38. Charles IX.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. Charles IX. (1560-1574)
Francis II. was succeeded by his next brother, Charles IX. He was a boy of ten years old at Francis's death, and there was some question as to who should be regent for him till he was old enough to govern for himself. It had been settled by the French laws that the king was of age, that is, old enough to govern, when he was fourteen. Other people were not considered of age till they were much older — a gentleman's son not till he was twenty-one, and a poor man at twenty-five. There were four years still to come before Charles would be of age, and his mother, Catherine of Medicis, was declared regent. She was still inclined to be the friend of the Guises. She was in the same difficulties as before as to which side to take between the Roman Catholics and the Huguenots. She was afraid of either party becoming so strong that it would be able to take away the power from her, and so, for the time, she changed about, always turning against any one who seemed growing specially powerful in the country.
The King of Navarre and his brother Condé were set free after Francis's death, and the States-General of Orleans were opened directly afterwards. Many complaints were made of different matters that were going wrong in the country, and when the council was over, an edict or order of the Government was sent out, explaining what was to be done in order to set right all that was wrong or in confusion. But some powerful people disliked the edict, and after all, it was never carried out. Many meetings were held at this time to consider the difficult question of the Huguenots; many laws were made about them; one that they might never have public services or preach, and another afterwards that they might preach in the open country, but not in towns. Once a few of the most distinguished Huguenot teachers met together with some of the chief Roman Catholic clergy and discussed their different beliefs. The little king came to hear this, though some people said he ought not to be allowed to listen to Huguenots. There were long speeches and explanations made on both sides, but of course neither party succeeded in persuading the other. There were many disturbances and quarrels in Paris, usually begun by the Roman Catholics, but carried on very cruelly on both sides. At last came one quarrel worse than usual, which brought on the beginning of the first of the civil wars about religion, which lasted so long in France.
The Duke of Guise, who had been into Germany, was on his way home, and was passing through a little town named Vassy, when he heard bells ringing, and, asking what it meant, was told that the Huguenots were holding a service. He had before this been angry with the people of Vassy, and he came this way with an army on purpose to be revenged on them.
Their service was being carried on in a barn, to which Guise, biting his beard as he always did when angry, led his soldiers, who were all delighted at the idea of an attack on the Huguenots, and made them fire in at the windows. The Huguenots tried to shut the door, but could not; Guise's soldiers rushed in, their swords drawn, crying out. "Kill, kill." The Huguenots tried to defend themselves with stones, but their enemies were too strong for them. Some of them climbed on to the roof, and, if they were not seen and shot down by the soldiers, escaped; others were driven out of the (church), and forced to pass between two lines of soldiers, who drove them on with cuts from their swords. Sixty people altogether were killed, and two hundred severely wounded. The Duchess of Guise, who was outside the town, and heard the cries of the Huguenots, sent a message asking her husband to spare at least the women, after which none of them were killed, but the attack lasted for an hour.
The Duke of Guise made himself hated all through France by this horrible cruelty. He always said, indeed, that he had tried to stop his soldiers, and that he had never intended that any Huguenots should be put to death. This he repeated on his death-bed, and it is possible that it may be true. But at any rate we do not hear of his punishing any of his soldiers, or doing anything afterwards to help the people of Vassy; and it seems most likely that he planned this attack beforehand, and was glad of the opportunity of showing his friends that he was still the worst enemy of the Protestants, and strong enough to do them serious harm.
That year the war began: both parties found friends abroad to help them. The Spanish king sent men to the Roman Catholics, Queen Elizabeth of England to the Protestants. The Huguenots were successful (to begin with), and took more than two hundred towns in Normandy and the other provinces in the north of France. The first of these towns, and one of the most important, was Orleans, the same from which Jeanne D'Arc drove the English in the reign of Charles VII. The brother of the Prince of Condé had taken one of the gates, and sent to Condé to come quickly and make himself master of the town. The prince, who was about eighteen miles away, at once set off, gallopping at full speed with two thousand horsemen behind him: they went so fast that knapsacks, horses, and riders rolled on the ground, but the others only shouted with laughter, and rode on without staying to pick them up. The people who saw this body of soldiers sweeping by like a whirlwind, and behaving in this strange way, were much surprised, and asked if they were going to a battle of fools.
