Chapter III

An account of the sixteenth-century Reformation.

When minds began to be enlightened at the revival of learning, complaints about abuses became general. Everyone admits that these complaints were justified.

Pope Alexander VI had openly bought the tiara, and his five bastards shared in its benefits. His son, the Cardinal Duke of Borgia, acting in concert with the pope his father, had the Vitelli, the Urbino, the Gravina, the Oliveretto, and a hundred other lords put to death in order to seize their domains. Julius II, moved by the same spirit, excommunicated Louis XII, gave his kingdom to whoever could take it, and himself, helmet on his head and breastplate on his back, laid part of Italy waste with fire and sword. Leo X, to pay for his pleasures, traded in indulgences as people sell goods in a public market. Those who rose against so much brigandage were at least not wrong in their morals; let us see whether they wronged us in politics.

They said that since Jesus Christ had never demanded first-year revenues from benefices or reserved benefices for himself, nor sold dispensations for this world and indulgences for the next, people could dispense with paying a foreign prince for all these things. Even if first-year revenues, lawsuits in the court of Rome, and the dispensations that still exist today cost us only five hundred thousand francs a year, it is clear that since Francis I, in two hundred and fifty years, we have paid one hundred and twenty million; and allowing for the different values of a mark of silver, this amounts to some two hundred and fifty million in today's money. We may therefore admit without blasphemy that the heretics, in proposing the abolition of these peculiar taxes, which will astonish posterity, were doing the kingdom no great harm, and were better accountants than they were bad subjects. Let us add that they alone knew Greek and were acquainted with antiquity. Let us not conceal the fact that, despite their errors, we owe them the development of the human mind, long buried in the deepest barbarism.

But since they denied purgatory, which must not be doubted and which, besides, brought the monks a great deal of money; since they did not revere relics, which must be revered but which brought in still more; and since, finally, they attacked highly respected doctrines,⁷ the first answer was simply to have them burned. The king who protected them and paid them subsidies in Germany marched through Paris at the head of a procession, after which several of these unfortunates were executed. Here is how the execution was carried out. They were suspended from the end of a long beam that pivoted like a seesaw on a standing tree. A great fire was lit beneath them, and they were alternately plunged into it and raised again. They suffered torment and death by degrees, until they expired under the longest and most dreadful torture barbarity has ever invented.

Shortly before the death of Francis I, some members of the Parlement of Provence, incited by churchmen against the inhabitants of Mérindol and Cabrières, asked the king for troops to support the execution of nineteen people of that district whom they had condemned. They had six thousand slaughtered, sparing neither women, the old, nor children, and reduced thirty towns to ashes. These people, unknown until then, were doubtless wrong to have been born Waldensians: that was their only crime. For three hundred years they had lived in wildernesses and on mountains which they had made fertile through incredible labor. Their peaceful, pastoral life recalled the innocence attributed to the world's earliest ages. They knew the neighboring towns only through the produce they went there to sell. They knew nothing of lawsuits or war. They did not defend themselves; they were slaughtered like fleeing animals killed within an enclosure.⁸

After the death of Francis I, a prince nevertheless better known for his love affairs and misfortunes than for his cruelties, the execution of a thousand heretics, above all that of the parlement councilor Dubourg, and finally the massacre of Vassy, drove the persecuted to take up arms. Their sect had multiplied in the glare of the pyres and beneath the executioners' blades. Rage succeeded patience; they imitated the cruelties of their enemies. Nine civil wars filled France with carnage. A peace more disastrous than war produced the Saint Bartholomew's Day Massacre, without precedent in the annals of crime.

The League assassinated Henry III and Henry IV by the hands of a Dominican friar and a monster who had been a Feuillant brother. Some people maintain that humanity, forbearance, and freedom of conscience are horrible things. But honestly, would they have produced comparable calamities?

7 They revived Berengar's view of the Eucharist. They denied that a body could be in a hundred thousand different places, even through divine omnipotence; they denied that attributes could subsist without a substance; they believed it absolutely impossible for what is bread and wine to the eyes, the palate, and the stomach to be annihilated at the very moment it exists. They upheld all these errors formerly condemned in Berengar. They relied on several passages from the early Church Fathers, especially Saint Justin, who says expressly in his Dialogue contre Typhon: “The offering of fine flour is the figure of the Eucharist, which Jesus Christ commands us to perform in memory of his Passion.” “And the offering of fine flour, &c., was a figure of the bread of the Eucharist, which our Lord Jesus Christ commanded us to prepare in remembrance of his Passion, &c.”

