Copyright by Ashley Marie Voeks 2019

Home , Alonso de Ercilla, Edict of Fontainebleau

Ashley Marie Voeks

2019

The Dissertation Committee for Ashley Marie Voeks certifies that this is the approved

version of the following dissertation:

Pourquoi me persécutes-tu?: Martyrdom and Religious Violence in

French Literature, 1554-1643

Committee:

Marc Bizer, Supervisor

______

Julie Hardwick

______

Hannah Chapelle Wojciehowski

______

Hélène Bilis

______

Pourquoi me persécutes-tu?: Martyrdom and Religious Violence in

French Literature, 1554-1643

Ashley Marie Voeks

Dissertation

Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School

of the University of Texas at Austin

in Partial Fulfillment

of the Requirements

for the Degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

The University of Texas at Austin

May 2019

Acknowledgements

I owe thanks to a great many people without whom I never would have produced this dissertation. Above all, I must thank my supervisor, Marc Bizer, for so generously sharing with me his expertise, insightful feedback, and thoughtful criticisms that have helped me to shape both the dissertation and my own ideas on the relationship between writing and religion. Under his mentorship, my years as a graduate student at the University of Texas at Austin have been productive and challenging in the best of ways. I would also like to extend my sincere gratitude to committee members Hélène

Bilis, Julie Hardwick, and Hannah Wojciehowski for their guidance — navigating the fields of early modern French history, literature, and theater was daunting in the early stages of the dissertation project, but I could not have had more brilliant scholars and mentors to whom I could turn for advice. Additional thanks and appreciation goes to the

Department of French and Italian at UT for fostering so many wonderful opportunities for its graduate students, from professional development and fellowships to conference experience and teaching assistantships both abroad and on campus. Teaching, in particular, has been my greatest joy at UT, and I will be forever grateful to my students for being my number one reason for attending graduate school — none of this would have been possible without them. Also deserving of special thanks are my parents, Kris and Julie Voeks, who have shown me love and support in this and every endeavor. And finally, my warmest thanks to Jason Shell for being an unwavering source of encouragement and laughter.

iv Abstract

Pourquoi me persécutes-tu?: Martyrdom and Religious Violence in

French Literature, 1554-1643

Ashley Marie Voeks, Ph.D.

The University of Texas at Austin, 2019

Supervisor: Marc Bizer

In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, France sustained prolonged periods of religious conflict between Catholics and Reformers that profoundly shaped its culture. My dissertation addresses the relationship between French culture and conflict by examining texts that engage with the subjects of martyrdom and religious violence, from the early years of Reformed persecution to the aftermath of France’s Wars of

Religion. Pushing the conventional boundaries of Catholic-Reformed conflict beyond a single event or historical episode, my work shows the continuity of textual representations of the sufferings endured by the religious minority in France. I likewise broaden my focus to include authors and genres that are typically not studied together, thereby offering new perspectives on the complex issue of how French writers and readers navigated sectarian divide. Martyrdom and religious violence form the basis of this continuity and my argument that prominent French writers Jean Crespin, Jean de

Léry, Agrippa d’Aubigné, and Pierre Corneille sought to lead their French-speaking audiences toward positive and sympathetic perceptions of the religious other.

I begin tracing the narrative thread of martyrdom and religious violence in

Chapter One, which considers French martyrologist Jean Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs

(1554), the first book of Reformed martyrs published in the French vernacular. I argue

v that the Histoire des martyrs was the product of Crespin’s desire to gain authority within the Reform movement by producing a work that would be of cultural and symbolic value for sixteenth-century Reformed readers. I first examine Crespin’s career path in printing and his accounts of Reformed martyrdom through the Bourdieusian theoretical lens of cultural production. I explain his successful debut in the competitive printing industry in terms of his initiation into the ‘religious field’, meaning the network of leading Reformers that controlled their church and movement. I then look to the martyrology’s distinct components to show how they would have constituted ‘religious capital’, meaning valuable assets for individuals functioning within the religious field, for Crespin and his Reformed readers. Crespin’s martyrology was an important part of everyday life for Reformers, and the martyrs whose stories filled the pages of the

Histoire des martyrs inspired and instructed readers in matters of faith.

In Chapter Two, I turn to Reformed explorer and writer Jean de Léry’s first- hand accounts of the hardships that Reformers experienced during the Siege of Sancerre and an expedition in the New World, both momentous events and crushing defeats for the French Reform movement. Léry recounts these experiences in his well-known travelogue and memoire, the Histoire d’un voyage faict en la terre du Brésil (1580) and

Histoire mémorable de la ville de Sancerre (1574). In so doing, Léry pays particular attention to the food-related aspects of Reformers’ struggles, from eating uncustomary meals and suffering famine to witnessing the cannibalistic practices of the Tupinambá natives of Brazil. I thus adopt a food studies approach to argue that Léry’s works may be better understood as articulations of Reformed identity, with alimentary choices and eating behaviors serving to underscore the adaptability and resilience of Reformers in times of heightened religious violence and strife. As my readings suggest, Léry intended

vi to shift his sixteenth-century reader’s perception of these events from resounding defeats to courageous and martyr-like displays of self-sacrifice and steadfast belief.

I offer a reassessment of the traditional book of Reformed martyrs established by Crespin in Chapter Three, which examines vehement poet and soldier Agrippa d’Aubigné’s accounts of Reformed martyrdom in his epic poem Les Tragiques (1616).

Aubigné’s book of martyrs, “Les Feux,” exemplifies what I call an ‘epic martyrology’, meaning a subgenre and style that blends the characteristic elements of the epic and the martyrology. My reading argues that Aubigné creates an ‘epic martyrology’ to revive the emotional impact that accounts of Reformed martyrdom once had on sixteenth- century readers. To this end, I engage in close readings of Aubigné’s martyrological accounts, highlighting the ways in which their distinctly poetic features rendered them more energetic and would have persuaded seventeenth-century readers to see Reformed martyrs as valiant heroes of the French Reform.

Lastly, Chapter Four examines a Catholic appropriation of the theme of martyrdom in leading French playwright Pierre Corneille’s renowned martyr drama

Polyeucte martyr (1643). I first consider scenes and character dialogue that emphasize the dangers of martyrdom and religious difference, making the case that Polyeucte was meant to evoke the Catholic-Reformed violence of France’s recent past. My reading suggests that Corneille sought to draw his seventeenth-century audience’s attention to the threat that ongoing sectarian tensions posed to the social and political stability of the state. I then consider theories of religious toleration to demonstrate how Polyeucte embodies the ‘respect conception’ of tolerance, which seeks to foster attitudes of mutual respect between the religious majority and minority. Corneille’s apparent interest in renewing the toleration policies that had been in place since the turn of the century ultimately served to bolster the Catholic crown’s authority and promote civil order.

vii Table of Contents

Introduction Pourquoi me persécutes-tu?: Martyrdom and Religious Violence in French Literature, 1554-1643 ...... 1 I. Martyrdom and Religious Violence in French Literature ...... 1 II. The Chapters ...... 11

Chapter One Reforming the Religious Field: Jean Crespin and the Martyrology, 1554-1570 ...... 17 I. Introduction ...... 17 II. Entering the Religious Field ...... 23 III. Generating Religious Capital ...... 32 IV. Conclusion ...... 60

Chapter Two Famine, Food, and Reformed Identity in the Works of Jean de Léry, 1574-1580 ...... 62 I. Introduction ...... 62 II. You Eat What You Are: Food and the Shaping of Religious Identity ...... 70 III. Feeding (and Eating) the Besieged ...... 74 IV. The Eaters and Eaten of the New World ...... 94 V. Conclusion ...... 118

Chapter Three “Les Feux” of the Reform: An Epic Martyrology in Agrippa d’Aubigné’s Tragiques, 1616 ...... 120 I. Introduction ...... 120 II. From Reformer to Reformed Martyrologist ...... 129 III. Une langue de flamme: The Language of the Epic Martyrology ...... 138 IV. The Power of Pain ...... 171 V. Conclusion ...... 182

Chapter Four The Politics of Tolerance in Pierre Corneille’s Polyeucte martyr, 1643 ...... 185 I. Introduction ...... 185 II. Staging the French Wars of Religion ...... 191 III. Corneille’s Message of Religious Tolerance ...... 224 IV. Conclusion ...... 243

Conclusion ...... 246

Works Cited ...... 255

viii Introduction

Pourquoi me persécutes-tu?: Martyrdom and Religious Violence in

French Literature, 1554-1643

There are no more glorious pages in the history of humanity than those of the French Reformation.1

— Charles Read, first president of the Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français

I. Martyrdom and Religious Violence in French Literature

On July 10, 1559, Henri II,2 King of France, succumbed to a severe head wound he received during a jousting match.3 Near his deathbed there allegedly hung a tapestry depicting the conversion of Saint Paul, which French Reformers at the time considered a sign of God’s anger toward the Catholic sovereign for repressing them, calling to mind the oft-quoted passage from Acts 9:4,4 “Saul, Saul, pourquoi me persécutes-tu?”

(Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?) (Coignet 266). That Reformers interpreted

Henri II’s death as a message from God is by no means uncommon among victims of religious persecution. Indeed, members of persecuted religious groups are inclined to view the favorable outcomes of critical events as evidence of divine favor, often as a

1 The first president of the Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français (Society of the history of French Protestantism) pronounced these words during his inaugural speech in 1853 (qtd. in Nicholls 26). 2 I have chosen to use the French spelling in reference to French figures and certain institutions, like the sixteenth-century Parlements, except in cases where it may cause confusion. 3 For a medical perspective on the death of Henri II, see Marc Zanello et. al, “The Death of Henry II, King of France (1519–1559).” 4 I use two editions of the Bible for all biblical citations, the Nouvelle Edition de Genève and the New Revised Standard Version, one being a French-language edition and the second an English-language edition. If there are multiple in-text citations, for the second citation in each chapter I abbreviate these titles with NEG and NRSV.