But in spite of this cheerful beginning the Huguenots did not find the war answer as well for them as they had hoped. The people of the country did not really agree with them, and when the Roman Catholics came to take back the towns that had been won by the Huguenots, they found no difficulty. The war was carried on most cruelly by the Roman Catholics. The Huguenots, whenever they made themselves masters of a town, ruined the churches, broke down the images, burned the pictures, destroyed bridges, statues, and other ornaments of the town; but the Roman Catholics did worse, for they turned all their anger against men and women. The townspeople were put to death in the street, the peasants were chased fiercely through the country; some were tried before a court of justice and hanged, or broken on the wheel, one of the most cruel of punishments.
The leaders of the Huguenots were the Prince of Condé and Coligny, who was now made Admiral of France; those of the Roman Catholics, the Constable Montmorency, the Duke of Guise, and the man whom Guise had once wished to put to death, Antony, King of Navarre, the brother of Condé, who had now left the Huguenots, and become a Roman Catholic and a friend of Guise.
The Huguenot Coligny had been very unwilling to begin the war, but was persuaded to it by his wife, a Huguenot herself, who could not bear to see how the Roman Catholics ill-treated her friends, not even keeping the promises that had been made about Protestant services and sermons. Towards the end of the year in which the war began, the King of Navarre, while fighting outside a town named Rouen, was so severely wounded that he died a few days afterwards. His wife, Jeanne, was a Huguenot, and had brought up her only son, who now became King of Navarre, in the same faith. He was at this time a boy of nine years old, and was afterwards to become one of the greatest kings of France. Shortly after this there was a great battle, the first in this war. The Roman Catholics were the stronger in foot-soldiers, the Huguenots in horse soldiers, and the battle was long and for some time equal; but it was won at last by the Roman Catholics. The general on each side was taken prisoner — the Prince of Condé by the Roman Catholics, the Constable Montmorency by the Huguenots. This was the battle of Dreux.
Before the end of the year the Duke of Guise was murdered by a Huguenot enemy, as he was making ready to attack Orleans. It was towards evening when the murderer followed him and two gentlemen who were riding with him, and standing close to him fired three pistol shots at the Duke of Guise and rode away. Guise fell forward on his horse's (neck), and his companions carried him to a castle near at hand; they tried every means to cure him, but in vain, and he died, leaving a son to succeed him, who afterwards became almost as famous as his father. Francis of Guise had a splendid burial in Paris, while the murderer, who was caught and tried, was put to death in the most cruel manner.
The chief men on both sides were now either killed or in prison. The Huguenot prisoners were won over by Catherine, and agreed to make a treaty with her. Peace was (signed), and it was settled that the Protestants might hold services in the house of any baron or nobleman, but public services only in certain towns in France; and as these towns were a good way apart, some of the peasants would have had to travel for fifty or sixty miles from their homes to reach one of them, and travelling in those times, when the war had only just stopped, was neither safe nor easy. Coligny told Condé that in agreeing to this peace he had ruined more Protestant churches than the war would have destroyed in ten years.
The young Charles was by this time fourteen, and was then declared to be grown up, and able to govern for himself.
Catherine was no longer regent, but she was always her son's chief adviser, and was usually able to persuade him to do as she wished. Charles and his mother took a journey round France, in the course of which they paid a visit to one of Charles's sisters, the young Queen of Spain, and made friends with the Duke of Alva, a terrible Spanish general, who was going into the Netherlands to punish the people for being Protestants, and for trying to set themselves free from the Spanish king. He probably gave Charles advice which was very cruel (towards) the Huguenots.
