KING HENRY OF NAVARRE

At the death of Charles IX, there were three Henrys who were prominent in France. The first was Charles’s younger brother, who now became Henry III.

Henry was already King of Poland, but he did not like Poland, and was so delighted to be able to return to France that he actually ran away from his kingdom. A crowd of his subjects ran after him, but they could not catch their fugitive sovereign. Henry amused himself in Italy for a while, and then went to France. The French people were ready to welcome their new king, but they soon found that there was nothing kingly about him except his title. He paid no attention to his royal duties, but idled his days away. Worse than this, he became the leader of a band of vicious, dissolute young men who filled their time with shameless acts.

It is small wonder that the French, both Catholics and Protestants, were indignant and disgusted. The Huguenots were becoming stronger, and the Catholics formed a League to uphold and protect their faith. Their leader was Henry, Duke of Guise, the second of the three Henrys.

The third Henry was Henry, King of Navarre, the leader of the Protestants. King Henry III of France had no children, and this Henry of Navarre, though only a tenth or eleventh cousin, was heir to the French throne.

King Henry III was about as foolish as a king could be. First, he gave privileges of worship to the Protestants, or Huguenots; which angered the Catholics. Then he took away these privileges; which angered the Protestants. The result was the “War of the Three Henrys,” and before long there came a day which is known as the “Day of the Barricades,” because the citizens of Paris made barricades of carts, barrels, and paving-stones, and stretched chains across the streets, in order to resist the king’s troops. These troops had to yield, and King Henry, in his own capital, was forced to beg the Duke of Guise--whom he had forbidden to enter Paris--to try to stop the slaughter in the streets. The duke did this without the slightest trouble, for the Parisians were ready to obey his slightest wish. The king was forced to make the duke lieutenant-general of France and to agree to take up arms against the Huguenots.

Not many months later, the duke was called to the king’s room. As he drew aside the portiere, a group of assassins attacked him, and he fell dead at their feet. Henry kicked the body aside. “I am King of France now,” he declared in delight; “the King of Paris is dead.” Both Protestants and Catholics were horrified at the crime, and the Pope excommunicated King Henry. One day a young monk begged leave to present a letter to the king; and as Henry was reading it, the monk stabbed him to the heart. Thus ended the life of Henry III, the last of the House of Valois.

King Henry of Navarre was now King Henry IV of France. He was born in a castle in the Pyrenees, and was brought up by a wise mother and an equally wise grandfather. Nobody dreamed that he would ever become King of France, for nine princes stood before him in the succession to the throne. He was dressed like the other boys of the district, and scrambled up the mountains with them, barefooted and bareheaded. His food was the same as theirs--coarse bread, beef, cheese, and garlic; and they were not allowed to show him any deference because he was a prince. When he went to visit the French court, the court historian said of him that he was “the jolliest and best-composed lad in the world.” His tutor was as sensible as his grandfather, and the boy was taught such rhymes as:

“Kings rule their subjects with a mighty hand; But God with greater power doth kings command,”

and

“Either justly gain the victory, Or learn with glory how to die.”

When this “jolliest lad in the world” was fifteen, he was taken to the camp of the Huguenots and greeted as their leader. Before long he showed so much ability that he became their leader in reality as well as in name. It was fortunate that he had military talent, for after he became king, he had to spend five years fighting his way to Paris, the capital of his own kingdom. He won an important battle at Arques, and then came the battle of Ivry. It is of this that Macaulay wrote his poem, beginning,

“Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre!”

Just before the battle, King Henry rode along the lines with a snow-white plume in his helmet. “If my standard-bearers fall,” he said, “press where you see my white plume shine, for there will be the thickest of the fight.” The battle began and, as Macaulay tells the tale,

“A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest; And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.”

Henry and his brave followers won the victory, and by and by he drew near to Paris. He besieged the city, but he never forgot that his opponents were also his subjects. More than once he permitted food to be carried within its walls, and he allowed thousands of non-combatants to withdraw. “I am their father and their king,” he said. “They are innocent; it is the Leaguers that are resisting me.” It is no wonder that the four thousand who were allowed to leave at one time marched out crying “Long live the king!”

Philip II of Spain sent troops to raise the siege; and before long Henry IV of France found himself in a difficult position. Any favor that he showed to either party aroused the other party against him. Even those to whom he had shown the favor felt no gratitude, for they always thought that he might have done more for them. The result was that hardly one sixth of the French were his friends. The League was against him. The Pope was against him. Queen Elizabeth of England was giving him some help, but not nearly enough. The French were planning to make the daughter of the powerful Philip II of Spain their queen. Just at this time Henry made up his mind to become a Roman Catholic. He went in state to the Abbey of Saint Denis, where he was met by the archbishop and many others of the clergy.

“Who are you?” demanded the archbishop.

“I am the King of France,” Henry replied.

“What do you wish?”

“To be received into the bosom of the Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman Church,” said Henry.

So it was that Henry IV became a Catholic. Whether he was convinced or not that his Protestant friends were “heretics,” he had at any rate chosen the only way to keep the kingdom united and to save it from Spain, for within a few months he was accepted as king by nearly all France. He took no vengeance upon his enemies. When the Spanish troops left Paris, he saluted them and cried merrily, “Commend me to your master, gentlemen, but do not come here again.”

Philip, however, did not give up the hope of setting the French crown upon his daughter’s head, and for three years longer the war with Spain continued. The royal treasury of France was emptied to pay the soldiers, and the king was poorer than his subjects. “My shirts are all torn,” he wrote to a friend. “My doublets are out at elbows, my cupboard is often bare, and for the last two days I have been dining and supping with one and another.” At length, however, Henry’s enemies were overcome, and Philip II met his death.

Henry had become a Catholic, but he did not forget that many of his subjects were Protestants. In 1598 he issued a famous paper in their behalf, called the Edict of Nantes. This gave to both Catholics and Protestants equal rights in the practice of their religion and in holding office. It even established a special court to look out for their interests. To-day this would be regarded as no more than fair; but in those times it was looked upon as a wonderfully liberal proceeding.

Henry astonished the rulers of the other European countries in another way. It was generally accepted that a king had a perfect right to deceive others if he chose; but King Henry was so honest and sincere that they did not know what to make of him. It was a long time before they could believe that he really meant what he said.

King Henry had faults as well as people who are not kings; but he was one of the most unselfish of rulers. His first thought was always, “How can I help my people?” It is no wonder that his subjects loved him. “I want every peasant to have a fowl in his pot on Sundays,” he said; and in those days, when peasants rarely tasted meat, this was a great wish. “Their father has come home,” he said; and he set to work to study the wages and expenses of the working-people and to learn how much these wages would purchase for them. He lessened their taxes; he built roads and bridges; he drained marshes; he encouraged silk-making by planting mulberry trees to provide food for the silkworms; he built factories for weaving silk, velvet, lace, and linen, and for making glass. The country became happy and prosperous. Henry even sent out colonists to America, who founded Quebec. He planned a union of all the Christian nations of Europe against the Turks. But all this was suddenly brought to an end by the dagger of a half-crazed assassin. Paris was wild with grief. People ran about the streets groaning and weeping; and parents embraced their children, crying, “What will become of you? You have lost your father.”

The French people have had rulers who were great, but no other sovereign has ever held such a place in their hearts as their beloved Henry IV.