The edict of amnesty March, 1560. It is promptly registered

The privy council, if not persuaded of the propriety of initiating a

policy of toleration, were at least convinced of the necessity of

yielding temporarily to the storm; and even the Guises deemed it

advisable to make concessions, which could easily be revoked on the

advent of more peaceful times.

248. Tavannes ascribes Coligny's impunity throughout this reign to

Catharine's interposition, revealing the plans of his enemies, etc.

(Mémoires, ii. 264). It was much more probably owing to his powerful

family alliances, and particularly to the fear of throwing the weight of

the enormous influence of his uncle, Constable Montmorency, into the

opposite scale. Yet it must be confessed that Catharine displayed for

the admiral, on more than one occasion, that respect which integrity

always exacts from vice, and which is most likely to be manifested in

the hour of danger. Early in this reign the court faction had endeavored

to sow discord between the two principal men of the Protestant party, by

intimating to Coligny that Condé was seeking to obtain the governorship

of Picardy, which the former held. The calumny, however, failed of its object.

Accordingly, an edict of pretended amnesty was hastily drawn up, and as

part mechanical folk and of no literary attainments--as well as by

reluctance to render the first year of his reign notable in after times

for the effusion of the blood of his poor subjects. By the provisions of

this important instrument the royal judges were forbidden to make

inquisition into, or inflict punishment for any past crime concerning

the faith: and all delinquents were pardoned on condition that they

should hereafter live as good Catholics and obedient sons of Mother Holy

Church. But from the benefits of the amnesty were expressly excluded

all preachers and those who had conspired against the person of the king

or his ministers.¹ The edict--much to the surprise of those who knew

the sanguinary disposition of the judges--was promptly registered by

parliament; whether it was that the judges were reconciled to the step

by a secret article with which, it was said, they accompanied it, to

guide in the future interpretation of the law, or that the majority

regarded it as a piece of deceit.²

In spite of its insincerity, however, the edict, wrung from the

unwilling hands of the cardinal and the privy council, marks an

important epoch in the history of the Reformed Church in France. Barely

nine months had elapsed since five members of the Parisian Parliament

had been thrown into the Bastile for daring to advocate a mitigation of

the penalties pronounced against the Protestants, until the assembling


¹ Recueil des anc. lois franç, xiv. 22-24; La Planche, 248;

La Place, 37; Hist. ecclés., i. 166, 167; De Thou, ii. 764; Forbes, i.

877. A Latin version, but out of its chronological position in Languet,

Epist. sec., ii. p. 15. The date of the publication of this important

document at Paris is indicated in a letter of Hubert Languet: "Certum

est undecima Martii Lutetiæ propositum esse edictum, in quo Rex

condonat suis subditis quidquid hactenus peccatum est in religione."

Epist. sec., ii. 44.

attrape-minault." La Planche, 248.

of the long-promised Œcumenical Council. Little more than two months

had passed since one of their number, and the most virtuous judge on the

bench, had been ignominiously executed. And now the King of France, with

the approval and almost at the instigation of the chief persecutor,

proclaimed an oblivion of all offences against religion, and the

liberation of all persons imprisoned for heresy. The reformers, who had

rarely succeeded by their most strenuous exertions in obtaining the

release of a few of their co-religionists, could scarcely restrain a

smile when they discovered what a potent auxiliary they had obtained

unawares--in the fears of their antagonists. "Would that you could

read and understand the number of contradictory edicts they have written

in a single month!" wrote one who took a deep interest in French

affairs. "You would assuredly be amazed at their incredible fright, when

no one is pursuing them, except Him whom they least fear! What you could

not succeed in obtaining by any of your embassies in former years, they

have given of their own accord to those who sought it not--the

liberation of the entire number of prisoners on all sides. Most have

been released in spite of their open profession of their faith. The

injustice of the judges has, however, led to the retention of a few in

chains up to this moment."¹

Notwithstanding its incompleteness and insincerity, however, "the Edict

of Forgiveness," as it was termed, is a significant landmark in the

history of French Protestantism. It is the point where begins the

transition from the period of persecution to the period of civil war. By

this concession, reluctantly granted and faithlessly executed, the first

recognition was made of the existence of a large and powerful body of

dissidents from the Roman Catholic Church. No longer were there a few

scattered sectaries whose heretical views might be suppressed by their

individual extermination. But a compact and wide-spread and rapidly

growing party had assumed dimensions that defied any such paltry

measures. It had outgrown persecution. The time for its eradication

by open war or by secret massacre might yet come. Meanwhile, it was

important to avert present disaster by partial concessions.
Dismay of the court. New alarms.