A second war began three years afterwards, and lasted for six months. Another peace was made, and a third war broke out. It was impossible that there should be peace between two sets of people so nearly equally strong, and hating each other so much. Two great battles were fought in this third war; in one of them the Prince of Condé was killed. He had been hurt the day before by a fall from his horse, and in the course of the battle had his leg broken by a horse's kick, but he would not leave the field. He cried out to his friends, "This is the moment we have wished for. Remember how Louis of Condé entered into battle for Christ and his country," and then charged down upon his enemies with three hundred horsemen behind him. At first the enemy gave way before him, but his body of followers was so small that the Roman Catholics soon closed round them, and Condé's horse was killed and fell with the prince underneath it. Condé at last gave himself up to a Roman Catholic gentleman, but no sooner had he done so than another French captain came up, saw who he was, and shot him dead.
This was the battle of Jarnac. The Roman Catholics hoped that the Huguenots would lose all their spirit now Condé was dead, but they were disappointed. The Queen of Navarre, widow of Antony, arrived at the headquarters of the Huguenots, bringing two boys, both named Henry, one the son of Condé, the other her own son, the young King of Navarre. She made a speech to the soldiers, and called on them to take her son for their chief. They agreed with loud shouts of joy, and the young Henry, who was then about fifteen years old, took an oath never to desert the cause of the Huguenots.
One more battle was fought, in which the Protestants were again defeated and lost a great number of men. It was at a place called Moncontour. Coligny was wounded, but, carried in a litter, was able to lead the retreat and to make plans for the future. One of his chief enemies, looking on at the slow march which none of the Roman Catholics dared to disturb, said, in despair at the courage of the Huguenots, "We must make peace." Catherine thought the same.
It was the Protestants who were not willing to make peace, but the arrangements that at last were made were better for the Huguenots than those of either of the two other peaces there had already been in this war. The Protestants were allowed to hold services, they were to have employment and offices like the Roman Catholics, and they had four strong towns given up to them as an assurance that the king would keep his word. This was the end of the first division of the war.
The king, Charles IX., was now about twenty years old. He was a weak, delicate young man, and though he had strong, violent feelings, and was always ready to insist upon having his own way, his mother, Catherine of Medicis, was usually able to persuade him to do what she wished, and make him think that what she proposed was really his own idea. She loved his next brother Henry, a boy of sixteen, much better than Charles, and had put him at the head of the army against the (Roman Catholics), while she never would allow the king to join in the war at all, so that Henry gained all the glory of the two last victories which the Roman Catholics had won. Charles was angry with his mother and brother, and began for the first time to think of making friends with his chief Huguenot subjects.
The admiral, Coligny, was invited to court, and talked to the young king of the great deeds that might be done in the Netherlands by helping the people there who were rising up against Philip II., King of Spain. Philip was the enemy of all Protestants, and he was also the enemy of France; and Coligny wished that Charles should send him with an army to fight on the side of the Netherlanders. The king and his Huguenot lords would then be friends, and all the Huguenots of France, pleased at seeing their king help men who believed much the same as they did, would become Charles's loyal subjects. Charles himself was pleased at the idea, for he had always wished to have some opportunity of making himself famous as a soldier.
Catherine was much vexed when she found that Coligny was becoming so great a friend of the king's. She was afraid that he would try to set her son against her, and she determined that she must in some way get rid of the admiral. She consulted with the young Duke of Guise and his relations, and with her own favourite son, Henry, Duke of Anjou. A man was hired, who shot at the admiral from a window as he was walking from the Louvre to his own house, reading a paper. The ball shot off one of the fingers of his right hand, and went into his left arm. Coligny had presence of mind enough to point with his wounded hand to the window from which the shot had come, and while some of his friends helped him to his house, and others went to tell the king what had happened, the rest rushed to the house where the murderer had been hidden, beat open the door, and searched for him everywhere, but in vain. They found the gun still smoking, but no other sign of him. He had had a horse waiting at the door, upon which he had made his escape, and he (could) never (be) caught.
