Constance Sherwood: An Autobiography of the Sixteenth Century

by Georgiana Fullerton

butchercame for to urge him, with his three hundred men, to ride over thefield and slay the wounded papists. 'No, sir,' quoth the general, 'Ifight men, but hunt them not down.' The dead were heaped many feetthick on the plain, and the horses of the Huguenots waded to theirhaunches in blood. Those of the Religion were mad at the death of theBaron of Allemagne, the general of their southern churches, bravecastellane, who, when the fight was done, took off his helmet for tocool his burning forehead; and lo, a shot sent him straight intoeternity."

  "The Catholics were then wholly routed?" I asked.

  "Yea," he answered; "mowed down like grass in the hay-harvest. DeVins, however, escaped. He thought to have had a cheap victory overthose of the Religion; but the saints in heaven, to whom he trusted,never told him that Lesdiguieres on the one side and d'Allemagne onthe other were hastening to the rescue, nor that his Italian horsemenshould fail him in his need. So, albeit the papists fought likedevils, as they are, his pride got a fall, which well-nigh killed him.He was riding frantically back into the fray for to get himself slain,when St. Cannat seized his bridle, and called him a coward, so I haveheard, to dare for to die when his scattered troops had need of him;and so carried him off the field. D'Oraison, Janson, Pontmez, hotlypursued them, but in vain; and all the Protestant leaders, exceptLesdiguieres, returned that night to the castle of Allemagne for tobury the baron."

  A sort of shiver passed through the young gentleman's frame as heuttered these last words.

  "A sad burial you then witnessed?" I said.

  "I pray God," he answered, "never to witness another such."

  "What was the horror of it?" I asked.

  "Would you hear it?" he inquired.

  "Yea," I said, "most willingly; for methinks I see what you describe."

  Then he: "If it be so, peradventure you may not thank me for thisdescribing; for I warrant you it was a fearful sight. I had lost minehorse, and so was forced to spend the night at the castle. When itgrew dark I followed the officers, which, with a great store of themen, also descended into the vault, which was garnished all round withwhite and warlike sculptured forms on tombstones, most grim in theiraspect; and amidst those stone imager, grim and motionless, thesoldiers ranged themselves, still covered with blood and dust, andleaning on their halberds. In the midst was the uncovered coffin ofthe baron, his livid visage exposed to view--menacing even in death.Torches threw a fitful, red-colored light over the scene. A ministerwhich accompanied the army stood and preached at the coffin's head,and when he had ended his sermon, sang in a loud voice, in Frenchverse, the psalm which doth begin,

  'Du fond de ma pensee, Du fond de tous enuuis, A tol s'est adresse Ma clamear jour et nult.'

  When this singing began two soldiers led up to the tomb a man withbound hands and ghastly pale face, and, when the verse ended, shot himthrough the head. The corpse fell upon the ground, and the singingbegan anew. Twelve times this did happen, till my head waxed giddy andI became faint. I was led out of that vault with the horrible singingpursuing me, as if I should never cease to hear it."

  "Oh, 'tis fearful," I exclaimed, "that men can do such deeds, and thewhile have God's name on their lips."

  "The massacre of St. Bartholomew," he answered, "hath driven those ofthe Religion mad against the papists."

  "But, sir," I asked, "is it not true that six thousand Catholics inLanguedoc had been murthered in cold blood, and a store of themin other places, before that massacre?"

  "May I be so," he answered in a careless tone. "The shedding of blood,except in a battle or lawful duel, I abhor; but verily I do hatepapists with as great a hate as any Huguenot in France, and most ofall those in this country--a set of knavish traitors, which woulddethrone the queen and sell the realm to the Spaniards."

