In the dawn of the disastrous reign of Francis I., the Huguenots first appear. They were the direct offspring of the Bible. As the sacred volume, multiplied by the printing-presses of Germany, first made its way into France, it was received as a new revelation. Before Luther had published his theses it is said that there were Protestants at Paris, and wherever the Bible came it was certain to found a church. But it was chiefly among the men of labor and of thought that its teachings were ever welcome.
Labor, flying from the decaying cities of Italy and the disturbed dominions of Charles V., had found a new home in many of the towns of France; accomplished workmen in silk and linen, iron or clay, had stimulated the prosperity of Lyons and Tours, Saintes and Meaux; painters, sculptors, architects, and poets had sprung up amidst the barbarism of chivalry. Paris was as renowned for its painters as for its goldsmiths; and the College of France spread liberal learning among the ambitious students of the day. To the cultivated artisan and the classical scholar the gross corruptions of the church, and the open vices of monks and priests, were singularly odious; for the one had learned the charm of virtue by practicing a regular life, the other by a study of Socrates and Cicero.
When, therefore, the Bible, in its modern translation, was laid before the people, a wonderful religious revolution swept over France. Nearly the whole working-class became Protestant. The great manufacturing towns were converted at once from Romanism to the faith of St. Paul. Almost every eminent artisan or inventor was a Huguenot. Stephen, the famous printer; Palissy, the chief of potters; the first French sculptor, Goujon; the great surgeon, Paré, and a throng of their renowned companions, shrunk from the mass as idolatrous, and lived by the precepts of the Bible. The professors of the College of France and the ablest of living scholars adopted the principles of reform. The impulse spread to nobles and princes. The house of Bourbon and of Navarre were nearly all Huguenots. Marguerite, the sister of Francis, became the chief support of the reformers, and the king himself seemed for a moment touched and softened by the sacred language of inspiration.
The Bible ruled over the rejoicing French. Of the wonderful power of this wide reform it is impossible to speak without enthusiasm. Swiftly there spread over the manufacturing towns of France a reign of saintly purity. Men once more shrunk from vice and clung to virtue. The gross habits of the middle ages were thrown aside; the taverns and theaters were deserted, the morris-dancers and jongleurs no longer amused; the rude dissipation of the peasantry, the licentious fêtes of priests and nobles, awakened only disgust; but in every village prayer-meetings were held, and the Bible was studied by throngs of eager students, who, for the first time, were now enabled to listen to the voice of inspiration.
The Reformation began, it is said, at Meaux, a small manufacturing town on the borders of Flanders, which had learned from its Flemish neighbor industry and independence. Its people had been coarse and rude, its priests vicious, indolent, and dull, and the little town had found its chief recreation in drunkenness and barbarous license. Its inhabitants were wool-carders, fullers, cloth-makers, and mechanics, living by the product of their daily labor, and grasping eagerly at every uncultivated pleasure. Jacques Lefèvre, the translator of the Bible into French, a man of nearly seventy, and the young and brilliant Farel, his faithful associate, preached to the working-men of Meaux and distributed among them copies of the gospels. At once the mass was deserted, the priest condemned, and eager throngs listened to the daring missionaries who ventured to unfold the long-forgotten truth.
A swift and graceful transformation passed over the busy town. No profane word was any longer uttered, no ribaldry nor coarse jests were heard. Drunkenness and disorder disappeared; vice hid in the monastery or the cloister. In every factory the gospels were read as a message from above, and the voice of prayer and thanksgiving mingled with the clamor of the shuttle and the clash of the anvil. The rude and boisterous artisans were converted into refined and gentle believers, ever seeking for the pure and the true; and the sudden impulse toward a higher life awakened at Meaux by the teachings of Farel and Lefèvre stirred, like an electric shock, every portion of diseased and decaying France. A moment of regeneration seemed near, a season of wonderful advance.
At a later period, Palissy, the potter, has left a pleasing account of a similar transformation. In the busy town of Saintes, where he was pursuing with incredible toil and self-denial one of the chief secrets of his art, Palissy became the founder of a church. Too poor to purchase a copy of the Bible, he learned its contents by heart, and every Sunday morning exhorted or instructed nine or ten of his fellow-townsmen who assembled in secret to hear the word of God. The little congregation soon grew in numbers. For some time they met at midnight, and hid from persecution.
At length the purity of their lives and the earnestness of their faith won the respect of the people of Saintes; a pastor was procured; the people crowded to the Protestant assembly; a revival spread over the town, and a sudden reform in morals made Saintes a haven of rest and peace. Coarse plays and dances, extravagance in dress and license in living, scandal, quarrels, and lawsuits, says Palissy, had almost wholly passed away. Instead of profane language and idle jesting were heard only psalms, prayers, and spiritual songs. The religion ruled over the happy town, and even the priests and monks, stirred by the general impulse, began to pray and preach with honest fervor, and to emulate the purity of the zealous reformers.
A gentle harmony prevailed between the rival churches; for the moment the evil passions of men were charmed into repose. Then, adds Palissy, might be seen, on Sundays, bands of work-people walking cheerfully in the meadows, groves, and fields, singing spiritual songs together, or reading to one another from the sacred volumes; young girls and maidens chanting hymns beneath the pleasant shade; boys, with their teachers, full of a steadfast purpose to live a noble life. The very countenances of the people, he asserts, were changed; the coarse lines of sensuality had been swept away, and from every face shone only benevolence and truth.
The picture of the reformed village, drawn by the honest pen of the gentle artisan, reads like an idyllic dream amidst the dreadful story of the reign of the chivalric Francis. It seems scarcely more probable than Livy's narrative of the Golden Age of Numa, or Homer's legend of the gentle Phæacians. Yet it was no doubt true. In many towns and cities of martial France similar scenes were witnessed. More than two thousand churches sprung up in the apparently ungenial soil.
The early Huguenots were noted for their austere virtues, their truthfulness, and their love of peace. They lived together, a happy brotherhood, joined in a common faith, a similar purity of life. Men trusted the word of a Huguenot when the oath of the Catholic noble awakened only distrust. They brought honesty into commerce, and the domestic virtues into every home. They softened their enemies by a tolerant patience; they strove to convert rather than to destroy; their brilliant leaders, adorned by rare talents and eminent virtues, attracted the admiration of the age; and it seemed possible that the tide of reform might sweep unchecked over France, subdue by its gentleness the hostility of the Gallican church, and restrain, with a mighty force, the barbarous instincts of the feudal princes and the impulsive king.