The treachery of Des Avenelles had warned the Guises of their danger,

but had left them in dismay and doubt. They knew not whom to trust, nor

whence to expect the impending blow. Sir Nicholas Throkmorton's

correspondence is full of interesting details throwing light upon the

confusion and embarrassment of the Guises. "You shall understand," he

writes on the seventh of March, "that the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal

of Lorraine have discovered a conspiracy wrought against themselves and

their authority, which they have bruited (to make the matter more

odious) to be meant only against the king: whereupon they are in such

fear as themselves do wear privy coats, and are in the night guarded

with pistoliers and men in arms. They have apprehended eight or nine,

and have put some to the torture." "Being ready to seal up this letter,"

he adds in a postscript, "I do understand that the fear of this

commotion is so great, as the sixth of this present, the Duke of Guise,

the Cardinal of Lorraine, the Grand Prior, and all the knights of the

Order which were here, watched all night long in the court, and the

gates of this town were all shut and kept." On the fifteenth of March he

writes: "These men here have their hands full, and are so busied to

provide for surety at home, that they cannot intend to answer

foreigners. This night a new hot alarm is offered, and our town doth

begin again to be guarded. It is a marvel to see how they be daunted,

that have not at other times been afraid of great armies of horsemen,

footmen, and the fury of shot of artillery: I never saw state more

amazed than this at some time, and by and by more reckless; they know

not whom to mistrust, nor to trust.... He hath all the trust this daye,

that to-morrow is least trusted. You can imagine your advantage." A few

days later he writes again: "And now it was thought that this was but a

popular commotion, without order, and not to be feared; when, unlooked

for, the 17th, in the morning, about four of the clock, there arrived a company

shot off their pistolets at the church of the Bonhommes, whereupon

there was such an alarm and running up and down in the court, as if the

enemies being encamped about them had sought to make an entry into the

castle: and there was crying, To horse, to horse.... This continued an

hour and a half,"¹ etc.

La Renaudie had actually established himself within six leagues of

Amboise on the second of March, and had made his arrangements for the

vigorous execution of his plans a fortnight later. The Guises were to be

seized by a party that counted upon gaining secret admission to the

castle, and opening the gates to comrades concealed in the neighborhood.

But another act of treachery on the part of a confederate enabled the

cardinal and his brother to frustrate a project so sagaciously laid and

offering fair promise of success. The parties of cavaliers, who had

succeeded, as by a miracle, in eluding the spies and agents of their

enemies, posted in every important city of France, and had reached the

very vicinity of the court without discovery, were caught in detail at

their rendezvous. Companies of fifteen or twenty men thus fell into the

hands of the troops hastily assembled by the urgent commands of the

king's ministers.

A more powerful detachment of malcontents could not be so easily

stopped, and threw itself into the castle of Noizay. It seemed more

feasible to overcome them by stratagem than by open assault. The Duke of

Nemours, having been sent to reduce the place, allowed Baron de

Castelnau, commander of the insurgents, a personal interview. Here the

Huguenot defended his adherents against the imputation of having

revolted against their lawful monarch, and maintained that, on the

contrary, they had come to uphold his honor and free him from the

intrigues of the Guises. Seeing, however, the hopelessness of resisting

the superior force of his enemy, Castelnau consented to capitulate,

after exacting from the Duke of Nemours his princely word that he and

his followers should receive no injury, and be permitted to have free

access to the king, in order to lay before him their grievances.

The pledge thus given was redeemed in no chivalrous manner. No account was

made of the terms accepted. Castelnau and his companions-in-arms were at

once thrown into the dungeons of Amboise, and steps were taken for their

trial on a charge of treason.¹ Much larger numbers, arriving in the

vicinity of Amboise ignorant of what had happened, were surrounded by

cavalry and brought in tied to the horses' tails. Many a knight, better

accoutred than his fellows, was despatched in a more summary manner and

stripped of his armor, after which his body was carelessly thrown into a

ditch by the roadside.² La Renaudie was so fortunate as to escape

this fate and the yet more cruel doom that awaited him at Amboise, by

meeting a soldier's death, while courageously fighting against a party

of Guisards who fell in with him. He had just slain his antagonist--one

Pardaillan, his own relative--when (on the nineteenth of March) he was

himself instantly killed by the ball from an arquebuse fired by his

opponent's servant.³

While the alarm arising from the "tumult" was yet at its height, the

Guises took advantage of it to obtain yet larger powers, at the same

time securing their position against future assaults. The king, in his

terror, was readily induced to accept the warlike uncle of his wife as

the only person on whose military prowess and faithfulness he could

rely. He regarded the interest of the Guises and his own as identical;

for he had been told, and he firmly believed it, that the enmity of the

insurgents was directed no less against the crown than against its

unpopular ministers.⁴ On the seventeenth

Forbes, State Papers, i. 400.