1 kind of coping mechanism or justification for continued resistance.5 France’s

Reformers, who would soon find themselves at war with their Catholic counterparts, were no exception, circulating their firmly-held beliefs and pro-Reform interpretations of events like the death of their king in order to justify and bolster their religious cause.

Sectarian tensions in early modern France, and the political and social conflicts that accompanied them, began with the idea of reform — that is, shifts in ecclesiastic and theological thought, known today as the European Reformations. The French

Reformation, in particular, has roots as far back as Philippe II, but could be said to have firmly established itself in the first few decades of the sixteenth century (Lange 80).

Under the reign of François I, Reformation thought traveled rapidly across the kingdom, in cities and provincial towns alike, following the widespread circulation of Lutheran works beginning in 1519 (Knecht, “Early” 5). Luther’s ideas brought about conversions, but also formal steps toward censorship by the Parlement de Paris and the Sorbonne around 1521 (Taylor 33). Efforts to curb the spread and further development of the

French Reform movement reached a turning point after the Affaire des Placards in

1532, when King François, at the end of a solemn procession and tacit display of

Catholic devotion, declared publicly that

… if his right arm were infected with the cancer of the new heresy,6 he would with his left hand lop it from his body; and that, in like case, he would not spare his own children. (qtd. in Pardoe 279)

5 In the introduction to their collaborative volume, Under Caesar’s Sword: How Christians Respond to Religious Persecution, editors Daniel Philpott and Timothy Samuel Shah discuss the variety of forms of religious persecution and responses to religious violence based on the findings of the project’s researchers. They propose three categories under which these responses fall: “strategies of survival, strategies of association, and strategies of confrontation” (11). Responses such as the one described above, in which Reformers made connections between favorable outcomes of events and external symbols, fall under the category of strategies of association. 6 Emphasis mine.

2 His message to his French subjects was clear: Reformers were heretics, and in adherence to the obligation of his Coronation Oath to rid the kingdom of heresy, he intended to enact a sharp policy change that would target and stamp out religious dissenters (Jones 156).

This policy change, however, came too late. Despite the growth of religious persecution during the reigns of François I and his son Henri II, Reformed thought continued to develop in France, albeit differently than in nearby Germany and England.

France’s political and social climate fostered Calvinism, which only began to catch on in 1541, but became dominant among French Reformers around 1550 (Knecht, French

Renaissance 67). Calvinism’s dominance was such that the success of the French

Reform seemed possible, even after the outbreak of the Wars of Religion in 1562.7 And although France would remain an officially Catholic kingdom, the last war having ended with the “stinging defeat” of Huguenots8 and the equally disastrous Edict of

Nantes in 1598,9 French Reformers were remarkably resilient to persecution and deeply committed to their religious beliefs, practices, and communities throughout the early modern period (Holt 187).

7 Mark Greengrass puts forth this idea in his well-known book, The French Reformation, thereafter surveying key factors in the “failure” of the French Reform (62). 8 Some scholars of religious history, like David J.B. Trim, use the term ‘Huguenot’ in reference to “adherents of John Calvin,” specifically in sixteenth-century France (“Huguenots” 1). However, following the lead of Geoffrey Treasure, who asserts that the term “is of uncertain origin” and therefore “we (scholars) are free to choose” how to use it, I refer to Reformers as Huguenots in discussions of armed conflict, religious massacres, and other such cases of partisan dispute during the French Wars of Religion (122). I further define word variants of ‘Reformer’ at a later point in this introduction. 9 In his essay “The Crown, the Huguenots, and the Edict of Nantes,” N.M. Sutherland concludes that the rebellious Huguenots who had “flouted” the edict’s goal of ‘one faith, one king, and one law’, likewise “claiming more than it (the edict) accorded,” ultimately brought about their own defeat (48). The Edict of Nantes was thus disastrous to the French Reform not so much in its intentions, but rather the ways in which it was or was not followed and enforced.

3 The resilience and sense of commitment among France’s Reformed population is central to understanding French culture in the mid-sixteenth to the mid-seventeenth centuries.10 Indeed, the presence and persistence of the Reformed religious minority significantly shaped the era, often characterized by religious persecution, popular unrest, and outright war. This leads us to ask, when faced with such violence: what stirred the zeal of these Reformers, and how did they keep the Reform movement’s momentum? And while there is no one answer to either of these questions, there is one especially influential and prominent force of cultural change that forms the basis of the present study, and that speaks to the persistent character of the French Reform: martyrdom.

Following the crown’s persecutory measures that brought about the execution of countless so-called heretics in sixteenth-century France, perhaps the most impactful way in which French Reformers responded was to commemorate the deaths of members of their religious communities.11 What were heretics to the crown were martyrs to France’s

Reformers. The influence of these Reformed martyrs on French culture, before and after their own time, cannot be overstated. The blood shed by martyrs inspired conversions to the Reformed faith, incited feelings of sympathy toward Reformers, and reinforced perceptions of the world as a struggle against good and evil wherein faith stood paramount (Salisbury 1).12 Much as Tertullian famously wrote, the blood of martyrs

10 Following the definition that Thomas Worcester puts forth in Seventeenth-Century Cultural Discourse, I use the term ‘culture’ to mean “a vision of the world and expression or embodiment of that vision” (23). But given this dissertation’s literary focus, such expressions and embodiments refer to written texts, to the exclusion of other media. 11 There are many noteworthy responses to religious persecution among French Reformers, including “a strong devotion to singing the Psalms set in metrical French… (and) the development of theories of resistance to tyrannical monarchs” (“Reformers” 552). 12 Brad S. Gregory eloquently conveys this idea in Salvation at Stake: “Public executions became a powerful arena for evangelization. From the perspective of civil

4 was in fact the seed of the French Reformed Church, allowing their faith and movement to grow and spread in the sixteenth century.13

Critical to the immediacy and longevity of Reformed martyrdom’s influence on

French culture were the means by which the public engaged with martyrs and their experiences of suffering death for eternal reward (Cobb 18). First-person witnessing, for example, was remarkably effective — but even more so was the circulation of martyr texts. Martyrologies, as volumes of written accounts of martyrdom were later called, came to be a defining genre of the Reform in the second half of the sixteenth century

(Barker 162). The draw of these accounts owed a great deal to their relevance and resonance among French Reformers, especially in the years surrounding the Wars of

Religion, when the genre was at its most popular (Ibbett, Style 40-41). Eminent writers who contributed to the development of French martyrological writing, both by authoring martyrologies and treating the subjects of martyrdom and religious violence more generally, are the focus of this dissertation.

More precisely, this dissertation presents a new way of understanding the role of martyrdom and religious violence in early modern French culture through consideration of writings produced as part of the martyrological tradition. It is about four prominent writers — Jean Crespin (1520-1572), Jean de Léry (1536-1613), Agrippa d’Aubigné

(1552-1630), and Pierre Corneille (1606-1684) — who turned to the martyrological

and ecclesiastical authorities, the condemned ought to have begged forgiveness and reconciliation. To onlookers, the sight of men and women going to their deaths willingly, and bearing extreme pain with extraordinary patience, could spark interest and even conversion” (7). 13 Early Christian theologian Tertullian wrote, “semen est sanguis Christianorum” (the blood of Christians is seed) (Apologeticum L.13). In his book Getting to Know the Church Fathers, Bryan Litfin is right to point out that Tertullian’s quote is often mistranslated to designate particular religious institutions (277). But such is the nature of polemic, as French Reformers also chose to interpret Tertullian’s quote this way, for their own benefit.

5 tradition in the wake of sectarian divide in France, from the mid-sixteenth to the mid- seventeenth centuries, in order to elicit affective responses in readers to the persecuted religious minority. The works of these writers that engage with the subjects of martyrdom and religious violence, as I argue and demonstrate in the present study’s four chapters, were ultimately meant to change the way early modern readers perceived

French Reformers. The types of change that each writer solicits may vary,14 but all underscore a largely constructive intent that coincides with the social and political dynamics of Catholic-Reformed conflicts and tensions. More exactly, they all evince an unmistakable intention to guide the reader toward positive perceptions of France’s religious minority that range from admirable and courageous to piteous and deserving of toleration.

* * *

In order to understand how the argument presented here had been reached, a few points of clarification need to be made with regard to my choice of texts, methodologies, and key ideas and terms. It seems firstly important to explain the connections between the four writers whose works I analyze. Jean Crespin, Jean de

Léry, Agrippa d’Aubigné, and Pierre Corneille were all embroiled in the sectarian divide between Catholics and Reformers that had distinct impacts on French culture during the era in which they wrote. For example, Crespin witnessed the persecutory reigns of François I and Henri II, Léry and Aubigné lived through the Wars of Religion, and Corneille experienced the persistence of religious intolerance and the renewed persecution of Reformers by the French crown. Their writings bring these critical historic periods to life, likewise bearing witness to shifts in the ways that writing could affect a readership. The genres that they respectively employ — the martyrology,

14 I address the individual aims of each author in the next section.

6 memoir and travelogue, epic poetry, and tragedy — are intentional choices made by each writer and engage readers to specific ends. But in short, I see the writings of these four authors as constituting a narrative of martyrdom and religious violence spanning an entire century.