The king was much distressed when he heard of this. He went to see the admiral as he lay in bed, swore to punish the enemies who had plotted against him, and was very angry with the Guises, whom he rightly suspected of having had something to do with the matter. But Catherine had in her mind a still more wicked plan than that of putting the admiral to death; and the Guises and her son Henry agreed to it. It was nothing less than what had been proposed but not carried out once before — on a particular night to put to death all the Huguenots in Paris and in the other chief towns of France.
She thought that in this way she should get rid at least of some of her enemies, and that if the Protestants resisted, and some of the Roman Catholic lords, even the Guises, were killed in the struggle, she should get rid of still more. The king was told that the Huguenots had made a plot to rise up against the Government, and that it was necessary to put the admiral at least to death to prevent them from doing so. His mother told him this again and again, till the weak young man, who might have known how deceitful and treacherous she was, believed her, fell into a state of terror, and was anxious to have the deed done at once.
That afternoon he had been with the admiral, talking to him as a son might to a father, while Catherine stood in the room watching and longing to stop their conversation. At last Coligny made the king stoop down to him, and said some words in a low tone that Catherine could not hear. Then she had been able to bear it no longer, and had called away her son, saying the admiral was too ill to be allowed to talk any more. After so much friendliness between them, Charles was naturally much shocked at the idea of this good man being murdered in his bed, and for some time refused his mother and brother leave to touch him. But one evening, when they had been talking to him for some time in the same way, he suddenly changed his mind, crying out in a sort of wild passion that since they thought it good, the admiral should die; but that every Huguenot in France should die too, lest one should be left to reproach him afterwards. Sunday the 24th of August, St. Bartholomew's Day, was the one fixed upon; a bell was to ring at midnight, and then the massacre or killing was to begin. The king spent the day working at a blacksmith's forge, which he had set up to amuse himself. Catherine, Henry of Anjou, and the Guises, made everything ready for their horrible plan. The night came; the king drew back at the thought of what was to happen, and wished to stop everything, but the queen urged him on.
She was so much afraid of his changing his mind again, that she made Guise set out from the palace two hours earlier than had been arranged. When the clock struck ten the horrible work began all over Paris. The Roman Catholics rushed in upon the helpless Protestants, many of whom were asleep in their beds, and killed them by stabbing, shooting, or beating out their brains. Men, women, and children were dragged through the streets and thrown into the river. Houses were burned, bells rang to call together more and more enemies against the unfortunate Protestants. Even children were so much excited by the dreadful sights to be seen in the streets, that they went to hunt for Protestant babies, and did their best to put them to death.
The murderers went to Coligny's house, where Guise stayed in the courtyard and sent in one of his servants, who found the admiral asleep. Coligny woke, asked what was wanted, and got out of his bed as calmly as usual. For a moment the murderer was afraid and hung back; but a friend came up, and together they attacked the admiral, killed him, and threw his body out of the window to the Duke of Guise, who was waiting below.
Some Huguenots had escaped by getting on horseback before the murderers reached their part of the town, and fleeing from the city; none of those who stayed were left alive. It is said that when day came the king himself stood at the window of his palace, firing a long gun at the fleeing Huguenots, and shouting, "Kill, kill." This unfortunate young man seems to have been in a state almost like madness at this time, and is not so much to blame for what had happened as his mother, his brother, and the Guises, though it is sad to think that they never could have done as they did if he had gone on refusing his leave, or had given warning to the admiral. About two thousand people were killed in one day and night. Orders had been sent to the governors of the other chief towns of France to put to death all the Huguenots, as had been done in Paris. A few governors bravely refused, saying they were soldiers, not murderers; many others obeyed.
But after all Catherine was disappointed; the Huguenots, though so many had died, were not crushed yet; there was still another war, and by the peace at the end of it, the Huguenots gained more freedom than they had ever had before in France. Charles IX. died two years after the massacre of St. Bartholomew, in deep distress at the thoughts of that dreadful night and day, which were always in his mind. His last words were that he was glad he left no male child to be king after him.