  I could not but sigh at these words, for in this young man'scountenance a quality of goodness did appear which made me grieve thathe should utter these unkind words touching Catholics. But I dared notfor to utter my thinking or disprove his accusations, for, beingignorant of his name, I had a reasonable fear of being ensnared intosome talk which should show me to be a papist, and he should prove tobe a spy. But patience failed me when, after speaking of the clearlight of the gospel which England enjoyed, and to lament that inIreland none are found of the natives to have cast off the Romanreligion, he said:

  "I ween this doth not proceed from their constancy in religion, butrather from the lenity of Protestants, which think that the consciencemust not be forced, and seek rather to touch and persuade than tooblige by fire and sword, like those of the south, who persecute theirown subjects differing from them in religion."

  "Sir," I exclaimed, "this is a strange thing indeed, that Protestantsdo lay a claim to so great mildness in their dealings with recusants,and yet such strenuous laws against such are framed that they do livein fear of their lives, and are daily fined and tormented for theirprofession."

  "How so?" he said, quickly. "No papist hath been burnt in thiscountry."

  "No, sir," I answered; "but a store of them have been hanged and cutto pieces whilst yet alive."

  "Nay, nay," he cried, "not for their religion, but for their manytreason."

  "Sir," I answered, "their religion is made treason by unjust laws, andthen punished with the penalties of treason; and they die for no othercause than their faith, by the same token that each of those whichhave perished on the scaffold had his life offered to him if so hewould torn Protestant."

  In the heat of this argument I had forgot prudence; and some unkindlyears and eyes were attending to my speech, which this young strangerperceiving, he changed the subject of discourse--I ween with acharitable intent--and merrily exclaimed, "Now I have this daytransgressed a wise resolve."

  "What resolve?" I said, glad also to retreat from dangerous subjects.

  '"This," he answered: "that after my return I would sparingly, and notwithout entreaty, relate my journeys and observations."

  "Then, sir," I replied, "methinks you have contrariwise observed it,for your observations have been short and pithy, and withal uttered atmine entreaty."

  "Nothing," he said, "I so much fear as to resemble men--and many suchI have myself known--who have scarce seen the lions of the Tower andthe bears of Parish Garden, but they must engross all a table intalking of their adventures, as if they had passed the Pillars ofHercules. Nothing could be asked which they could not resolve of theirown knowledge."

  "Find you, sir," I said, "much variety in the manners of French peopleand those you see in this country?"

  He smiled, and answered, "We must not be too nice observers of men andmanners, and too easily praise foreign customs and despise our own--not so much that we may not offend others, as that we may not beourselves offended by others. I will yield you an example. AFrenchman, being a curious observer of ceremonious compliments, whenhe hath saluted one, and began to entertain him with speech, if hechance to espy another man, with whom he hath very greatbusiness, yet will he not leave the first man without a solemn excuse.But an Englishman discoursing with any man--I mean in a house orchamber of presence, not merely in the street--if he spy another manwith whom he hath occasion to speak, will suddenly, without anyexcuse, turn from the first man and go and converse with the other,and with like negligence will leave and take new men for discourse;which a Frenchman would take in ill part, as an argument ofdisrespect. This fashion, and many other like niceties and curiositiesin use in one country, we must forget when we do pass into another.For lack of this prudence I have seen men on their return home tied tothese foreign manners themselves, and finding that others observe notthe like toward them, take everything for an injury, as if they weredisrespected, and so are often enraged."

  "What think you of the dress our ladies do wear?" I inquired of thisyoung traveller.

  He smiled, and answered:

  "I like our young gentlewomen's gowns, and their aprons of fine linen,and their little hats of beaver; but why have they left wearing theFrench sleeves, borne out with hoops of whalebone, and t
he French hoodof velvet, set with a border of gold buttons and pearls? MethinksEnglish ladies are too fond of jewels and diamond rings. They scornplain gold rings, I find, and chains of gold."

  "Yea," I said, "ladies of rank wear only rich chains of pearl, and alltheir jewels must needs be oriental and precious. If any one dothchoose to use a simple chain or a plain-set brooch, she is marked forwearing old-fashioned gear."

  "This remindeth me," he said, "of a pleasant fable, that Jupiter senta shower, wherein whosoever was wet became a fool, and that all thepeople were wet in this shower, excepting one