The period between the mid-sixteenth and mid-seventeenth centuries was a momentous one in the history of the French Reform. I focus my attention on this time period because it encapsulates some of the most decisive episodes in the Reform movement, particularly with regard to martyrdom and religious violence in France. For one, this period saw the decline of Renaissance humanism and the simultaneous rise in so-called heresy that heralded the kingdom’s religious wars.15 It also witnessed an increase in the number of Reformed churches in France and a more sophisticated church organization, which initially served to unify Reformers and advance their political and religious cause, and later inspired armed resistance to the crown’s authority (Speelman

252). Furthermore, in the decades after the turn of the century, the rise of absolutism reflected a “need” for “order and increased political power that,” according to historian

Orest Ranum, “came like a shock wave after the violence of the Wars of Religion” (6).

Concretely, this meant further armed conflict, like the war that broke out in La Rochelle in 1628, as well as heightened tensions brought about by edicts and ordinances that eroded Reformers’ rights. Hence, the years framing this study, 1554 to 1643, correspond not only to the publication dates of the works that I analyze, but also to one

15 Some scholars consider the decline in Renaissance humanism to be readily apparent in Montaigne’s Essais, which were first published in 1580, though this decline would have begun earlier. See, for example, Humanism in Crisis: The Decline of the French Renaissance, edited by Philippe Desan. For a concise overview of the connections between the intellectual movements of the French Renaissance and the beginnings of heresy, see R.J. Knecht’s chapter, “The New Learning and Heresy” in The Rise and Fall of Renaissance France, 1483-1610.

7 of France’s most tumultuous periods, the nature of which may be better understood through its historical, literary, and polemical texts.

In addition, it should be noted that my methodologies vary by chapter. To be precise, in my readings I draw insights from the fields of cultural production, food studies, and rhetoric and poetics, as well as theories of religious toleration. The authorial strategies of each of the four writers examined here are far too diverse for any single methodology to demonstrate convincingly the common aims of their texts.

Moreover, drawing from fields as divergent as poetics and food studies, for example, underscores a wide range of significant aspects of French culture, like language and ritual, which in turn adds further dimensions of meaning to the study of the French martyrological tradition. My choice to adopt multiple methodologies thus allows for an expansive understanding of the role of martyrdom and religious violence in early modern French culture.

Lastly, a few notes on terminology are necessary. Perhaps the most essential terms used in this dissertation, as its title indicates, are ‘martyrdom’ and ‘religious violence’. I take martyrdom to mean the process by which individuals suffer death in the name of their faith. This process must also be understood in terms of witnessing, as

Saint Augustine reminded fifth-century Christians when he sensed that the term was no longer understood by his Latin audience (Pinckaers 49). He told them that

… some of the brethren who are not acquainted with the Greek do not know what the word ‘witnesses’ is in Greek… for what in our tongue we call ‘witnesses’, in Greek are ‘martyrs’. (“Homily I” 1:2)

Martyrdom in an early Christian sense, then, meant suffering death on behalf of one’s testimony to the truth of Christ’s teachings. Early Christian martyrdom was the act of bearing witness to the person of Jesus and what he reveals through faith.

8 However, an important shift occurred in people’s understanding of martyrdom from the early Christian era to the early modern period. In the wake of the European

Reformations and sectarian divide, martyrdom became a legitimizing factor of the

“suffering community” of the “true Church” (Dillon 18).16 For early modern Catholics and Reformers, martyrdom meant the process of bearing witness to a specific body of

Christian belief, and was central to debates about the truth of that belief in which the martyr functioned much like a rhetorical device (Dillon 19). Martyrdom in the context of the French Reform movement thus served to persuade audiences of the validity of the

Reformed faith in an on-going debate between Reformers and their Catholic counterparts.

This shift in the meaning of martyrdom also entailed changes in what constituted a martyr. For Jean Crespin, who arguably defined Reformed martyrdom for his mid- sixteenth century French-speaking readership, martyrs needed to fulfill a set of criteria, which included formal condemnation and confessing publicly their faith.17 But by the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, some considered victims of the French

Wars of Religion and the period’s numerous religious massacres to be worthy of the title of martyr. Such was the opinion of martyrologist Simon Goulart, for example, who took on the role of producing later editions of Crespin’s martyrology after his death in

1572.

Given the gray line between martyrdom and religious violence in early modern

France, I find both terms to be equally relevant to my argument and thus use them in similar contexts throughout this dissertation, albeit not interchangeably. Drawing on

Hector Avalos’ definition in The Origins of Religious Violence, I take the term religious

16 Emphasis mine. 17 I address this topic in greater detail in Chapter One.

9 violence to mean “the act of modifying and/or inflicting pain upon the human body in order to express or impose power differentials,” specifically as it relates to religious belief (19). In this sense, martyrdom is indeed a form of religious violence, but religious violence as defined here extends the meaning of a faith-based community’s suffering to situations that do not necessarily result in voluntary death. This close relationship between martyrdom and religious violence will be especially relevant in Chapter Two, which does not treat the subject of martyrdom per se, but rather the martyr-like agonies that Reformers endured, according to Reformed writer Jean de Léry.

As a final note on terminology, throughout this study I refer to all ideas related to the European Reformations as ‘Reformed’, all followers of Reformation principles as

‘Reformers’, and oftentimes the religious cause and movement simply as ‘the Reform’.

Following the lead of historian James Simpson, I use these terms instead of word variants of ‘Protestant’ because of the sense of a “reformist impulse” that they imply, meaning a desire born from necessity to “lean into the future” (2). In other words, the implications behind the term ‘Reformed’ reflect the authorial intent of the writers that I discuss in this dissertation — that is, an underlying intention to sway readers toward more sympathetic understandings of this religious minority. I therefore prefer to use its words variants, rather than Protestant, in most cases.

10 II. The Chapters

In Chapter One, “Reforming the Religious Field: Jean Crespin and the Reformed

Martyrology, 1554-1570,” I examine the pioneering work of Reformed French writer

Jean Crespin, who compiled, edited, and published the Reform’s first book of martyrs in the French vernacular, the Histoire des martyrs. My contention is that his martyrological accounts contain highly valuable cultural and symbolic goods, and that in producing these goods he sought to attain a position of greater power and influence within the French Reform movement.18 Adopting the Bourdieusian framework of cultural production, I first consider Crespin’s early involvement in the Reform, which I refer to as the ‘religious field’, meaning in the most general sense the sixteenth-century network of Reformed churches, which included church authorities and members of the

Reformed laity. I view Crespin’s contact with members of the Reformed elite and the decisive career moves that allowed him to stand out in the bustling printing and book markets in 1550s Geneva as evidence of his desire to gain further authority among leading Reformers. I then turn in a second section to the Histoire des martyrs, Crespin’s successful historical, pedagogical, and devotional endeavor that granted him the influence that he aimed to achieve among church authorities and the laity, focusing on three editions of the martyrology that he printed in the French vernacular during his lifetime.19 I categorize and analyze the martyrology’s content areas to show how they

18 I do not discount Crespin’s impact on the Reform movement in Geneva, discussing in Chapter One the advantages at his disposal and the challenges that he faced during his first several years as a religious refugee in this Reformed city. However, since much of my analysis of the martyrology focuses on its circulation, uses, and reception among French readerships, here and in other instances I refer to Crespin’s aims vis-à-vis members of the French Reform. 19 In Chapter One, I discuss the editions that Crespin printed during his lifetime, including key changes in content, format, and style, likewise mentioning that his successors Eustache Vignon and Simon Goulart continued to compile and publish subsequent martyrological editions after the martyrologist’s death in 1572. It should

11 functioned as ‘religious capital’, meaning goods that sixteenth-century Reformed readers would have recognized as valuable investments in their faith. These include confessions of faith, eyewitness testimonies, and letters. In reproducing religious capital for circulation among Reformers, Crespin effectively reformed the religious field, shaping the ways in which readers understood acts of Reformed martyrdom and responded to religious persecution in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries.

Chapter Two, “Famine, Food, and Reformed Identity in the Works of Jean de

Léry, 1574-1580,” considers food in relation to the articulation of identity. More exactly, I show how explorer and writer Jean de Léry constructed a new aspect of

Reformed identity by giving particular focus to what Reformers consumed in accounts that treat two defining moments in the history of the French Reform: the Histoire mémorable de la ville de Sancerre and Histoire d’un voyage faict en la terre du Brésil, which correspond respectively to the Siege of Sancerre during the French Wars of

Religion and the first attempt by Reformers at New World settlement. Both texts, I argue, may be understood as essays on articulations of Reformed identity in times of heightened religious violence and extreme hardship. Moreover, central to both texts is the awareness that religious identity may be articulated in alimentary terms. I begin by discussing how different food choices and rituals like the taking of communion express religious identity, but also mark the boundaries between religious communities, which is to say Catholics and Reformers. These observations inform my readings of the

Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage, in which I pay particular attention to

Léry’s reflections on dwindling food supplies and famine, as well as the cannibalistic rituals that he observed while living among the Tupinambá natives in Brazil. These

also be noted that I do not study the Latin edition of Crespin’s martyrology, as my interest lies with sixteenth-century French-speaking audiences.

12 food-related descriptions that captured the attention of his readers ultimately served to shape their perception of the Reformed community as resilient and resourceful in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges. By conveying Reformers’ experiences in this way, Léry sought to further define how Reformers self-identify in order to strengthen their group identity and resilience in the face of religious persecution and violence.

