A More Personal Union

October 1561: The Colloquy at Poissy ends in the middle of the month. The boycott by the Catholic clergy results in a strongly pro-Calvinist Colloquy, which infuriates the Pope. However, the French clergy have long enjoyed relative independence from Rome, and the consensus among them is that it would be both heretical to meet with Protestants whom they despise and obscene to meet with Catherine d’Medici, whom they hold responsible for Guise’s death. By now, the notion that d’Medici masterminded the plot to kill the Duke of Guise has gained common coin among the Catholics of France, and she is more despised than ever. The French clergy believe that the Papacy will, if not applaud, then at least approve their actions, and when in December, word arrives that many French cardinals and bishops have been censured by the Pope, it comes as a slap to the face. The loss by France in the Italian War of 1559 still chafes, and now to have the Pope himself denounce their actions only serves to inflame anti-Italian feeling among the French clergy and nobles.

In Scotland, Guise’s death triggers a cycle of retaliation and counter-retaliation among the Scottish lords. Catholic lords, seeking to protect themselves as much as avenge Guise’s death, ambush and murder Protestant nobles, while Protestant mobs lynch Catholics in cities like Perth, Glasgow, and Aberdeen. On October 27, Arran is murdered in his sleep by an unknown assailant. Stewart himself is assaulted on November 2, but escapes with only mild wounds. Catholic churches are burned in Falkirk and Dumfries.

December 1561: Just before the Christmas holiday, King Francis, under the influence of his mother Catherine d’Medici, issues the “Edict of December,” extending many religious freedoms to Protestants while maintaining Catholicism as the official religion of France. A firestorm of political protest and civil unrest results into the new year.
 
Ironic that an Edict of Nantes analogue just makes it worse.

Actually, I was thinking of the Edict of Saint-Germain, a.k.a the Edict of January, which more or less triggered the first French War of Religion by permitting Huguenots to hold religious services outside of cities. Francis, duke of Guise (dead ATL), came across one of these services with a group of his men outside Wassy, and while trying to force his way in, was assaulted by some of the worshipers, who were then slaughtered by his troops. Because the Parlement of Paris had not ratified the Edict, Guise held that the Huguenots were acting illegally in holding their service, and that he was merely enforcing the law. The Huguenots, naturally, held the opposite view. The bad blood on both sides very quickly spilled over into civil war.
 
Actually, I was thinking of the Edict of Saint-Germain, a.k.a the Edict of January, which more or less triggered the first French War of Religion by permitting Huguenots to hold religious services outside of cities. Francis, duke of Guise (dead ATL), came across one of these services with a group of his men outside Wassy, and while trying to force his way in, was assaulted by some of the worshipers, who were then slaughtered by his troops. Because the Parlement of Paris had not ratified the Edict, Guise held that the Huguenots were acting illegally in holding their service, and that he was merely enforcing the law. The Huguenots, naturally, held the opposite view. The bad blood on both sides very quickly spilled over into civil war.

It still does look like overcoming the power of the Guises will be the biggest hurdle for Catherine de Medici.
 
Catholic Kings aren't the only ones who can take advantage of the deux roi situation; Huguenots with a Scottish champion seems fairly likely here.

Hmm. If your Church offices are held at the pleasure of the King of France, are you still a Cardinal when all your bishoprics have been taken away? I have no very good picture of Francis' personality, but I'm pretty sure mummy dearest would think of a purge-and-replace among French churchmen.
 
February 1562: As anti-Italian sentiment rises, and she begins to experience the backlash from the Edict of December, Catherine d’Medici is forced to vacate the royal court for her own safety. In her absence, Charles, Cardinal of Lorraine, moves into the power vacuum, and quickly reestablishes the preeminence of the Guises. Charles, like the other Catholic clergy who boycotted the Colloquy at Poissy, has been censured by the Pope. However, the opportunistic Charles is quick to inveigle himself back into the good graces of Pius IV. In a private letter to Pius, he denounces Catherine d’Medici and the Colloquy as being heretical. This, as it turns out, is a bad idea.

