world’.”
Sauveterre started violently in his chair. “Has he forgotten the massacres of the Vaudois of Luberon? Mérindol and Cabrières seemed to have slipped his mind!” he growled. “But he must be counting on Purgatory to purge him of these venial sins!” He pronounced “Purgatory” with a scornful irony that seemed to put La Boétie ill at ease.
“Monsieur de La Boétie,” Siorac said hastily, “do you think Diane still holds sway over the new king? After all, Henri is twenty-eight, she is already forty-eight and the younger lionesses of the court might yet steal her prey.”
“Ah, but Diane is still a beauty,” replied La Boétie, happy to find himself on more familiar ground. “I can’t guarantee the face, which shows a few cracks here and there despite all her artifices, but her body is superb, and the young king gawks at her like the day she deflowered him. Do you know that after dinner every night, he visits her to tell her of the day’s affairs of state and sits on her lap? On her lap, I tell you! He plays her songs on the guitar, interrupting himself to exclaim to the constable as he fondles her breasts: ‘Look, Montmorency, what a figure she cuts!’ In truth, the new king is a gawking child. He looks at Diane as if he were completely surprised by her friendship. She’ll do with him whatever she pleases.”
“And whatever pleases Guise, the clergy and Montmorency,” added Sauveterre sombrely. “Well, so much for peace in the kingdom of France. We are going to witness a very Spanish Inquisition in our poor country, with endless tortures.”
“So I fear,” agreed La Boétie, adding after a moment’s reflection, “’Tis neither my duty nor my inclination to question your religiouspractices, but aren’t you somewhat imprudent? The vicar general complains that he never sees you at Mass in Sarlat any more.”
“For my part, I must complain that the 500 livres we donated to the Church expressly for the maimed veterans of this parish when we purchased Mespech have never found their way into their hands.”
“I like you too well to echo these foolhardy words to anyone,” cautioned La Boétie. “You’d never be forgiven.”
“But truth be told,” rejoined Siorac, whose smile lit up his eyes, “you may reassure the vicar general that we hear Mass every Sunday right here, thanks to the opening in the wall that communicates with the chapel beneath us in this very tower. We donate five sols every Sunday to the curate of Marcuays so that he will say Mass at noon every Sabbath. Madame de Siorac, the children and all our servants attend Mass in the chapel, and we are able to listen from this study where my brother is laid up, as you know, by his war wounds.”
Sauveterre was only half mistaken. Henri II (or rather those who controlled his life, for he was only a plaything in their hands) did not succeed in creating a Spanish-style Inquisition in France, despite the Pope’s pleas for one: the resistance of the great bodies of state was too fierce. But he multiplied the edicts and created within the Paris parliament the sinister
chambre ardente
, which imprisoned a great number of the reformed in the Conciergerie fortress before dragging them to their execution at the place Maubert. There they were tied to hastily erected stakes and burnt alive in great fires, their bodies consumed and reduced to ashes. I find in one of my father’s entries in the
Book of Reason
of about this date an echo of the ongoing discussion between the two brothers as to whether they should openly declare their support for the Reformation. Sauveterre felt that the times required that they sign their faith in blood. Sioracheld, on the contrary, that in making such a declaration during a period of persecution they would merely add to the list of martyrs without contributing in any way to the cause. It was much better, in his view, to wait until the party of the Huguenots had gained enough strength in the
Sauveterre started violently in his chair. “Has he forgotten the massacres of the Vaudois of Luberon? Mérindol and Cabrières seemed to have slipped his mind!” he growled. “But he must be counting on Purgatory to purge him of these venial sins!” He pronounced “Purgatory” with a scornful irony that seemed to put La Boétie ill at ease.
“Monsieur de La Boétie,” Siorac said hastily, “do you think Diane still holds sway over the new king? After all, Henri is twenty-eight, she is already forty-eight and the younger lionesses of the court might yet steal her prey.”
“Ah, but Diane is still a beauty,” replied La Boétie, happy to find himself on more familiar ground. “I can’t guarantee the face, which shows a few cracks here and there despite all her artifices, but her body is superb, and the young king gawks at her like the day she deflowered him. Do you know that after dinner every night, he visits her to tell her of the day’s affairs of state and sits on her lap? On her lap, I tell you! He plays her songs on the guitar, interrupting himself to exclaim to the constable as he fondles her breasts: ‘Look, Montmorency, what a figure she cuts!’ In truth, the new king is a gawking child. He looks at Diane as if he were completely surprised by her friendship. She’ll do with him whatever she pleases.”
“And whatever pleases Guise, the clergy and Montmorency,” added Sauveterre sombrely. “Well, so much for peace in the kingdom of France. We are going to witness a very Spanish Inquisition in our poor country, with endless tortures.”
“So I fear,” agreed La Boétie, adding after a moment’s reflection, “’Tis neither my duty nor my inclination to question your religiouspractices, but aren’t you somewhat imprudent? The vicar general complains that he never sees you at Mass in Sarlat any more.”
“For my part, I must complain that the 500 livres we donated to the Church expressly for the maimed veterans of this parish when we purchased Mespech have never found their way into their hands.”
“I like you too well to echo these foolhardy words to anyone,” cautioned La Boétie. “You’d never be forgiven.”
“But truth be told,” rejoined Siorac, whose smile lit up his eyes, “you may reassure the vicar general that we hear Mass every Sunday right here, thanks to the opening in the wall that communicates with the chapel beneath us in this very tower. We donate five sols every Sunday to the curate of Marcuays so that he will say Mass at noon every Sabbath. Madame de Siorac, the children and all our servants attend Mass in the chapel, and we are able to listen from this study where my brother is laid up, as you know, by his war wounds.”
Sauveterre was only half mistaken. Henri II (or rather those who controlled his life, for he was only a plaything in their hands) did not succeed in creating a Spanish-style Inquisition in France, despite the Pope’s pleas for one: the resistance of the great bodies of state was too fierce. But he multiplied the edicts and created within the Paris parliament the sinister
chambre ardente
, which imprisoned a great number of the reformed in the Conciergerie fortress before dragging them to their execution at the place Maubert. There they were tied to hastily erected stakes and burnt alive in great fires, their bodies consumed and reduced to ashes. I find in one of my father’s entries in the
Book of Reason
of about this date an echo of the ongoing discussion between the two brothers as to whether they should openly declare their support for the Reformation. Sauveterre felt that the times required that they sign their faith in blood. Sioracheld, on the contrary, that in making such a declaration during a period of persecution they would merely add to the list of martyrs without contributing in any way to the cause. It was much better, in his view, to wait until the party of the Huguenots had gained enough strength in the
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