Turning to epic poetry in Chapter Three, “‘Les Feux’ of the Reform: An Epic

Martyrology in Agrippa d’Aubigné’s Tragiques, 1616,” I address leading Reformed writer Théodore Agrippa d’Aubigné’s epic adaptations of Jean Crespin’s accounts of martyrdom. These accounts are part of “Les Feux,” the fourth book in his seven-book epic Les Tragiques, and appear to have been drawn directly from Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs.20 In writing his book of martyrs, I show how Aubigné engaged with two genres, the epic and the martyrology, and in so doing created a hybrid subgenre and style that I call the ‘epic martyrology’. In my reading of “Les Feux” as an epic martyrology, I argue that Aubigné used his poetic skill and the rhetorical tools at his disposal to rewrite Crespin’s martyrological accounts, effectively enhancing the emotional impact and persuasive potential of Reformed martyrdom for a seventeenth- century readership. My analysis of Aubigné’s martyrological accounts focuses on the characteristic features of Reformed martyrdom that Crespin prescribed in his martyrology — that is, sacrifice and reward, conviction, constancy, and joy. After highlighting the various poetic devices, illustrative qualities, and other stylistic elements that Aubigné employed in his accounts and that are unique to “Les Feux,” I discuss the

20 I discuss Aubigné’s sources in Chapter Three. Let it suffice to say here that, based on a post-mortem inventory of his library and scholarship in the field, it is a near certainty that Aubigné based his accounts of Reformed martyrdom in “Les Feux” on Crespin’s martyrology.

13 potential that his martyrological writing had to move the seventeenth-century reader in ways that Crespin’s more sober and restrained prose could not. Along these same lines,

I then discuss the emotional power of imagined pain in Aubigné’s “Feux,” an aspect of the poet’s martyrological writing that was underemphasized and at times absent from

Crespin’s martyrology. By way of the epic martyrology, as my reading of “Les Feux” ultimately suggests, Aubigné intended to lead his seventeenth-century readers toward an understanding of Reformed martyrs as heroes in the afterlife, despite the defeat that

Reformers endured at the turn of the century, following the Wars of Religion.

Lastly, in Chapter Four, “The Politics of Tolerance in Pierre Corneille’s

Polyeucte martyr, 1643,” I read one of the most successful martyr dramas from the seventeenth century as an engagement with the recent past, with the French Wars of

Religion and the perennial question of how to navigate religious divide between

Catholics and Reformers. Playwright Corneille’s Polyeucte was first staged in Paris at the height of the martyr drama’s popularity among French audiences, and, importantly, several decades after Henri IV attempted to put a definitive end to France’s wars by signing the Edict of Nantes in 1598. Yet in the early to mid-seventeenth century, religious divide and the conflicts they sometimes entailed continued to threaten the crown’s authority and stability within the state. In the interest of the Catholic monarch, then, Corneille deliberately evoked the turmoil of the late sixteenth century in Polyeucte so that his seventeenth-century audience might give renewed attention to the extant problem — which is to say, the inefficacy — of France’s formally adopted position on the toleration of French Reformers. Polyeucte’s themes and the interactions between characters would have readily called to mind the familiar dangers of religious pluralism and zeal, whose worst consequences — prolonged civil unrest and war — had required the crown to grant the religious minority some degree of recognition. But for Corneille,

14 revisions to the policy that had been put in place at the end of the sixteenth century were needed. Hence, after examining the connections between Polyeucte and the French

Wars of Religion, I then turn to theories of religious toleration to further explore

Corneille’s authorial intentions, arguing that Polyeucte exemplifies what is commonly referred to as the ‘respect conception’ of tolerance. According to this model of tolerance, the religious majority should extend its acceptance of the religious minority beyond mere permission, which is in effect what the Edict of Nantes promoted, to foster attitudes and the show of mutual respect toward the religious other for the sake of social and political stability. In other words, I view Corneille’s Polyeucte as an attempt to shift the attitudes of seventeenth-century Catholic audiences regarding the religious other, and to potentially provoke changes to the crown’s political stance on the toleration of

French Reformers.

The choice to conclude my dissertation with a reading of the seventeenth- century martyr drama Polyeucte may seem questionable, namely in that it is the only

Catholic-authored work that I examine. Yet, turning our attention to the Catholic appropriation of the theme of martyrdom and the martyr figure reveal indisputable connections to the martyrological tradition established by French Reformers. French

Catholic writers in the early seventeenth century borrowed from the Reformed tradition’s “more liberal” definition of martyrdom, essentially imitating the emotionally and morally persuasive nature of their martyrs (Ibbett, Style 42). Catholic writers like

Corneille saw the potential of martyrdom to enhance the impact of their authorial endeavors and appeal to a French public that was still fascinated by martyr tales,21 in spite of or perhaps because of their proximity to France’s recent siècle des martyrs. I

21 In Chapter Four I discuss the immense popularity of the martyr drama among French audiences at the time Corneille authored Polyeucte. Although short-lived, there was indeed a demand for martyr tales among the theater-going public.

15 understand Corneille’s engagement with the martyrological tradition to be grounded in the history of Reformed persecution — not as a display of support for this religious minority, but rather as a call for renewed attention to the practice of toleration.

* * *

In sum, the works that form the four chapters of this dissertation all engage with the history of the French Reform, illustrating the experiences of martyrdom and religious violence to early modern readers in ways that reveal, as will become clear throughout what follows, continuity in the midst of change. So while Crespin and Léry invited their sixteenth-century Reformed readers to admire and learn from the suffering and strife of Reformers, Aubigné and Corneille evoked France’s recent past to shape how seventeenth-century readers might move forward from the Catholic-Reformed violence that had only formally ended with a royal edict at the turn of the century.22 The threat and reality of religious violence in France persisted well into the seventeenth century, carrying on a narrative thread that, when traced from the early years of

Reformed persecution, tells the story of how four prominent French writers and their readers understood such conflicts and learned to navigate them.

In the end, more broadly speaking, contributing to discussions of the reciprocal impacts of culture and conflict is one of my primary goals in this dissertation project.

By focusing on writing, a cultural form of expression, and conflicts manifested in martyrdom and other types of religious violence, I hope to show its critical importance in attempts to shape how people understand and respond to the sufferings and strife of minority communities.

22 Here I am referring to the Edict of Nantes that Henri IV signed in 1598. I discuss the Edict of Nantes in relation to religious divide in the seventeenth century in both Chapter Four and this dissertation’s conclusion.

Chapter One

Reforming the Religious Field: Jean Crespin and the Martyrology, 1554-

1570

But they have conquered him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they did not cling to life even in the face of death. — Revelation 12:11

… what force of princes, kings, monarchs, governors, and rulers of this world, with their subjects, publicly and privately, with all their strength and cunning, have bent themselves against the Church!1 — John Foxe, English martyrologist

I. Introduction

Jean Crespin (1520-1572) was born into a wealthy Catholic family as the evangelical roots of the European Reformations began to spread throughout his native

Artois in present-day northern France. Having converted to the Reformed faith around

1540,2 Crespin fled France in 1545 and settled in Geneva in 1548, and promptly rose to prominence as a printer and historian of the French Reform movement. As this chapter’s title suggests, Crespin’s martyrology, Histoire des martyrs,3 had an immediate and lasting

1 This quote is from the first chapter in John Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, “History of Christian Martyrs to the First General Persecutions Under Nero” (1). 2 There are no records of Crespin’s conversion, but his support of a convicted heretic during his time in Paris as a legal secretary, around 1541, in addition to his correspondence with prominent Reformers after leaving France in 1545, suggest that he converted to the Reformed faith around 1540. 3 Crespin’s martyrology underwent multiple name changes from one edition to the next. Generally speaking, scholars refer to the work as either the Histoire des martyrs or the Livre des martyrs. I choose the former because it represents the martyrology in its mature form, whereas the latter is the title of the first edition. In citing and discussing specific martyrological editions, however, I provide the accurate, albeit shortened version of the edition’s title. Histoire des martyrs is the title I have chosen to refer to Crespin’s martyrology in a general sense. It should also be noted that all French-to-English translations are my own, including terms, book titles, and passages from Crespin’s

impact on the French Reform. Its successive editions trace the history of the French Reform movement through the lived experiences of Reformers suffering for their faith.

Reading and sharing accounts of martyrdom was an integral part of worship for

French-speaking Reformers. Accounts from the Histoire des martyrs were read aloud during religious services, copies of early editions circulated clandestinely, and the larger, later in-folio format allowed for the martyrology’s prominent display in the homes of book- owning Reformers (Maynard, “Writing” 31). The martyrology was meant to console, instruct, and strengthen the religious convictions of its readers. Given its importance in

Reformed daily life, the Histoire des martyrs achieved near-canonical status in the late sixteenth century (Maynard, “Writing” 41).10 By all accounts, Crespin’s martyrology had cultural and symbolic value for Reformers and the faith-based community to which they belonged — cultural in that the martyrology conveyed ideas and practices that shaped

Reformed culture, and symbolic in that it expressed a sense of legitimacy and worth intrinsic to the Reformed faith.

In this chapter, I further explore what constituted cultural and symbolic value in the

Histoire des martyrs by analyzing its distinct components — confessions of faith, eyewitness testimonies, and letters — as artifacts or goods initially produced by martyrs, but reproduced by Crespin for public consumption. These seemingly authentic components gave readers first-hand insight into the lives and experiences of the fourteenth to sixteenth- century martyrs who suffered death for their religious beliefs. Moreover, the immediacy and personal perspectives that the Histoire des martyrs offered readers contributed to the

martyrology. I have likewise modernized the spelling in passages from the martyrology, though in most cases I do not alter the syntax of the original text. 10 David Watson also asserts that Crespin’s martyrology “achieved almost canonical status” (1).

spread of Reformed doctrine and strengthened the convictions of Reformers. As I suggest in this and later chapters, Crespin’s immensely influential martyrology served to define the identity and culture of French-speaking Reformers of the late sixteenth century — that is, its martyrological accounts functioned as mirrors in which Reformed readers learned how to be steadfast members of a persecuted religious minority.

