Henry M. Baird · 123 of 379

CHAPTER VIII · Rage against the "Lutherans."

The French capital was thrown into a paroxysm of fear on receipt of the intelligence. The road to Paris lay open to the victorious army. The king, not less than the people, expected to hear the Spaniards within a few brief days thundering at the very gates of the city. Charles the Fifth, from his retirement at Yuste, is said to have asked the courier with impatience, whether his son was already in Paris. In the minds of the populace, disappointment and fear were mingled with rage against "the accursed sect of the Lutherans"—the reputed authors of all the public calamities. Every prediction which the priests had for a generation been ringing in the ears of the people seemed now to be in course of fulfilment. In the startling defeat of a large and well-appointed army of France, led by an experienced general, all eyes read tokens of the evident displeasure of the Almighty, not because of the ignorance and immorality of the people, or the bad doctrine and worse lives of its spiritual leaders, or the barbarous cruelty, the shameless impurity, and unexampled bad faith of the court; but because of the existence of heretics who denied the authority of the Pope, and refused to bow down and worship the transubstantiated wafer. The popular anger was the more ready to kindle because the harsh measures of the government had confessedly failed of accomplishing their object, and because—to use the expressive language of the royal edict—the fire still burned beneath the ashes. An incident which happened little more than a fortnight after the battle of St. Quentin disclosed the bitter fruits of the slanderous reports and violent teachings disseminated among the excitable inhabitants of Paris.