of March he therefore gave a commission to "Francis of Lorraine, Duke of
Guise, peer, grand master, and grand chamberlain," to be his lieutenant-general
with absolute powers, promising to approve of all his acts, and authorizing him
to impose the customary punishment upon the seditious, without form or

figure of process.¹

There were those about the monarch who could not but look with concern

upon the unlimited authority thus accorded to an ambitious prince.

Chancellor Olivier was of this number. He at first refused to affix the

seal of state to a paper which falsely purported to have been made by

advice of the council. It was, however, at length decided that another

edict should be published contemporaneously, extending forgiveness to

all that had assembled in arms in the neighborhood of the city of

Amboise, under color of desiring to present to the king a confession of

their faith. To avail themselves of the benefits of this pardon, they

must, within "twice twenty-four hours," return to their homes, in

companies of two, or, at the most, three together. The disobedient were

to be hung without process of law, and the tocsin might be rung to

gather a force for the purpose of capturing them. The king, however,

invited all that desired to present him their requests to depute one of

their number to lay them before his council, promising, on the pledge of

his royal word, redress and security.²
Explained away by a new edict.

The acts of the court little agreed with these words of clemency. Many

of those who, in obedience to the edict, turned their steps homeward,

found that edict to be only a snare for their simplicity. Indeed, five

days only had elapsed when, on the twenty-second of March, a fresh


¹ Cf. the commission in the Recueil des choses mémorables

(1565), 19-24; La Planche, 252, 253; De Thou, ii. 768; Davila, 24.;

Agrippa d'Aubigné, liv. ii., c. 15.

² Recueil des anc. lois fr., xiv., 24-26; La Planche, 253,

254; Languet, ii. 48, 49; De Thou, ii. 769. It need scarcely be added

that the aim of the insurgents is misrepresented to be, "under veil of

religion, to ravage all the rich cities and houses of the kingdom."

taken part in the conspiracy!¹

But it was at Amboise that the vengeance of the Guises found its widest

scope. Day and night the execution of the prisoners stayed not. Their

punishment was ingeniously diversified. Some were decapitated, others

hung; still others were drowned in the waters of the Loire.² The

streets of Amboise ran with blood, and the stench of the unburied

corpses threatened a pestilence. Ten or twelve dead bodies, in full

clothing and tied to a single pole, floated down from time to time

toward the sea, and carried tidings of the wholesale massacre to the

cities on the lower Loire. Neither trial nor publication of the charge

preceded the summary execution. Most frequently the victims were placed

in the hangman's hand immediately after the hour for dinner, that their

dying agonies might furnish an agreeable diversion to the ladies of the

court, who watched the gibbet from the royal drawing-rooms. Few, besides

the Duchess of Guise, daughter of Renée of Ferrara, manifested any

disgust at the repulsive spectacle. Some of the prisoners who

importunately insisted on seeing the king, and making before him a

profession of their faith, were summarily hanged from the castle

windows. One intrepid reformer had been so fortunate as to be admitted

to the queen mother's presence, and there, by his ready and cogent

reasoning, had well-nigh brought the Cardinal of Lorraine to admit that

his view of the Lord's Supper was correct. Catharine's attention having

been for a moment withdrawn, when she returned to the discussion the man

had disappeared. Actuated by curiosity or by a desire to spare his life,

she requested him to be sent for. It was too late; he had already been

despatched.³ For the most part, the victims displayed great

constancy and courage. Many died with the words of the psalms


¹ La Planche, 257, 262.