The main thrust of this chapter, however, is the largely neglected question of what

Crespin stood to gain from compiling, editing, and writing these artifacts into the martyrology, essentially functioning as a producer of cultural meaning and value. Drawing on a Bourdieusian conceptual framework, I view confessions of faith, eyewitness testimonies, and letters in the Histoire des martyrs as cultural and symbolic goods that

Crespin produced for circulation within the shifting boundaries of the French Reform — or, put another way, of the ‘religious field’, understood here as the network of Reformed churches, church authorities, and French-speaking laity in the late sixteenth century. Within the religious field, individuals like Crespin and his fellow co-religionists, or ‘social agents’, to use Bourdieu’s term, competed for positions of influence and power by acquiring and using to their advantage various forms of ‘capital’. For Bourdieu, the definition of capital is very wide and includes material and immaterial things that “present themselves as rare and worthy of being sought after” (Outline 178). Common classifications of capital are cultural

(i.e., education, language), economic (i.e., wealth, resources), social (i.e., personal connections), or symbolic (i.e., prestige, status), each serving in some way to advance one’s own position in a given field. My contention is that Crespin generated ‘religious capital’ in the Histoire des martyrs — that is, he produced goods that readers recognized as valuable investments in the Reformed faith — in order to advance his position within the religious

field, meaning his real and perceived authority in relation to Reformed readers and the leaders of the Reform movement.

In order to show how Crespin and his Histoire des martyrs functioned in the religious field, ultimately shaping a Reformed identity and culture, I divide this chapter into two sections. In the first section, “Entering the Religious Field,” I aim to situate Crespin and the martyrology in the theoretical framework of cultural production. I first discuss

Crespin’s initiation into the religious field, examining relevant biographical information like family background, education, and early career activities as part of his ‘socialization’ into the Reform movement — as in, the process by which Crespin learned the ways of

Reformers so that he could function within the religious field. I focus in particular on his exposure to Reformed thought, his cultural and social competences, and his debut in printing. In the second section, “Generating Religious Capital,” I survey the martyrology’s content areas to show how each operates as religious capital and has the potential to grant

Crespin influence and authority within the Reform movement. In particular, I examine confessions of faith, eyewitness testimonies, and letters, as these culturally authentic documents were presumably written by martyrs or persons who saw and recorded the martyrs’ words and behavior at some point between trial and execution. Each one of these distinct components in the Histoire des martyrs is first introduced and analyzed in theoretical terms, meaning I make a case for its classification as religious capital in a

Bourdieusian sense and its potential to advance Crespin’s position in the religious field. I then turn to the Histoire des martyrs and provide a representative example of the given content area as religious capital, analyzing editorial techniques like the ways in which

Crespin authenticates the material, as well as stylistic features that enhance reader

engagement and speak to the cultural and symbolic value of martyrological writing vis-à- vis Crespin’s Reformed readership.

In analyzing the martyrology, I do not single out any particular edition of the

Histoire des martyrs, but rather reference editions that span Crespin’s career and seem to be most pertinent to my interest in his editorial decisions. When considering confessions of faith, for example, I choose to cite an account from the 1554 martyrology because the confession of faith is the account in this edition — Crespin does not include a preface or contextualize the account as he does in later martyrologies — which speaks to his early preference for allowing martyrs’ writings “to speak for themselves” (Tucker 4). Subsequent examples, however, come from the 1564 and 1570 editions, as these are generally thought to represent the Histoire des martyrs in its definitive form and reveal far more editorial strategies for shaping the reader’s relationship to the martyrology than can be found in the first edition.

Ultimately, my intention is to explore the martyrology’s cultural and symbolic value largely in theoretical terms,11 while also supporting my argument with appropriate examples from the Histoire des martyrs at various stages in Crespin’s career as printer and editor — or, as the following section suggests, as cultural producer. On a practical level, reading the martyrology through the theoretical lens of cultural production allows me to set the stage for subsequent chapters, which trace responses to martyrdom and religious violence in later French texts in order to draw conclusions about Reformed culture in

11 Although I am interested in analyzing the martyrology in theoretical terms, there is ample historical evidence to suggest that Crespin possessed the kind of authority among Reformers that would allow him to produce valuable goods within the religious field. Such evidence will be discussed in the following section, along with other relevant background information that bolster my claims about Crespin’s influence vis-à-vis his Reformed readership and Reformed authorities.

France in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It is also my intention and hope that the present chapter adds thought-provoking literary perspectives to past historical scholarship on Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs, and, moreover, encourages a deeper understanding of the impact of martyrs on early modern culture.

II. Entering the Religious Field

To enter a field, be it economic, political, or otherwise, the social agent must possess the knowledge and skills (i.e., cultural capital) to, at a bare minimum, participate in the field, and, at most, compete successfully for authority in the field. What predisposes the social agent to enter a specific field, to bear the cultural capital of that field, is the agent’s

‘habitus’. Following the Bourdieusian definition of habitus as “a set of dispositions which generates practices and perceptions,”12 we may understand the religious habitus as the qualities of mind and character that one acquires over time, and that cultivate religious beliefs and customs (Bourdieu, Field 5). The religious habitus is thus formed in large part by past experiences, but also undergoes continuous experience-dependent development.

The religious habitus, moreover, is embodied — it is not only a body in the religious field, but also an embodiment of the field.13

The social agent cannot acquire a habitus overnight — rather, it “comes into being” through a long process of social inculcation (Reed-Danahay 46). For Jean Crespin, this process began around 1520, the year of his birth, in the small city of Arras in present-day northern France. Due to his family’s considerable wealth, Crespin was in an advantageous position for entering any number of fields. Initially, Crespin pursued a career in law, studying in Louvain at the Collegium trilingue lovaniense and the University of Louvain

12 Scholars generally agree that Bourdieu’s concept of the habitus is intentionally vague, and was designed to reintroduce the ‘social agent’ to literary and artistic theory, which structuralist theories exclude from their analyses. The term habitus is critical to the present chapter in that it encourages an understanding of Crespin’s martyrology as both subjectively produced and objectively motivated. 13 This idea comes from Bourdieu’s Practical Reason: “It (habitus) is a socialised body. A structured body, a body which has incorporated the immanent structures of a world or of a particular sector of that world — a field — and which structures the perception of that world as well as action in that world” (81).

(Gilmont, Jean 28).14 Around 1541, after acquiring the cultural capital necessary to advance himself within the field (i.e., a university degree), Crespin went to Paris to work as secretary to a jurist, and later to his native Arras to practice law.

The legal field, however, was not the only field into which the young Crespin was initiated during these formative years, roughly ages 13 to 21. While in Louvain, Crespin also delved deeper into the study of theology. At the Collegium trilingue lovaniense, in particular, he developed skills and training in Biblical interpretation based on the pedagogical model put forward by Erasmus and other Reform-minded intellectuals affiliated with the school (Fleisher 77). In seeming contrast to the Collegium, the

University of Louvain was a “bastion of Catholic orthodoxy” that formally condemned

Reformed thinkers (Gregory, Salvation 166). However, given the city’s longstanding reputation as a “haven” for supporters of the nascent Reform, the university was considered a space of relatively open, albeit fierce theological debate (Ridder-Symoens 37). As a result, students became closely acquainted with contested topics of the sixteenth-century

Reformations.

Surely Crespin was exposed to Reformed theology while studying in Louvain.

Court records dating back to 1545, only four years after Crespin left the university, seem to confirm this point. These records indicate that a group of young lawyers, including Crespin, had been accused of supporting the evangelical efforts of condemned heretic Pierre Bruly, a student of Calvin who was executed in Paris. The adherence of Crespin and his friends to

14 For additional information on the Trilingue, a singular humanist institution, see “Contexte politique, religieux et éducatif,” the first chapter in Karine Crousaz’s L’Académie de Lausanne entre Humanisme et Réforme (ca. 1537-1560).

Reformed ideas ultimately led to the confiscation of their goods and banishment from the region.15

Unlike his fellow exiles, Crespin did not return to his Catholic roots, nor did he continue practicing law. Rather, he fully embraced the Reform movement and pursued a position within it. Crespin traveled extensively in the years following his banishment, roughly 1545 to 1548,16 maneuvering various types of capital to present himself as a valuable contributor to the Reform. Having a strong educational and professional background, Crespin already possessed a number of cultural competences and learned skills that would have facilitated his interactions with leaders of the Reform, thereby increasing the probability of social advancement. He also spared much of his fortune from confiscation through legal means and social contacts, including his wife, whose dowry secured his financial future (Monter 114).17

The contacts Crespin made in these years were especially vital to establishing himself among Reformers. Notably, Crespin met Calvin during a brief stay in Geneva in

1545. Later that year, Crespin traveled to Strasbourg where he met Jacques de Bourgogne, a Flemish nobleman and early supporter of Calvin. In Paris in 1546, Crespin and Laurent de

Normandie, a wealthy publisher and longtime friend of Calvin, served as the only two witnesses to the marriage of Théodore de Bèze, suggesting a close bond between them

15 In the time period between receiving his licence from the Université de Louvain in 1541 and fleeing from Arras in 1545, Crespin first served as a legal assistant to jurist Charles du Moulin (1500-1566). Crespin then returned to Arras to work as a lawyer in 1542, following the renewed war between Charles V and François I that effectively forced Crespin to return to his native province. 16 We know that Crespin spent time in Geneva, Paris, Strasbourg, Compiègne, and Noyon, and even briefly returned to Arras. 17 With the help of his wife and smugglers, Crespin recovered the dowry in 1548.