Bernardo Salviati, a distant relation of the Medicis, has recently been promoted to Cardinal, and recalled to Rome. He is also Catherine d’Medici’s former Grand Almoner, the chaplain charged with distributing her charitable contributions. He still has affection for his former employer, and being now located in Rome, is well placed to act as her spy in the Vatican. Although he has no great love of Calvinism, when word of Charles of Lorraine’s letter reaches his ears, he becomes greatly concerned for Catherine’s safety, and dispatches to her a copy of the letter.

Had Charles merely kept his denunciations limited to Catherine, there would have been few repercussions. But since he explicitly denounced the Colloquy, albeit in language that cast most of the blame on Catherine, he has opened himself to attack. For the Colloquy at Poissy was held expressly under the King’s authority, and, indeed, Francis II himself attended most of the sessions. Therefore, denouncing the Colloquy and its findings as heretical is tantamount to denouncing the King as heretical.

Catherine immediately seizes on this, and publicizes Charles’ letter widely. Returning to court, she is able to gain her son’s ear for a few crucial days. Francis, easily swayed by virtually any strong personality, is convinced by his mother that Charles is a traitor. On March 5, the Cardinal of Lorraine is arrested in his quarters on charges of treason.

In Scotland, Stewart has managed to tamp down the various violent factions, at least temporarily. A born conciliator, Stewart is concerned that the continuing French influence on Mary will remain a destabilizing factor in Scotland. Mary needs to come to terms with the fact that Scotland is now Protestant, or there will continue to be bloodshed.

March 1562: Elizabeth I is watching events in both France and Scotland anxiously. She does not want a war, and is herself coming close to imposing doctrinal uniformity on her own national church. Interfering with the French or the Scots seems lunacy at this delicate stage, and so she begins reaching out diplomatic feelers to both Francis’s court and the Lords of the Congregation. If Scotland can be settled, then perhaps France will fall into place as well.

Mary of Scotland is appalled by the arrest of her uncle. The enmity between herself and her mother-in-law has been growing for some time, and were she aware of Catherine’s role in Charles of Lorraine’s arrest, she would undoubtedly break openly with Catherine. But the Queen Dowager is adept at working behind the scenes, and so Mary remains in ignorance of Catherine’s maneuvering. Instead, she believes it to be primarily Francis’s doing. Her affection for her husband remains undiminished.

When Pius IV learns of Lorraine’s arrest he is outraged. It seems to him that the French monarch has vastly overstepped his bounds; Charles has committed no crime, and even if he had, they would be ecclesiastical crimes, subject to canon law and the authority of the Church. It is beginning to dawn on Pius that the French have perhaps too much independence under the traditional Gallicanist system.

He writes a series of letters, first to Francis, chastising him for his presiding over a Colloquy dominated by heretics, and also for the arrest of his uncle by marriage. Pius makes it clear: Protestantism is heresy, and if Francis continues to permit heresy, he himself is a heretic.

Pius also writes to Mary. He gently rebukes her for failing to defend her uncle, Lorraine, and states that she should use her “wifely virtues” to convince Francis to release him. There could not possibly be a worse approach. No matter how gentle the words, Mary takes instant offense at the notion that she should disobey her husband in favor of her overbearing uncle. As much as she loves and respects Charles, she has been raised to believe that the wife must obey the husband in every respect, and to do otherwise is sinful. For Pius to suggest she take sides against Francis is incitement to sin, and the hotheaded Mary fires off a letter to the Pope informing him of just that.

Pius’s final letter is to Catherine d’Medici, excoriating her for hosting heretical Protestants at Poissy, and warning her of the threat of excommunication. As is typical of her, Catherine largely ignores the Pope’s threatening words; she has more pressing concerns and opportunities.

With Lorraine removed from Francis’s ear, Catherine begins surrounding the eighteen-year-old king with her own affinity, many of whom are Huguenots.
 
April 1562: Pius IV has become increasingly worried about the intransigence of the French. Under the Gallicanist system the King has too much power: the power to appoint and remove clergymen, to confer and dispose of ecclesiastical benefices, to oversee the temporal administration of the Church. The Gallicanist system is not formal, but rather the result of a kind of benign neglect on the part of the Papacy, as well as a de facto recognition of the power of the French crown. Now, however, that neglect no longer seems so benign. The French king gives lip service to the notion of Papal supremacy, but with the Colloquy at Poissy, the arrest of Charles of Lorraine, and the continued tolerance of Protestantism in France, it is clear that lip service is all that it is.

