Villegagnon | Page 7

condemned were sentenced to be carried back to
Meaux; fourteen, after being again put to the torture, were to be burnt
alive in the market-place; most of the others were to be hung up by
their shoulders during the execution of their brethren, and then to be
flogged and imprisoned for life in a monastery, while the remainder
were to receive somewhat less severe, though still grievous
punishment.
The hardy young Scot almost turned sick with horror and indignation
as he heard the sentence; and putting his hand to his sword, he was
about to cry out and demand, in the name of justice, that instead of
being punished, the prisoners should be released, when his companion
grasped him by the arm, whispering, "Be calm, my friend; such events
are so common in France, that we have grown accustomed to them.
Hundreds have already died as these men are about to die; and we, their
countrymen, have been compelled to look on without daring to raise
our voices in their cause, or, as you are inclined to do, to draw a sword
for their defence."
Maitre Leroux, after exchanging a few sentences in an undertone with
three or four people they met, whose sad countenances showed the
interest they took in the condemned, led his young friend from the
so-called hall of justice. On their way they looked into the magnificent
church of Notre Dame. Priests in gorgeous dresses were chanting mass;
music was pealing through the building, and incense was ascending to
the roof.
"Impious mockery," muttered Nigel. "Well may Calvin and John Knox
desire the overthrow of such a system, and desire to supplant it by the
true faith of the Gospel."
"Hush! hush! my young friend," whispered Maitre Leroux, hurrying
him out of the church, regretting that he had entered it. "Though many
may think as you do, it's dangerous to utter such opinions in this place."
"Can nothing be done to save these poor men?" asked Nigel. "Surely
the king cannot desire the destruction of his subjects?"

"The king, like Gallio, cares for none of these things. He is taught to
believe that the priests are the best supporters of his crown: and, at all
events, he knows that they allow him full licence in the indulgence of
his pleasures, which the Protestants, he supposes, would be less
inclined to do."
"I would that I were out of this city of Paris, and away from France
itself," said Nigel.
"Many think and feel as you do, and are acting upon it," answered the
steward. "Already many thousand men of science and clever artisans
have left, to carry their knowledge and industry to other lands; and
others, in all directions, are preparing to follow. You will hear more
about the matter when you visit the admiral, and my good master, who
does not look unmoved on such proceedings. More on the subject it
would not become me to say. Not long ago an edict was issued, by
which all the old laws on heresy were revived, it being the resolution of
the king to purge and clear the country of all those who are deemed
heretics. Magistrates are ordered to search unceasingly for them, and to
make domiciliary visits in quest of forbidden books, while the informer
is to obtain one-third of the heretic's confiscated property. Should a
person be acquitted of heresy in any ordinary court of justice, he may
be again tried before an ecclesiastical tribunal, thus depriving him of all
chances of escape. Even interference on behalf of a heretic is made
penal, and should a person be suspected, he must exhibit a certificate of
orthodoxy, or run the risk of being condemned. You see, therefore,
young sir, that I am right in recommending caution as to what you say;
not that these edicts have the effect expected, for Calvinism increases
rapidly, and the stream of emigration continues from all parts of the
kingdom."
They walked on in silence, Nigel meditating on what he had heard.
"Some fresh air will do you good after the scenes we have witnessed,"
observed Maitre Leroux. "We will take a turn in the Pre-aux-Clercs. It
is but a short distance past the Invalides."
It was evening, and a number of people were thronging that pleasant

meadow on the banks of the Seine, the Hyde Park of that period. A
party of young men coming by struck up one of the hymns of Marot, a
translation of one of the psalms of David, written some years before by
the Protestant poet. Others joined in, and evidently sang them heartily;
several other parties, as they passed along, were indulging in the same
melodies.
"How is it, after what you have told me, that the people venture to sing
these hymns?" asked Nigel.