(Gilmont, Jean 43).18 Also during this period, Crespin engaged in extensive written correspondence with prominent Reformers throughout Europe (too numerous to cite here).19 While the list of Crespin’s known encounters is by no means comprehensive, it is indicative of his swift integration into the Reform movement. Additionally, Crespin’s collaborations reflect the kind of Reformer he wanted to become — that is, an influential member of the Reformed elite.

Upon settling permanently in Geneva in 1548, Crespin was well positioned to advance these interests and contribute to the religious field. He had the training, wealth, and social connections to operate in the field, to assume the role of ‘producer’ in the

Bourdieusian sense. Crespin did so by setting up his own press and publishing Reformed material (Gilmont, John 189).20 In his first year as printer, Crespin published eleven texts.

By his second year, he had already printed several of Calvin’s major works,21 as well as

Theodore de Bèze’s Abraham sacrifiant (Gilmont, John 189).22

Despite a prolific early career, Crespin was but one printer in an already saturated market. To achieve prominence in the religious field, Crespin would need to do more than

18 Bèze and Crespin met around 1545. Crespin was present at the clandestine marriage of Bèze and Claudine Debrosse in 1546, a clear indication of the close bond that existed between the two men. For more information on Bèze’s clandestine marriage and the marriages of prominent Reformers, see “Pastors and Their Households,” the fourth chapter in Scott M. Manetsch’s Calvin’s Company of Pastors: Pastoral Care and the Emerging Reformed Church, 1536-1609. 19 See Jean-François Gilmont, “La correspondance de Jean Crespin (vers 1520-1572).” 20 Crespin received patronage from church leaders and technical support from Conrad Badius. 21 We know, for example, that by the end of 1551, Crespin had obtained printing rights for Calvin’s De scandalis and printed two commentaries and the Revised French Bible. 22 David Watson highlights the importance of Reformers like Bèze and Calvin entrusting their material to the new printer. In reference to the printing of Abraham sacrifiant, Watson notes that the Crespin’s role as printer shows “his impeccable connections within the exiled elite” (7).

just print — he would need to create something new. Crespin’s initiatives to print French- language Reformed Church histories, a more or less nonexistent genre prior to his arrival in

Geneva, indicate his desire to assume a more dominant role vis-à-vis Reformers (Watson

11-12). As historian David Watson aptly remarks, Crespin was “a genuine pioneer” in this regard (11). Crespin’s pioneering spirit and expertise in publishing historical matters for a

French reading public would culminate with the martyrology, his most celebrated, durable, and influential contribution to the Reform movement.

Between 1554 and 1572,23 Crespin’s Reformed martyrology underwent significant developments that speak to its durability and influence. During this period, his martyrology was continually changing and expanding based on the availability of materials and in response to the demands of his readership. In the 1554 Livre des martyrs,24 Crespin intended to include only accounts of martyrdom and first-hand documents like confessions of faith and letters. However, he expanded the project while printing the first edition, deciding to include much smaller accounts that contain very little detail and show signs of last-minute editing (Watson 30). Crespin then published a second, two-part edition in 1555, the Recueil de plusieurs personnes.25 After accumulating additional material, he published a third part in 1556 that was then translated into Latin by Claude Baduel (Gilmont,

Bibliographie 67-68). In 1560, Crespin combined the martyrology’s three parts and

23 After Crespin’s death in 1572, Eustache Vignon and Simon Goulart took up the management of his press and the printing of later editions. 24 The complete title reads, Le Livre des martyrs, qui est un recueil de plusieurs Martyrs qui ont enduré la mort pour le Nom de nostre Seigneur Jesus Christ, depuis Jean Hus jusques à ceste année presente M.D.LIIII (The book of martyrs, which is a collection of several martyrs who endured death in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, since Jean Hus up to the present year 1554). 25 The complete title reads, Recueil de plusieurs personnes qui ont constamment enduré la mort pour le nom du Seigneur, depuis Jean Wicleff jusques au temps present.

published a second Latin edition, the Actiones et monimenta martyrum.26 The 1564 French edition, the Actes des martyrs,27 had two additional parts and a total of seven books. This edition included “récits d’histoire” (historical accounts), which tell the stories of victims of religious conflicts — that is, victims who did not meet the traditional criteria for martyrdom, but nevertheless merited recognition (Watson 30). Crespin continued compiling for several years, and in 1570 published the Histoire des vrays Tesmoins.28 This edition is similar in content to the one published in 1564, with some notable exceptions, such as a lengthier preface and new historical accounts.29

Crespin’s sources varied widely, from correspondences and collaborations with other editors and printers to the works of other martyrologists and writers. In fact, he kept a frequently updated “catalogue d’éditeur” (editor’s catalogue) for much of his career

(Gilmont, Jean 191). However, the catalogue’s entries suggest that Crespin did not feel the need to keep track of the people with whom he collaborated — unless, of course, they associated with or were well-known Reformers. He gives credit, for example, to a man name Jonvillers for providing him with numerous letters that Calvin had sent to imprisoned

Reformers, and also names members of the Budé family for furnishing “informations de

26 This Latin edition is entitled, Actiones et Monimenta Martyrum, eorum qui a Wicleffo et Husso ad nostrum hanc atatem in Germania, Gallia, Britannia, Flandria, Italia, & ipsa demum Hispania, veritatem Evangelicam sanguine suo constanter obsignaverunt. 27 The complete title reads, Actes des martyrs deduits en sept livres, depuis le temps de Vviclef & de Hus, iusques à present (Acts of martyrs in seven books, since the time of Wyclef and Hus, up until the present day). 28 The complete title reads, Histoire des vrays Tesmoins de la verite de l’Evangile, qui de leur sang l’ont signée, depuis Jean Hus jusques au temps present (History of the true witnesses of the truth of the Church, who signed with their blood, since Hus until the present time). 29 Jean-François Gilmont specifies that the récits d’histoire account for 13 percent of the 1564 edition and 18 percent of the 1570 edition (Jean 181).

première main sur plusieurs martyrs” (first-hand information on several martyrs) (Gilmont,

Jean 191-92). But by and large, Crespin typically chose to not cite his sources.30

In addition to his correspondences and collaborations, Crespin was known to take material directly from other martyrologists and writers. For example, Crespin frequently borrowed from John Foxe, so much so that nearly 85 percent of his 1561 addition to the martyrology was a translation of the English martyrologist’s accounts (Gilmont, Jean 177).

Crespin also borrowed from Antoine de la Roche Chandieu’s less comprehensive book of martyrs, the Histoire des persécutions de Paris, after it appeared in 1563 (Gilmont, Jean

180-81). And although Crespin copied numerous accounts and passages from other authors, even entire prefaces, his activities did not amount to plagiarism.31 What Crespin borrowed, copied, and translated was not an attempt to take credit for another Reformer’s original idea

— because among Reformed communities and the religious field in which Crespin

30 Jean-François Gilmont’s extensive research on the subject confirms this point:

À qui faisait-il appel pour tous travaux? Il est impossible de répondre nommément, car il (Crespin) ne cite qu’occasionnellement ses collaborateurs… La plupart du temps, il laisse leurs noms dans l’anonymat. (Jean 192; 193)

To whom did he turn for these works? It is impossible to answer nominally, because Crespin does not cite but occasionally his collaborators… The majority of the time, he leaves their names anonymous.

31 I again refer my reader to the extensive work of Gilmont on this topic. He asserts in Jean Crespin: Un éditeur réformé that we cannot think of Crespin’s activities as plagiarism, offering a final word on the matter:

… la conclusion générale est bien que les textes signés par Crespin reflètent sa pensée. S’il copie d’autres auteurs, il ne plagie pas simplement. Il exploite le modèle pour exprimer une pensée en partie neuve. (187)

The general conclusion is that the texts signed by Crespin reflect his vision. If he copies other authors, he does not simply plagiarize. He makes use of the model to express an idea that is in part new.

functioned, his martyrology was the original idea from which his fellow Reformed martyrologists and writers borrowed and drew inspiration.

Crespin’s martyrology, then, was a continually developing resource and source of inspiration to his sixteenth-century readership that captivated audiences and held significant influence in Reformed circles, as its lifespan and numerous expansions suggest. Regarding the reception of the Histoire des martyrs, perhaps the most convincing evidence of readers’ enthusiasm for its first edition, as Jean-François Gilmont explains, is the fact that it was immediately copied and redistributed without Crespin’s approval: “Le succès… fut tel qu’un mois après sa mise en vente, une réédition non autorisée en était entreprise par les frères Rivery” (The martyrology’s success was such that one month after it was made available for purchase, a new nonauthorized edition was printed by the Rivery brothers)

(Jean 170). Adam and Jean Rivery, the two brothers to whom Gilmont refers, must have recognized the importance and novelty of Crespin’s martyrological endeavor, which had never before been attempted by Reformers, and also anticipated the demands and widespread approval of its readers. For want of records of sales, stock, and other such empirical evidence,32 the frenzy that the Histoire des martyrs incited shortly after it began circulating, including Crespin’s hasty legal maneuvers and plans for expanded editions, supports scholars’ longstanding claims that the martyrology was an immediate success.