Heresy cannot be tolerated. Something must be done about France. Therefore, Pius brings the matter of the French before the Council of Trent, no longer limiting the issue to the Huguenots but to all Frenchmen, Catholics or Protestants. And he takes one more step. On April 28, 1562, Pope Pius IV issues the papal bull Ad Francia ("To the land of the French"), which begins the process of extending the Inquisition’s jurisdiction into France.
 
April 1562: The Gallicanist system is not formal, but rather the result of a kind of benign neglect on the part of the Papacy, as well as a de facto recognition of the power of the French crown.

Concordat of Bologna, 1516. Confirmed by the Fifth Lateran Council, 1512-1517. It's a formal system, signed by Pope Leo X and affirmed by the Church Council; the Pope has an up-or-down veto on church offices in France, and no other authority. He can't establish an Inquisition without Francis' assent, and Francis gets to pick who runs the Inquisition.

Which is not to say Francis won't go along with it, since it looks like it can be turned to his advantage here. But if Pius thinks he can "bring France to heel", he's going to need an army. A big one. Like Spain or the HRE.

Or to put it another way...if the Pope can establish an Inquisition in France, the Crown has more to gain from Protestantism than Catholicism, and knows that.
 
Last edited:
My understanding of Gallicanism is that it was formalized by the Declaration of the Clergy of France in 1682, and although many aspects of it had existed for centuries and had been normalized by edicts both from Rome and the French court, those aspects did not constitute an official system, per se.

You're absolutely right about the necessity of Francis II's assent in the establishment of a French Inquisition; both the Portuguese (1536) and Spanish (1478) Inquisitions were established at the behest of their monarchs. The Inquisition has not yet been established. Yet. And I imagine Pius believes that Francis will "request" the services of the Inquisition, either through an actual formal request, or via a recognition that the Inquisition is necessary in suppressing the Protestants, thus providing a retroactive "request." Pius, I think, may have a misplaced faith in the willingness (and more relevantly, the ability) of the French crown to use all necessary force to put down the Huguenots. I'm not sure, I'm still doing research.
 
May 1562: The Council of Trent has long been regarded with suspicion and hostility by the French, due to perceived Hapsburg dominance. Held in Trent, a city in the Holy Roman Empire, and dominated by the Spanish, the Council does not seem a favorable battleground for French interests, all the less so when it meets during the month of May.

French prelates, devout Catholics all, are called before the other members of the Council and asked to account for the actions of their king. Most of the French are themselves appalled at the violence and religious unrest prevalent in France, and even more so at the ambivalent reaction by Francis.

Still, their positions depend on their being politic, and despite the fact that they are in front of a hostile audience they demure from completely denouncing their king, and instead argue that, although Francis’s actions are somewhat lukewarm in defense of the faith, they are the best possible under the circumstances.

This is inadequate for the Council. On May 19, they draft a statement which puts into stark language the position of the Church vis-à-vis France:

  • Protestantism is heresy. Support of Protestantism, including legislation to protect the rights of Protestants, is also heresy, and anyone who engages in such support is a heretic.
  • The Concordat of Bologna holds, guaranteeing the rights and freedoms of the Church in France, but is conditional on the French King’s unflinching support for orthodoxy, as set by the Vatican. If the King supports heresy, he forsakes these rights, and they devolve back to the Church in Rome.
  • The French King must rigorously police the doctrines of the Church in France, in keeping with the above, and in so doing will, of course, permit the operations of a French Inquisition, whose Grand Inquisitor shall be named by him with the Pope’s approval.
The statement goes on to pointedly condemn Elizabeth I of England, who has failed to maintain the old religion, and is therefore outside the fellowship of nations. It is also careful to point out that Elizabeth holds her throne thanks to the good graces of the Papacy, for “no doubt such goodly Christians as dwell in England should throw her down were she to be cast from the bosom of the true Church.” Although the Council has not gone so far as to declare Elizabeth deposed, the message is clear: monarchs who flirt with Protestant heresy risk losing their thrones.
 
June 1562: Catherine d’Medici, acting through her son the King, has little choice but to comply with the dictates of the Council of Trent; the religious situation is too unsettled in France to risk aggravating the Papacy any further, and the Inquisition might be useful in disposing of her enemies. However, she delays in selecting a Grand Inquisitor, preferring to leave that position unfilled until such time as a suitable, pliant candidate can be found.

