Montmorency and the Cardinal de Tournon appeared in the morning before the king as was their custom. They had the ear of Francis I., and had long been looking for an opportunity to deal a desperate blow at the Reformation. Just as these two personages were about to enter the king's closet, they caught sight of the placard posted on the door; they stopped and read it, and taking the matter seriously, not without reason, they tore down the paper angrily, and carried it in to their master.[215] Nothing in the world could excite him so much as an attack like that: his royal dignity was in his eyes almost as sacred as the Divine majesty. He trembled and turned pale; he took the paper and then gave it back, and disturbed by such unheard-of audacity, he ordered them to read it.
=THE KING'S INDIGNATION.=
It was what Tournon wanted. He read the document to the king, dwelling on the most irritating passages; but the prince could not hold out to the end. The insult offered to his person, the impression which such a public scandal might produce on his allies, and especially on the pope, the reflection that at the very moment when he was preparing the reconciliation of protestants and catholics, a few fanatics should stir up all the passions of the priests and the people, and cause his pacific designs to fail—all this exasperated his mind more than the attack upon the mass. Those who were about him took advantage of the opportunity, and represented the affair as one of high-treason. Montmorency and De Tournon drove the bolt deep into the king's heart. 'He burst into a transport of passion,' wrote Sturm to Melanchthon; 'he was so inflamed,' says the Book of Martyrs;[216] 'he put himself in such a rage,' says Theodore Beza; 'he became so hot that everybody trembled about him,' says the catholic Fontaine.—'Let all be seized without distinction,' he exclaimed, 'who are suspected of Lutheresy. I will exterminate them all.'
The event caused a great agitation; nothing else was talked of, and every one described it in his own manner. 'Do you know,' said some, 'that the king, in the very height of his passion, taking his handkerchief from his pocket, pulled out a placard, which fell at his feet: some clever fellow had slipped the copy in.' 'You may believe it, if you like,' says Fontaine, estimating this popular story at its real value. The whole household of the castle was immediately on the alert to discover the author of the misdeed, which was no hard matter. The Lutheran opinions of the chorister were known to many; he was arrested, put in chains, and sent to Paris to be tried.[217]
But the king's wrath was not to be confined to this man. The crime had been committed everywhere, the punishment must be inflicted everywhere. 'Write and order the parliament to execute strict justice,' said the king; 'and tell the lieutenant-criminal that, to encourage him, I increase his salary by six hundred livres a year for life.[218] Let inquisition be made forthwith through all the realm for the people who are such enemies of God.'
The parliament had not waited for the king's orders. On the morrow of the famous day, the 26th October, the chief president, Pierre Lizet, convened all the chambers, and the crowded court, being moved and indignant, ordered a minute search and processions to be made. The trumpets sounded, the people assembled, and an officer of the parliament proclaimed: 'Whosoever shall give information as to the person or persons who stuck up the said placards, he shall receive from the court a reward of one hundred crowns; and all who conceal them shall be burnt.'[219]
All this while the evangelical christians, and especially those who had set fire to the mine, alarmed at the terrible explosion it had made, remained hidden and silent in their houses. They knew Morin's skill in discovering his victims and inventing tortures; a dark future saddened their countenances. Then were heard among them groans, and regrets, and mournful deliberations. 'What shall we do?' they said. Take flight!—What! leave home, and family, and country without knowing where to go?... How gloomy the future! But is it not better to lose all these than to lose your life?... Such were the heart-rending conversations held almost everywhere.[220] Fathers and wives and children conjured with tears those whom they loved to get out of the way of the king's anger. Some of them, indeed, did leave their homes by night and flee.[221] Many of those who had not posted the placards, but who were known by the frank confession of their faith, thought that the danger could not concern them.... The unhappy people hesitated and delayed, and many of them paid dearly for their imprudent security.[222]
=THE BRETHREN BETRAYED.=
The lieutenant-criminal, a great opponent of the religious movement, and a man of very dissolute life, of rare audacity in catching criminals, and remarkable subtlety in entrapping them by their answers,[223] was meditating the plan of his campaign. His vanity, his greed, his hatred—all his passions were engaged in the business. He desired to catch all the heretics together by one cast of his net. But how? A bright idea struck him: by seizing one man, he hoped to take all the rest. 'You know that shop where they sell sheaths and other such articles, in the Rue de la Vannerie leading to the Grève,' he said to one of his officers. 'Go and arrest the sheath-maker and bring him to me.'—'Sheath-maker,' he said, 'you are one of the heretics, and what is worse, you are their convener, I know full well. It is you, do not deny it, who inform them of the places where their secret meetings are to be held. I have a wish to assemble them; you will lead me to their houses.' The poor man, understanding what he meant, tremblingly refused to commit such treason. The lieutenant-criminal ordered a scaffold to be got ready. As soon as the officials had left the room, Morin turned to the sheath-maker: 'It is you that conduct the people to church, and it is quite fair that you should begin the dance.' The wretched man trembled. What a frightful alternative! How could he go to those whom he was wont to summon to the temple of God, in order to deliver them to the flames? There was a terrible struggle in his soul, but the fear of God was overcome, the light of reason extinct, all regard for honour put aside. 'Satan entered into Judas,' and he sought how he could betray his brethren. Believing himself 'on the point of being burnt,' says Beza, he promised all he was asked.[224]
Paris was all in commotion. The streets were hung with drapery, processions were made, and in order to wipe out the insult offered to the mass, the Corpus Domini was carried solemnly through every parish.[225] Morin took advantage of this agitation to conceal his proceedings. The treacherous sheath-maker went before him, pale and trembling; sergeants followed him at a little distance, and this cruel company glided silently through the streets. The sheath-maker stopped and pointed to a door: Morin entered. The startled family protested their innocence in vain. The lieutenant ordered the poor creatures to be manacled, and then continued his pitiless course. 'He spared no house, great or small,' says the chronicler, 'not even the colleges of the university of Paris.'