32 Crespin kept a “catalogue d’éditeur” (editor’s catalogue) that Gilmont has thoroughly analyzed, explaining that the martyrologist made fairly regular updates regarding his collaborations with contacts and his future plans as an editor and printer, both of which were continually changing (Jean 191). Yet, to my knowledge, there are no reliable sources on the number of copies of the Histoire des martyrs that were sold or circulated, therefore making any discussion of its success dependent on things like the conflicts and legal disputes that it brought about. And according to Gilmont, the list of documented conflicts that Crespin had with collaborators and other editors, printers, and Reformers was quite long (Jean 96).

Reformed authorities, however, were initially far less supportive of Crespin’s

Histoire des martyrs. When Crespin sought permission to publish the martyrology and obtain copyrights in 1554, the Conseil de Genève was hesitant to approve his request, a main concern being his use of word variants of ‘martyr’ and ‘saint’, as members of the

Conseil feared that the Histoire des martyrs would too closely resemble the iconoclastic

Catholic books of so-called martyrs (Gilmont, Jean 169). And even after the Conseil allowed Crespin to publish the Histoire des martyrs, it was not until after the conflict and legal dispute with the Rivery brothers that its members took seriously his demands for copyrights, finally granting them in 1555 (Gilmont, Jean 101). Like Adam and Jean Rivery, the Conseil likely saw the immediate impact and success of the Histoire des martyrs, and thus wanted to ensure that Reformed authorities could maintain a level of control over the martyrology’s future developments and circulation.

Crespin had an undeniably strategic career plan, effectively entering the religious field to gain prestige and a greater sense of authority — and he did so largely through his

Reformed martyrology, the Histoire des martyrs, as I argue in the present chapter. Yet the martyrology’s influence at the level of content has yet to be addressed, and is hence my primary interest in the following section. More specifically, I apply the above-discussed

Bourdieusian conceptual framework to accounts of Reformed martyrdom, further defining and exploring their uses as religious capital in my close readings of the major content areas of the Histoire des martyrs.

III. Generating Religious Capital

Religious capital, to recall the definition put forward in this chapter’s introduction, refers to the material and symbolic resources for maintaining or advancing one’s position in the religious field. To generate religious capital, the social agent must be in a position to do so. Concretely, this means occupying a dominant position or receiving approval from a recognized authority in the field (i.e., church leader). Additionally, the social agent must be able to generate religious capital in such a way that other agents in the field accept its legitimacy as self-evident. Put another way, the agent’s ability to produce effectively is preconditioned by his knowledge of the behavior and expectations of consumers of religious capital (i.e., laypeople).

Given what we know about Crespin’s habitus and integration into the religious field, we can safely assume that he had the approval of church leaders to produce religious capital and the competences for doing so effectively.33 What is far less obvious, however, is what constituted religious capital for Crespin and how he intended to use it. Hence, my aim in this section is to examine the forms and functions of religious capital that Crespin generated in the French-language editions of his martyrology. This involves categorizing religious capital in the Histoire des martyrs and considering what each type did for Crespin, its producer. My focus will be on confessions of faith, eyewitness testimonies, and letters, three content areas that Crespin presents as authentic cultural material, and that, moreover,

33 I discuss in the previous section the Conseil de Genève’s hesitancy to approve the first edition of Crespin’s martyrology for publication in 1554. Their hesitancy came in part from their uncertainty about its reception, not wanting the Reformed martyrology to encourage the same kinds of idolatrous practices that they associated with Catholic books of martyrs. But even after some deliberation, Crespin received their approval, which of course would become more enthusiastic as it became clear that his martyrology could be used to further spread the Reformed faith and cause and unify French-speaking Reformers.

have the potential to grant him further influence and power vis-à-vis prominent Reformers and the Reformed laity. Each type of material will first be analyzed in theoretical terms that demonstrate its qualification as religious capital, followed by a close-reading of a martyrological account in the Histoire des martyrs that reveals Crespin’s intentions as editor or, perhaps most appropriately, as producer in the religious field.

* * *

Confessions of Faith

The confession of faith is a document that articulates the set of beliefs held by a religious community and the institution to which it belongs.34 It treats the doctrinal positions of the religious community and institution as well as church governance. The confession, moreover, is intended for public avowal. In the religious field, religious authorities produce confessions to establish not only unity on matters of faith, but also social and political order. The confession amounts to power to shape the structure of the religious field and positions within it and therefore constitutes religious capital.

The power of confessions is largely dependent on the laity accepting their authenticity and supporting them firmly and unquestioningly — that is, the laity must recognize confessions and all they prescribe as useful or valuable to them, and also recognize the power of their religious community and institution. The religious authorities who produce a confession market it as a means of maintaining oneself in purity of doctrine,

34 I refer to the French Reformed Church as an institution in most cases, but it should be noted that the term ‘community’ may be more appropriate when discussing the earlier years in its development, meaning before Crespin published the first edition of the Histoire des martyrs in 1554. Scholars generally agree that it was around the 1550s that the French Reformed Church was sufficiently organized to function much like an institution, and that by the beginning of the French Wars of Religion in 1562, the Reformed Church was a decidedly Calvinist institution (Roberts 13-14).

thereby instilling the confession with symbolic value. Religious authorities compete amongst themselves over the control and administration of this type of religious capital because its consumption by the laity grants them power and further influence in the field.

In the sixteenth century, Reformed confessions of faith significantly impacted the structure of the religious field.35 Of particular importance was the confession of faith that

Jean Calvin and William Farel published in 1536 — the Confession de la Foy.36 While initially met with resistance, Genevan authorities eventually adhered to its twenty-one articles, which prescribed Reformed manner of worship and church polity, among other things.37 Authorities like Calvin also expected lay persons to acquire competences in the religious field by studying the confession, thereby affording them a degree of legitimacy that previous generations had been denied (Blacketer 25).

35 Other well-known sixteenth-century Reformed confessions include Zwingli’s Sixty- seven Articles (1523), the Ten Theses of Bern (1528), the First Basel Confession (1534), the First Helvetic Confession (1536), the French Confession (1559), the Scottish Confession (1560), the Belgic Confession (1561), and the Second Helvetic Confession (1566) (Sell 260). For brief, paragraph-length summaries of these Reformed confessions, including the Geneva Confession of 1536, see Rogers, Jack B. and Donald K. McKim, The Authority and Interpretation of the Bible: An Historical Approach. 36 The confession’s title reads, Confession de la Foy laquelle tous bourgeois et habitans de Geneve et subjects du pays doibvent juere de garder et tenir extraicte de l’instruction dont on use en leglise de la dicte ville (Confession of faith that all the bourgeois and inhabitants of Genva and subjects of the land must swear by and keep an extract of for the instruction that the church in said city gives). 37 La parolle de Dieu; Ung seul Dieu; Loy de Dieu, seulle pourtoutes; L’homme en sa nature; L’humme en soy damne; Salut in Jesus; Justice en Jesus; Regeneration en Jesus; Remission des pechez tousjours necessaire aux fideles; Tout nostre bien en la grace de Dieu; Foy; Invocation de Dieu seul et intercession de Christ; Orayson intelligible; Sacrements; Baptesme; La Saincte Cene; Traditions humaines; Eglise; Excommunication; Ministre de la Parolle; Magistratz. (The Word of God; One Only God; The Law of God Alike for All; Natural Man; Man by Himself Lost; Salvation in Jesus; Righteousness in Jesus; Regeneration in Jesus; Remission of Sins Always Necessary for the Faithful; All Our Good in the Grace of God; Faith; Invocation of God Only and Intercession of Christ; Prayer Intelligible; Sacraments; Baptism; The Holy Supper; Human Traditions; The Church; Excommunication; Ministers of the Word)

Aspiring Reformer Crespin also contributed to the production and distribution of this form of religious capital by writing confessions of faith into his martyrology. His role as producer consisted of compiling, editing, and printing confessions so that they could circulate among readers in the religious field. What is noteworthy about these confessions is that they were not the work of church leaders. Rather, they appear to have been the work of martyrs who wrote confessions as evidence of faith prior to death.

What distinguishes a martyr’s confession from an official Reformed confession is the thin veil of narrative over an otherwise prescriptive and forthright text. Martyrs’ confessions in the Histoire des martyrs offer first-person perspectives of their condemnation and have active characters such as examiners, judges, and prisoners. There are also settings unique to each confession depending on where it was written, though most martyrs wrote their confessions while imprisoned or on trial. These narrative elements immerse the reader more fully in the confession, thereby increasing their level of engagement with Reformed principles of belief.

It was precisely this increased level of reader engagement with confessions that gave Crespin a competitive edge in the production of capital in the religious field. While

Crespin’s position in the field did not give him the authority to author official confessions on behalf of a religious institution, he could advance his position and gain a degree of authority in relation to church leaders by creating a product that the laity would consume.

He thus wrote confessions of faith into the martyrology in a way that gave voice to martyrs while also conforming to official Reformed confessions, whose characteristic features were accessibility, clarity, and succinctness.

* * *

The account of Pierre Bruly provides a representative example of the confessions of faith that Crespin wrote into his martyrology. In the 1554 edition, Crespin prominently features Bruly’s confession of faith by placing it at the beginning of the account:

Figure 1: Crespin, Livre 186

Crespin uses the martyr’s name for the heading, in roughly double the font-size of the rest of the text, followed by “confession de foi” (confession of faith) in block letters to signal to readers the kind of material they have before them. Unlike Crespin would do in later editions, here he does not provide an introduction to Bruly’s account,38 aside from basic biographical information. Readers learn that Bruly was born in Lorraine, was a minister in

Strasbourg, and was martyred in Tournai in 1545. In keeping with the format of official

Reformed confessions, Crespin does not include extraneous details.