Philip II of Spain has been watching the situation in France with some alarm. A devout Catholic, Philip has already been forced to watch as England, his one-time fief, slipped into what he regards as blatant heresy. Now France seems to be slipping likewise, or at least that is what his agents at the Council of Trent and at the French court tell him. Cunning, ambitious, and self-aggrandizing in the extreme, Philip contemplates his next move. Is France’s descent into unrest a disaster or an opportunity?

At the end of the month, though, he receives a welcome distraction. His seventeen-year-old second wife, Elisabeth de Valois, sister of Francis II and daughter of Catherine d’Medici, informs her husband that she is pregnant. For Philip, whose current heir is the increasingly unstable and inbred Carlos of Asturias, this is joyous news. Carlos, who is such a product of the tangled Hapsburg tree that he only has four great-grandparents, is completely unfit for kingship, and now, with a new child on the way, the possibility that Spain may not be condemned to a lunatic monarchy gladdens Philip’s heart.
 
War in the Languedoc

August 1562: Inquisitorial agents begin arriving in France, under the leadership of Cardinal Cristoforo Madruzzo. The bishop of Trent, Cardinal Madruzzo is an educated, cultured, and vigorous man. He is also a devout and strenuous Catholic, and a favorite of Ferdinand I, the Holy Roman Emperor. Madruzzo has been a major player at the Council of Trent, and what he has heard there has disturbed him. With the permission of Pius and Ferdinand, he has journeyed to France with the goal of extirpating heresy and enforcing the faith with all the rigor he can muster.

September 1562: Madruzzo’s first target is one of France’s most prominent Protestant ministers: Odet de Coligny. The forty-five-year-old Coligny is the younger brother of Admiral Gaspard de Coligny, a major leader of the Huguenots, and is also a former Catholic cardinal and bishop of Beauvais. Having left the Roman cloth, Coligny now preaches the Calvinist doctrine in Macon.

On September 10, agents of the Inquisition, working with civil authorities, attempt to arrest Coligny in Macon. However, Coligny is able to escape his would-be jailers and flees south, to the principality of Orange. Orange, an independent province inside France, has become under the Protestant William the Silent a bolt hole for thousands of Huguenots. There Coligny is safe. But his flight has drawn the attention of the Inquisition to the Languedoc. Although the vast majority of Provencals are Catholic, their cultural differences and past medieval heresies (see Catharism) make them suspect to the Inquisition, who begin investigating clergy and intellectuals in the south for signs of heresy.

Notable among the targets of investigation is Adrien Tournebe, a scholar in classics at the University of Toulouse, and Cardinal Georges d’Armagnac, the archbishop of Toulouse.

Tournebe is under suspicion due to his association with classical literature, which the Inquisition fears may popularize pagan beliefs. A popular and respected professor at the University, Tournebe may be inadvertently leading his students into error.

D’Armagnac is himself a devout Catholic, a fierce soldier against Protestantism, but in these charged times even the devout may find themselves under suspicion. In the past d’Armagnac has supported literary figures, poets, writers, and scholars, and is considered something of a humanist. However, the time when humanist critics of the Church could be tolerated is past, and now even the gentlest and mildest humanist finds themselves branded a potential heretic.

Although Madruzzo reasonably believes that neither man is guilty, allegations have been made, and must be investigated. He tasks his men to make a thorough, but low-key, inquiry into both men’s beliefs.

Already, the Inquisition has stirred up bad blood in the south of France. Most of the inquisitors are Italian or Spanish, and the residents of the Languedoc look on them with hostility. The Vaudois, better known as the Waldensians, are vaguely pseudo-Protestant Frenchmen of Piedmontese origins who just seventeen years prior saw their population decimated in massacres in the villages of Cabrieres, Merindol, and Lourmarin. Recently they have had their religious liberties returned to them, but the presence of the Inquisition has unsettled them deeply. Provencals already feel somewhat alienated from the rest of France; to be singled out by the Inquisition makes them resentful.

