms; he wished to show that if he protected sound learning, he despised fanatical writings, and detested the anonymous libels circulated at the same time as the placards, the Seven Assaults, the treatise Against the pope's traffickers, and a host of others. But the wrath that had seized him at seeing the criminal handbill on his own door, particularly called for a terrible revenge, and that without delay.
The 21st January, 1535, arrived. Early in the morning a large crowd of citizens and people from the surrounding country filled the streets; even the roofs of the houses were covered with spectators. This curious and agitated multitude still further augmented the general emotion: many citizens of Paris had never seen anything like it before. 'There was not the smallest piece of wood or stone, jutting from the walls, that was not occupied, provided there was room on it for anybody, and the streets seemed paved with human heads.' The innumerable concourse admired the tapestry with which the houses were hung, the reposoirs, the pictures filled with splendid mysteries. The people gathered particularly before representations of the Holy Host, of the Jew (probably the Wandering Jew), 'and others of very great singularity.' Before the door of each house was a lighted torch, 'to do reverence to the blessed sacrament and the holy relics.'[250]
=THE PROCESSION OF RELICS.=
The procession began at six in the morning. First came all the crosses and banners of the several parishes; then followed the citizens, two and two, each with a torch, and the four mendicant orders, with the priests and canons of the city. Never had so many relics been seen before. It was not only living men who figured that day in the streets of the capital to do honour to the mass; but there were St. Philip, St. Marcel, St. Germain, St. Mery, St. Honoré, St. Landry, St. Opportuna, St. Martin, St. Magloire, and many others, who, whole or in part, were paraded before the people. The crowd regarded these ancient relics with devout admiration: 'There's the body of the saint!... there are his shoes and his breeches!'
Thus spoke the devout; but what effect did these superstitions produce on enlightened men? What would Calvin, in particular, have said, that great friend of the worship in spirit and in truth paid to God alone? He had left Paris some months since; but had he been there still, at the moment of the procession, at De la Forge's or any other house before which it passed, what would have been his feelings? These we learn from one of his writings, in which he treats of all the relics displayed at this time before the Parisians. This is the proper moment for showing what he thought of these pretended relics of saints. Irony is a weapon to be sparingly used in religious matters; we find it employed, however, more than once in the Bible, for instance where Elijah speaks to the prophets of Baal.[251] Calvin might therefore make use of it; but he was not naturally given to humour, and a profound seriousness underlies his irony.
The holy bodies followed each other along the streets of the capital. The admiration of the citizens increased at every moment; they believed, as each relic passed them, that they were looking at an object unique in the world. 'The marvel is not so great,' said Calvin subsequently. 'We have not only one body of each of these saints, but we have several. There is one body of St. Matthew at Rome, a second at Padua, and a third at Treves. There is one of St. Lazarus at Marseille, another at Autun, and a third at Avallon.'[252]
Soon the canons of the Holy Chapel came in sight, wearing their copes: no church in Christendom possessed such treasures. 'Here is the Virgin's milk!'—'Indeed,' said Calvin, 'there is not a petty town or wretched convent where they do not show us this milk. If the Virgin had been nursing all her life, she would hardly have been able to supply such an abundance!'[253]
'There is our Lord's purple robe,' said the people; 'and the linen cloth he tied round him at the Last Supper, and his swaddling clothes!'—'They would do better,' said Calvin, 'to seek for Christ in his word, his sacraments, and spiritual graces, than in his frock, little shirt, and napkin.'[254]
'There is the crown of thorns!' was soon the cry. The sensation produced by this venerated object was all the greater, and the struggles of the people to get near it all the stronger, because it had never before been seen in the processions.—'It is no rarity,' said Calvin. 'There are two of these crowns at Rome, one at Vincennes, one at Bourges, one at Besançon, one at Albi, one at Toulouse, one at Mâcon, one at Cléry, one at St. Flour, one at St. Maximin, one at Noyon, one at St. Salvador in Spain, one at St. Jago in Gallicia, and many others in other places besides. To make all these crowns and gather all these thorns, they must have cut down a whole hedge.'[255]