² "The 17th of this present there were twenty-two of these

rebellis drowned in sacks, and the 18th of the same at night twenty-five

more. Among all these which be taken, there be eighteen of the bravest

captains of France." Throkmorton to the queen, March 21st, Forbes, i. 378.

of Marot and Beza on their lips.¹ Castelnau, after having in his

interrogatory made patent to all the hypocrisy of the cardinal and the

cowardice of the chancellor, died maintaining that, before he was

pronounced guilty of treason, the Guises ought to be declared kings of

France. Villemongys, upon the scaffold, dipped his hands in the blood of

his companions, and, raising them toward heaven, exclaimed in a loud

voice: "Lord, this is the blood of Thy children, unjustly shed. Thou

wilt avenge it!"² The body of La Renaudie was first hung upon one of

the bridges of Amboise, with the superscription: "La Renaudie, styling

himself Laforest, author of the conspiracy, chief and leader of the

rebels." Afterward it was quartered, and his head, in company with the

heads of others, was exposed upon a pole on a public square.³ The

sight of these continually recurring executions, succeeding a fearful

struggle in which so many of his subjects had taken part, is said to

have affected even the young king, who asked, with tears, what he had

done to his people to animate them thus against him. It is even reported

that, catching for an instant, through the mist with which his advisers

sought to keep his mind enshrouded, a glimpse of the true cause of the

discontent, he made a feeble suggestion, which was easily parried, that

the Guises should for a time retire from the court, in order that he

might find out whether the popular enmity was in reality directed

against him, or against his uncles.⁴ Their fertile invention,

however, was not slow in concocting a story that turned his short-lived

pity into settled hatred of the "Huguenot heretics."
The elder D'Aubigné and his son.

On others, and especially upon those whose hearts throbbed with

patriotic devotion, a less transient impression was made. Some months

after, the young Agrippa d'Aubigné, then a mere child of ten years, was

traversing the city of Amboise with his


¹ Throkmorton, ubi supra.

² La Planche, 263, 265; La Place, 34, 35; Hist. du tumulte

d'Amboise, apud Mém. de Condé, i. 327; D'Aubigné, ubi supra.

supra; Throkmorton, ubi supra, i. 380.

father. The impaled heads of the victims were still to be recognized.

young son had rejoined him, he placed his hand on Agrippa's head, and

exclaimed, full of emotion: "My child, you must not spare your head

after mine, to avenge these chieftains full of honor, whose heads you

have just seen! If you spare yourself in this matter, you will have my

curse."¹

The Prince of Condé had set out for the court about the time of the

discovery of the conspiracy. If the coldness of the courtiers whom he

met on the way did not convince him that he was suspected, the position

in which he soon found himself at Amboise left him no doubts. Surrounded

by spies, he was viewed more as a prisoner than as a guest. The Guises

even counselled Francis to stab him with his dagger while pretending to

sport with him. The crime was averted both by the caution of the prince

and by a reluctance on the part of the young king to imbrue his hands in

the blood of his kinsman--a sentiment which the Guises interpreted as

cowardice.² But, unable to resist the urgency of those who accused

Condé of being the true head of the conspiracy, and maintained that the

testimony of many of the prisoners rendered the fact indubitable,

Francis at length summoned the young Bourbon to his presence. He

informed him of the accusations, and assured him that, should they prove

true, he would make him feel the difficulty and the danger of attacking

a king of France. At Condé's request an assembly of all the princes, and

of the members of the Privy Council and of the Order of St. Michael, was

summoned, that he might return his answer to the charges laid against him.<sup>3


1</sup> Mémoires de Théodore Agrippa d'Aubigné (Ed. Panthéon lit.), 472.

² La Planche, 267.

³ I have followed in the text the account of La Planche. La Place, 36, represents Condé
as voluntarily making his appearance and declaration before the king and the princes
and knights that were present, on hearing that the ambassadors of several foreign
princes had named him in their despatches as the author of the enterprise.

In the midst of the august gathering, Louis of Bourbon arose

and recited the conversation which he had had with the king. He knew, he

said, that he had enemies about him who sought his entire ruin and that

of his house. He had, therefore, solicited to be heard in this company,

and his answer was: that, excepting the person of the king, his

brothers, and the queens, his mother and wife--and he said it with all

respect to their presence--whoever had asserted to the king that Condé

was the chief of certain seditious individuals who were said to have

conspired against his person and estate, had "falsely and miserably

lied." To prove his innocence he offered to waive for the time the

privileges of his rank as prince of the blood, and in single combat

force his accuser at the point of the sword to confess himself a

poltroon and a calumniator. As Condé looked proudly around, no one

ventured to accept the gauntlet he had thrown down. On the contrary, the

Duke of Guise, his most bitter enemy, promptly stepped forward to offer

him his services as second in the single combat proposed! Hereupon Condé

begged the king to esteem him hereafter a faithful and honorable man,

and entreated his Majesty to lend no ear to the authors of such

calumnies, but to regard them as common enemies of the crown and of the

public peace.¹