October 1562: Numerous priests and monks are investigated by the Inquisition. What the inquisitors lack in numbers they make up in energy, and throughout the fall they seem to be everywhere. At the University of Toulouse, lesser lecturers found guilty of heterodoxy are quietly dismissed, and many students are arrested by civil authorities under suspicion of heresy. The authorities make it clear they are acting on Inquisition orders.

November 1562: November 1, All Saints’ Day, is a solemnity of the Catholic Church, and across France it will be celebrated by remembering those who have departed this world. The day before, Cardinal d’Armagnac is visited by agents of the Inquisition, who in private ask him if he would be willing to be interviewed by Cardinal Madruzzo, who is passing through from Lyon the following day. They recommend meeting outside Toulouse, in order to maintain privacy. D’Armagnac is slightly put out that he would by necessity miss the All Saints’ Mass, but believes that the fight against heresy must take precedence--that, and clearing his name. He agrees, and informs his priests to perform the mass without him.

Despite his instructions to maintain silence, word spreads that d’Armagnac will not be presiding over mass the next day, and, as so often happens, the word gets twisted. Throughout Toulouse, competing rumors run rampant: d’Armagnac has been arrested by the Inquisition, the Inquisition plans to bar priests from performing the mass the next day, hundreds of priests have been arrested, the Inquisition is going to close the churches and the University. Tensions rise throughout the night.

Just after dawn, as thousands of Toulousains head to Mass, the tension snaps. The city explodes into rioting. Thousands of students pour into the streets, eager to avenge their dismissed professors and imprisoned classmates. Catholics and Protestants alike rage out of fear of the Inquisition.

Rioting and urban chaos quickly spirals out of control, and spills out of the city into the surrounding countryside. It takes a very little spark to send the already unsettled Languedoc into a massive conflagration, as across the south angry and frightened Provencals turn against the Inquisition and each other. Old grudges are settled, and new ones formed. In Cahors, two inquisitors are lynched by a baying mob on November 18.

News of the unrest reaches the royal court on November 10. Catherine d’Medici sends out soldiers to put down the mobs, but they are unsuccessful, and fearing he might make the situation worse, the commander, Henri de Montmorency, withdraws to Lyon which is relatively untouched by rioting.
 
More than it already has at least.

Some disturbance of this nature is unsurprising and inevitable. But if it gets worse...

:eek:

Kudos to the author for having it unfold like this rather than the Inquisition itself screwing things up. It feels more realistic that way, even if either is possible.
 
The Hamilton-Douglas Feud

December 1562: Christmas at Holyrood Palace is set to be a charming, boisterous affair, as Regent James Stewart prepares to host festivities in the place of his absent sister, Mary of Scotland. A few Catholics attend, but in the main the guests are Protestant notables, and a very merry time is had by all.

Until Christmas Eve. As Stewart’s guests enjoy a mummer’s play, their festivities are marred by the increasingly insane James Hamilton, Earl of Arran. Arran, who ascended to the earldom upon the murder of his father, has become extremely unstable, and now, raving, he attacks James Douglas, Earl of Morton, apparently mistaking him for an old enemy. Although retainers manage to pull Arran off him, Morton has his face badly slashed. Stewart is appalled at this breach of hospitality, and orders Arran restrained until the end of the season’s festivities.

January 1563: On the 7th, the day after Twelfth Night, Arran is brought before the civil magistrates. By now it is clear he is completely deranged, ranting about demons and fairies. The magistrates judge him to not be responsible for his actions, and he is placed in the custody of his brother, John, who arranges to have Arran incarcerated at Craignethan Castle in South Lanarkshire.

This, however, does not satisfy the now-disfigured Morton. He demands from Stewart that the two lords settle the affair like gentlemen; he has been wronged, and thus should have the right to obtain satisfaction in a duel. He points out to Stewart that Arran clearly violated the laws of hospitality, and did so on a holy day. This is an egregious offense.

Stewart, however, declines Morton’s petition. Arran is insane; he cannot be held responsible, and to duel against him would be pointless and cruel.

Enraged, Morton vacates the capital on the 9th, heading for his house at Aberdour, where he will wait for his face to heal.

On January 25, John Hamilton moves his brother, along with a small body of retainers, from Edinburgh to Craignethan. Near Balerno, in the bitter cold, they are ambushed by a party of Douglas clansmen lead by William Douglas, cousin of Morton and half-brother of Stewart. Hamilton and his men attempt to flee, but a lucky crossbow shot catches Arran in the throat, and son, like father, is murdered.

