HENRY and Margaret having quitted Nérac for Pau, where they intended passing the winter, had reached those picturesque heights, separated by a ravine, on which the city stands, and had entered the castle. The queen had found pleasure in adorning it with the most magnificent gardens then known in Europe, and liked to walk in them, conversing with Cardinal de Foix, the Bishop of Tarbes, and many other distinguished persons who admired her wit and grace. And yet these ecclesiastics often caused her 'much vexation.' Surrounded by persons who made a regular report to Francis I., watched by the king her husband and the dignitaries of the Church who were at her court, this pious but weak woman bent under the weight. She began the day by attending morning service in the catholic church of the parish; then in the afternoon she privately collected in her chamber the evangelical members of her court, and the little band of exiles, with a few men and women of the people who, coming forward awkwardly, took their seats timidly on the handsome furniture of the queen. Roussel, Lefèvre, or some other minister, delivered an exhortation, and the little assembly separated, feeling that God had really been present in the midst of them.[73]
=THE LORD'S SUPPER AT PAU.=
One day some of these humble believers desired to partake of the Lord's Supper. The queen was embarrassed: she did not dare celebrate it in the church, nor even in her own room, lest one of the cardinals should enter suddenly.... After some reflection Margaret thought she had found what was wanted. Under the terrace of the castle there was a large hall called the Mint, a secret underground place that could be approached without attracting notice. By the queen's orders her servants privately carried a table there, covered it with a white cloth, and placed a basin on it containing 'a few slices of plain bread,' and by its side some cups full of wine 'instead of chalices.'—'Such are their altars!' ironically exclaims the catholic historian.
On the appointed day, the believers, silent and agitated, came and took their places not without fear of being discovered. The queen, forgetting the pomps of the Louvre, sat down among them as a simple Christian. Roussel appeared, but not in sacerdotal costume, and stood in front of the table. 'Those who believe that there is nothing but an empty sign in the Sacrament,' he said, 'are not of the school of faith.'[74] He took common bread, says the indignant catholic narrator, 'and not little round wafers stamped with images.'—'Remember,' continued Roussel with a grave voice, 'that Christ suffered and died for us.' He then handed round the cup 'without making the sign of the cross!' The worshippers, deeply moved, bore a heavenly expression on their faces and felt the presence of the Lord: 'The same Christ dwelt in the minister and in the people.' No spy nor cardinal appeared, and the communicants, after presenting an offering for the poor, withdrew in peace.[75]
Notwithstanding its secresy, this celebration was talked about in the castle. The King of Navarre was quite annoyed at it. A thoughtless, changeable, and ever violent man, and liable to occasional worldly relapses, he began to grow impatient at his wife's piety, and especially at the 'feastings in the cellar.' He was habitually in a bad humour, and found fault with all that Margaret did.
One day as he returned to the castle from a hunting-party, he asked where the queen was. He was told that a minister was preaching in her chamber. At these words the king's face flushed. A faithful servant ran to warn the queen: ministers and hearers escaped by a back way, and they had hardly left the room, when Henry entered abruptly. He stopped, looked round him, and seeing only the queen, agitated and trembling, he struck her in the face, saying: 'Madame, you desire to know too much.' He then left her indignant and confounded. This affront offered to the dignity of the royal family of France did not pass unnoticed: Francis 'scolded Henry d'Albret soundly,' says Brantôme.[76]
=THE MYSTERY OF THE NATIVITY.=
Margaret, eager to win over her husband and to be agreeable to her court, resolved to have a representation of some biblical dramas. Possibly she might by this means reach those who would not come to the sermons. She took for her subject The Birth of the Saviour, and having completed her poem distributed the parts among certain noble maidens. These biblical representations, which displeased Calvin, because of their theatrical form, and the Romish clergy because of their evangelical truths, charmed the middle party, and as they belong to the religious history of the epoch, we cannot pass them by unnoticed. Margaret fitted up the great hall of the castle as a theatre. The scenery was prepared, and shortly after Christmas placards announced the representation of 'The Nativity of Jesus Christ.'[77]
When the day came the hall was crowded. In the front rank of the amphitheatre sat the king and queen, the latter wearing a plain dress trimmed with marten's fur and a Bearnese hood. Near them were the Cardinals De Grammont and De Foix with other members of the clergy. Around the royal pair were Margaret's inseparable maids of honour—Mademoiselle de St. Pather, the usual distributor of her alms, Mademoiselle de la Batenage, Blanche de Tournon, Françoise de Clermont, Madame d'Avangour, the greatest 'eaves-dropper' of the court, the chancellor, chamberlains, and almoners. Her ten stewards, her esquires and thirty-eight maids, her seventeen secretaries, and her twenty valets-de-chambre were most of them present.[78] The invited strangers occupied seats according to their rank. A first representation has rarely excited more curiosity.