They recalled everything said in the early centuries against the veneration of relics; they quoted these words of Vigilantius: “Must you respect, or even adore, worthless dust? Do the souls of martyrs still love their ashes? The customs of idolaters have entered the Church; people are beginning to light torches at midday. During our lives we can pray for one another; but after death, what use are these prayers?”

But they did not say how vigorously Saint Jerome had spoken against these words of Vigilantius. In short, they wanted to bring everything back to apostolic times, and refused to admit that as the Church had grown and strengthened, its discipline had necessarily needed to grow and strengthen too. They condemned riches, which nevertheless seemed necessary to sustain the majesty of worship.

8 The truthful and respected President de Thou speaks of these innocent and unfortunate people as follows: “They were people who, some three hundred years earlier, had taken rough and uncultivated land from their lords in return for rent, and by unremitting labor and constant cultivation had made it fruitful in crops and suitable for livestock. They were most enduring of toil and hunger, averse to lawsuits, generous to the needy, diligent and scrupulously faithful in paying taxes to the prince and dues to their lords. They displayed their worship of God through constant prayer, and innocence in their conduct; but they rarely entered churches dedicated to saints, except when they went to towns near their borders to trade or conduct business. If they sometimes set foot in them, they did not prostrate themselves before statues of God and the saints, or place candles or offerings before them. They did not ask priests to celebrate divine service for themselves or the souls of their relatives, nor mark their foreheads with a cross as others customarily did. When the heavens thundered, they did not sprinkle themselves with holy water, but raised their eyes to heaven and implored God's help. They did not travel on religious pilgrimages or bare their heads before images of crosses along the roads. They celebrated their rites in a different manner and in the common tongue. Finally, they paid no honor to the pope or bishops, but had certain men chosen from their own number as their leaders and teachers. When these things were reported to Francis on the sixth day before the Ides of February in the year, &c.”

Madame de Cental, who owned part of the ravaged lands, where nothing could now be seen but the bodies of their inhabitants, sought justice from King Henry II, who referred her to the Parlement of Paris. The advocate general of Provence, named Guérin, the principal author of the massacres, was the only man condemned to be beheaded. De Thou says that he alone paid the penalty for the other guilty men, “because he lacked the favor of courtiers”—because he had no friends at court.

An outline of the sixteenth-century Reformation.

When learning revived and people's minds began to become enlightened, there were widespread complaints about abuses. Everyone admits that these complaints were justified.

Pope Alexander VI had openly bought the papal crown, and his five illegitimate children shared its benefits. His son, the Cardinal Duke of Borgia, worked with his father the pope to kill the Vitelli, the Urbino, the Gravina, the Oliveretto, and a hundred other lords in order to seize their lands. Julius II, driven by the same spirit, excommunicated Louis XII, gave his kingdom to whoever could seize it first, and personally put part of Italy to fire and sword, wearing a helmet and breastplate. Leo X sold indulgences to pay for his pleasures, just as people sell goods in a public market. Those who protested against so much robbery were at least not wrong on moral grounds. Let us see whether they wronged us in political terms.

They said that Jesus Christ had never demanded the first year's income from church benefices or reserved church appointments for himself, nor sold dispensations for this world and indulgences for the next. People could therefore do without paying a foreign prince the price of all these things. Even if those first-year payments, lawsuits at the court of Rome, and the dispensations that still exist today cost us only five hundred thousand francs a year, it is clear that in the two hundred and fifty years since Francis I we have paid a hundred and twenty million. Allowing for the changing value of the silver mark, that amounts to about two hundred and fifty million in today's money. So we can admit without blasphemy that the heretics did no great harm to the kingdom by proposing the abolition of these strange taxes, which will astonish future generations. In this they were good at arithmetic rather than bad subjects. Let us add that they alone knew Greek and were familiar with antiquity. Let us not hide the fact that, despite their errors, we owe them the development of the human mind, long buried in the deepest barbarism.

But they denied purgatory, which must not be doubted and which, besides, brought the monks a great deal of money. They did not revere relics, which must be revered and which brought in still more. Finally, they attacked highly respected doctrines.⁷ At first the only answer was to burn them. The king who protected and paid them in Germany led a procession in Paris, after which several of these unfortunate people were executed. This was how the execution was carried out. They were suspended from the end of a long beam that pivoted like a seesaw on a standing tree. A great fire was lit beneath them. They were plunged into it and lifted out in turn. They experienced torture and death by degrees, until they died under the longest and most terrible punishment barbarism has ever invented.