February 1563: On February 16, John Hamilton, now Earl of Arran, calls together the leading members of Clan Hamilton. The twenty-eight-year-old Earl, together with his followers, swears a solemn vow that the murder of James Hamilton will not go unavenged.
 
Winter 1562-1563: Throughout the winter, riots flare up and sputter out in the unsettled south of France. Henri de Montmorency, who had hoped that winter’s chill would have caused the region to settle down somewhat, is disappointed that despite his best efforts, matters remain chaotic. By mid-January, most of the inquisitors have fled for their lives--those, that is, save the ones who will never leave again.

Pius IV, upon receiving word of the violence against sanctioned agents of the Holy Office, is incensed, and in late January sends a strongly worded letter to Francis II, instructing him to protect the inquisitors and put down the “heretical peoples of the lands where ‘Oc’, not ‘Oui’, is said.”

By now things are beginning to die down in the Languedoc--until the Pope’s letter is somehow leaked to many nobles in Provence in February, along with Francis’s “response,” which condemns the actions of the Inquisition. The Languedoc erupts again, even more furiously this time. Mixed mobs of Huguenots, as well as Catholics grievously offended at being characterized as “heretical peoples”, rampage against anyone suspected of being an inquisitor or informant for the Inquisition.

Of course, the source of the leaks is the wily Catherine d’Medici, who hopes to unite the Huguenots and Catholics of the Languedoc against the Inquisition and prevent them from turning on each other. “The Languedoc is well worth an Inquisition,” she remarks, in reference to the dozens of inquisitors fleeing north into Paris and the Seine valley.
 
February 11, 1563: Philip II of Spain and his wife, Elisabeth de Valois, welcome into the world a healthy baby boy in the town of Uceda. The baby, who resembles his father, is named Ferdinand, after Philip’s uncle. Two days after his birth, the Infante Ferdinand is made first Duke of Uceda. On February 21, Ferdinand is baptized, and his father declares that “my son hath been given over to the Lord, that he might be a banner for those true in the faith.”
 
So basically there are going to be three kinds of posts in this thread: your standard TL posts, discussion posts where I talk about what I'm planning and (hopefully) get your awesome feedback, and analysis posts where I talk about my reasoning so far. This is one of the latter.

In re: Scottish Reformation, it's pretty clear to me that Mary, while Catholic, was willing to compromise with the Lords of the Congregation primarily because she lacked the strength to impose the Old Religion back on Scotland. So, from my perspective, if she is still Queen of France, she's going to make a strong push for using France's resources to promote Catholicism in Scotland. This leads to the French overextending themselves; I think they would underestimate the depth of feeling in Scotland for reform. Obviously, ITTL, the Duke of Guise is sent to Scotland, which weakens the Catholic cause in France. Without Guise, and without Louis de Bourbon on the Huguenot side, the Wars of Religion don't break out on the same schedule as OTL.

I think without the polarizing influence of the wars, and with the Guises's strength diminished by the death of Francis of Guise, Catherine d'Medici might have more success navigating a compromise path, at least for the present.

The wild card in all this is the Pope; Pius is, from my readings, a well-meaning man, adept at politics, but I don't think he fully understands what's necessary to crush Calvinism in France. I imagine he views Francis II as being a weaker version of Philip of Spain: pop in an Inquisition and the problem is half solved. Of course, Francis II is weak, but he's being manipulated by those around him, not leading events himself, and France is not Spain; it has a longer tradition of heterodoxy (Catharism, Waldensianism, etc.) and my reasoning suggests that an Inquisition in France would be considerably less successful than in Spain.

As for foreign policy, I've largely left that alone because I don't think things have diverged enough for that to have changed significantly. Look for developments in the next few years on that.

In Scotland, the violence has ratcheted up considerably compared to OTL because unlike OTL in this TL there's always the niggling worry in the back of the minds of the Protestants that Mary will keep pushing Catholicism down their throats. She has little reason to compromise, being safe in France, with the full might of the French monarchy at her back, and so I think the Lords of the Congregation would be considerably more on edge than OTL, and bloodshed results.

Your thoughts?
 
Top