Shortly before the death of Francis I, some members of the Parlement of Provence, stirred up by churchmen against the inhabitants of Mérindol and Cabrières, asked the king for troops to support the execution of nineteen people from that area whom they had condemned. They had six thousand people slaughtered, sparing neither women, old people, nor children. They burned thirty towns to ashes. These people, unknown until then, were undoubtedly wrong to have been born Waldensians: that was their only crime. For three hundred years they had lived in wildernesses and on mountains that they had made fertile through incredible labor. Their quiet pastoral life recalled the innocence attributed to the world's earliest ages. They knew the neighboring towns only through the trade in produce they took there to sell. They knew nothing of lawsuits or war. They did not defend themselves. They were slaughtered like fleeing animals killed inside an enclosure.⁸

After the death of Francis I—a prince better known, however, for his love affairs and misfortunes than for his cruelties—the execution of a thousand heretics, especially that of Dubourg, a judge of the Parlement, and finally the massacre of Vassy drove the persecuted to take up arms. Their sect had grown by the light of the burning stakes and under the executioners' blades. Rage replaced patience. They copied their enemies' cruelties. Nine civil wars filled France with slaughter. A peace more disastrous than war produced the Saint Bartholomew's Day massacre, which had no precedent in the records of crime.

The League murdered Henry III and Henry IV through the hands of a Dominican friar and a monster who had once been a Feuillant friar. Some people claim that humanity, forbearance, and freedom of conscience are horrible things. But honestly, would they have produced comparable disasters?

7 They revived Berengar's view of the Eucharist. They denied that a body could be in a hundred thousand different places, even through God's almighty power. They denied that attributes could exist without a substance. They believed it absolutely impossible for what is bread and wine to the eyes, the taste, and the stomach to be annihilated at the very moment it exists. They maintained all these errors previously condemned in Berengar. They based their views on several passages from the early Church Fathers, especially Saint Justin, who says explicitly in his Dialogue contre Typhon: “The offering of fine flour is the symbol of the Eucharist, which Jesus Christ commands us to celebrate in memory of his Passion.” “And the offering of fine flour, &c., was a symbol of the bread of the Eucharist, which our Lord Jesus Christ instructed us to make in remembrance of his Passion, &c.”

They recalled everything said in the early centuries against the worship of relics. They quoted these words of Vigilantius: “Must you respect or even worship worthless dust? Do the souls of the martyrs still love their ashes? The customs of idolaters have entered the Church. People are beginning to light torches in broad daylight. During our lives we can pray for one another, but after death, what use are these prayers?”

But they did not say how strongly Saint Jerome had attacked these words of Vigilantius. In short, they wanted to bring everything back to the apostolic age. They would not admit that, as the Church had expanded and grown stronger, its discipline had necessarily needed to expand and grow stronger too. They condemned wealth, which nevertheless seemed necessary to maintain the majesty of worship.

8 The truthful and respected President de Thou speaks as follows of these innocent and unfortunate people: “They were people who, about three hundred years earlier, had taken rough, uncultivated land from its lords in return for rent. Through tireless work and constant cultivation they had made it fertile in crops and fit for livestock. They were very patient in enduring labor and hunger, avoided lawsuits, were generous to the needy, and paid the prince's taxes and the lords' dues diligently and with the utmost honesty. They showed their worship of God through constant prayer and innocent conduct. But they seldom went to the churches of the saints, except when they happened to visit towns near their borders for trade or business. If they ever entered them, they did not bow down before statues of God and the saints, or place candles or offerings before them. They did not ask priests to celebrate services for themselves or the souls of their relatives. They did not mark their foreheads with the cross, as others customarily did. When the sky thundered, they did not sprinkle themselves with holy water, but raised their eyes to heaven and begged God's help. They did not travel on religious pilgrimages or uncover their heads before images of crosses along the roads. They celebrated their services with a different ritual and in the people's language. Finally, they paid no honor to the pope or bishops, but took certain men chosen from their own number as their leaders and teachers. When these things were reported to Francis on the sixth day before the Ides of February in the year, &c.”

Madame de Cental, who owned part of the devastated lands, where nothing could now be seen but the inhabitants' corpses, asked King Henry II for justice. He referred her to the Parlement of Paris. The advocate general of Provence, named Guérin, the chief author of the massacres, was the only one sentenced to be beheaded. De Thou says that he alone suffered the punishment of the other guilty men, “because he lacked the support of courtiers”—because he had no friends at court.