Following the account’s heading, Crespin effaces his editorial presence to create proximity between the reader and this seemingly authentic artifact. Readers find themselves in medias res, so to speak, engaging with the confession of faith from the martyr’s perspective:

38 Crespin provides an introduction to the account in his 1564 and 1570 editions. Moreover, there are nearly two pages that precede the confession of faith. These pages outline Pierre Bruly’s ministerial duties in both Strasbourg and Tournai, including the names of the religious authorities whom he worked alongside, such as Jean Calvin and Martin Bucer, followed by a summary of the circumstances surrounding his martyrdom. Similar introductions will be discussed in greater detail later in this chapter.

Ma très chère sœur en Jésus Christ, j’ay vu votre écrite que m’avez envoyé par Marguerite, lequel m’a grandement touché le cœur, d’autant que vous & tous les frères (comme j’ai aperçu) avez soin & sollicitude de moi. Et quant est de m’éjouir en mes liens, vous pourrez voir si je suis triste ou joyeux, par un écrit que j’ai fait ces jours passés à mes frères prisonniers avec moi pour la parole de Jésus Christ. (Crespin, Livre 186)

My very dear sister in Jesus Christ, I saw your message that you sent to me via Marguerite, which greatly touched my heart, especially since you and all the brothers (as I noticed) take care of me and give me strength. And of the delight my relationships bring me, you could see if I am sad or happy in a message from several days ago that I gave my fellow prisoners who are with me in the word of Jesus Christ.

At the outset the reader knows nothing of the “tres chère sœur en Jésus Christ” to whom

Bruly writes, except that she is in all likelihood of the same faith. While Bruly suggests, moreover, that he wrote his confession from prison (“ces jours passés à mes frères prisonniers”), the circumstances of his imprisonment are unclear. These uncertainties capture the reader’s interest and further authenticate the confession.

Bruly then provides the reader with a guide to his confession of faith, outlining its major ideas:

Vous connaitrez (dis-je) en cet écrit ce que j’ai senti en moi, aussi ce que j’ai persuadé aux autres, & comment je ne demande rien d’eux, que moi-même ne le veuille avoir en moi, c’est (comme Dieu sait) que notre Seigneur me maintienne en sa garde, & en la vraie confession de sa vérité. (Crespin, Livre 186)

You will learn (I say) in this message what I felt within myself, as well as that which I persuaded others (to feel), and how I do not ask anything from them that I myself do not wish to have in me; (as God knows) our Lord keeps me in his guard, and in the true confession of his truth.

The confession, readers learn, includes the martyr’s sentiments (“ce que j’ai senti en moi”), the manner in which he persuaded others (“ce que j’ai persuadé aux autres”), and how God guided him in matters of faith (“en la vraie confession de sa vérité”). Following this brief overview, Bruly tells his correspondent that it would be impossible for him to record every last detail of his many interrogations, as “la chose serait fort longue” (the thing would be

quite long) (Crespin, Livre 187) . However, Bruly rightly assumes that details concerning religious doctrine are important to his reader and the confession of faith that he eventually articulates:

Je crois que vous ne demandez point cela : mais seulement (il me semble) les demandes & réponses touchant la foi & la doctrine chrétienne. De ceci je vous réponds. Premièrement… (Crespin, Livre 187)

I believe that this is not what you ask at all: but only (it seems to me) the demands and responses concerning the Christian faith and doctrine. Of this I respond. Firstly…

As promised, Bruly recounts the interrogations he underwent, focusing on the Reformed articles of faith that comprise his confession.

The first question that Bruly fields from his interrogators pertains to the reception of

Holy Communion. When asked about what it meant to receive Holy Communion, Bruly writes,

Il m’a donc interrogé en premier lieu que je sentais du saint sacrement de l’autel, & de la messe. Auquel j’ai répondu que je croyais le sacrement de la sacrée Cène de Jésus Christ, que les fidèles qui reçoivent le pain & le vin du ministre, reçoivent réellement le corps & le sang du Seigneur Jésus Christ, non point à leur ventre ou bouche, mais en leurs âmes & esprits,… (Crespin, Livre 187)

And so he interrogated me firstly on what I feel about the Holy Sacrament, and the Mass. To which I responded that I believe in the Holy Sacrament of Jesus Christ, that the faithful who receive bread and wine from the minister actually receive the body and blood of Jesus Christ, not in their stomach or mouth, but in their souls and spirits.

Here Bruly succinctly voices a fundamental tenet of Calvinism — that is, that the bread and wine offered at the ceremony of the Lord’s Supper represent the body and blood of Christ, but are not really those things (“réellement le corps & le sang”). Bruly offers further explanation by differentiating between literal consumption and symbolic consumption. He specifies what the bread and wine nourish according to a Catholic point of view and a

Calvinist one. The Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation is made to appear superficial, as

the Eucharist consumed in a literal sense merely feeds Catholic appetite (“à leur ventre ou bouche”), whereas Calvinists who receive Holy Communion in a symbolic sense are nourished spiritually (“en leurs âmes & esprits”).

Bruly’s confession of faith continues in this manner, demonstrating his knowledge of and conformity with Reformed principles of belief. The confession is organized in a way that facilitates the reader’s engagement with doctrinal matter, signaling at the start of each paragraph the subject of his interrogations: “Touchant l’adoration” (Concerning worship),

“Après j’ai été interrogé du purgatoire” (After I was interrogated on purgatory), “Touchant la vénération des saints” (Concerning the veneration of the saints), “Quant au point de prier

& invoquer les saints” (With regards to praying to and invoking the saints), “La question du libéral arbitre” (The question of free will), “Ils m’ont demandé de la justification” (They asked me about justification), “Puis j’ai été interrogé des images” (Then I was interrogated on images), “Du baptême aussi ils m’ont interrogé” (On baptism they also interrogated me), etc. (Crespin, Livre 188-91; 193-95). Bruly treats each topic in a relatively short paragraph, maintaining a clear tone and the same question and answer format to facilitate the reading process, namely comprehension and retention.

Bruly concludes his confession by reiterating that it is not exhaustive, since his aim was to communicate only the most important material: “Ils m’ont demandé assez d’autres choses : mais je vous ai écrit de celles ici comme des principales” (They asked me many other things, but I only wrote you the essential) (Crespin, Livre 199). While he may not include every last detail of his interrogations, his confession covers a great number of the articles of faith that readers would find in an official Reformed confession, like the

Genevan Confession of 1536, for example. Moreover, the clear and succinct manner in which the martyr presents these articles imitates an official Reformed confession. Crespin,

who grants readers access to martyrs’ confessions, ensures this conformity in order that readers take the confessions to be authentic or “sincere,” to use Bourdieu’s term, sincerity being the nexus of symbolic power for producers in the religious field (Field 95). The confessions that Crespin writes into the Histoire des martyrs seem all the more authentic in that they appear to be first-person narratives, which engage readers more fully, rather than a descriptive and arguably prescriptive document.

The narrative quality of the confession of faith, for which the account of martyrdom of Pierre Bruly serves as an apt example, certainly would have engaged the sixteenth- century reader, and to ends that Crespin was free to orchestrate. This is not to say that

Crespin wrote the confessions of faith himself, but it would not have been outside the realm of possibility for him to make editorial changes for the sake of clarity or impact. But did

Crespin’s readers believe that these confessions of faith were authentic, as in written by the martyrs themselves? We can safely answer this in the affirmative. For the sixteenth-century

Reformed reader, a legitimizing factor with regard to the confession of faith is the mere fact that the martyr to whom it belongs must surely have died for upholding the Reformed principles of belief expressed therein. Indeed, as Catharine Randall Coats explains,

Crespin’s readers understood the “broken,” martyred body as the “source of the confession of faith” (69). In other words, the self-sacrificial acts of martyrs was evidence enough of these documents’ authenticity — and given the martyrology’s demand and popularity among French-speaking Reformers, we can say with some assuredness that Crespin’s audiences did not question his authority or sources.39

39 I discuss the sources of the material included in Crespin’s martyrology more thoroughly at the outset of this section. However, in analyzing the stylistic qualities of the martyrology, it should be noted that I do not find the source of each particular item to be relevant. And in fact, it is entirely impossible to trace the material presented here with absolute certainty.

* * *

Eyewitness testimonies

An eyewitness testimony, also referred to as an eyewitness account, is a first-person report or description of an occurrence or experience. Eyewitnesses deliver testimonies for different purposes and in different settings, both legal and non-legal. Generally speaking, eyewitness testimonies serve as indicators of truth. Since truth is rarely objectively knowable, eyewitness testimonies call for interpretation and, at the same time, are something to interpret.

Notions of witnessing are not static and have shifted significantly over the centuries.

An especially significant shift occurred between the medieval and early modern periods, as

Andrea Frisch has shown, from ethical and community-based witnessing to “epistemic” witnessing of actual occurrences (Invention 21). The ethical witness’s character or reputation determined his authority, whereas the epistemic witness’s authority was based on first-hand experience. Although epistemic witnessing dominated legal and non-legal settings by the end of the sixteenth century, community assessments of a witness’s character continued to serve as indicators of truth.

In the sixteenth-century religious field, eyewitnessing played a key role in shifting perceptions of truth. Establishing the truth of Christian faith was the overarching objective of Catholics and Reformers who disputed the legitimacy of their respective institutions and beliefs. Eyewitness testimonies constituted power in the field, and therefore religious capital, in that they influenced how the laity interpreted and understood religious truth. Like other forms of religious capital, religious authorities typically determined how or if these eyewitness testimonies became public knowledge, thereby controlling how or if eyewitnessing shaped the field and positions within it.

Crespin joined the struggle for power in the religious field by writing eyewitness testimonies into his martyrology. He made eyewitness testimonies available to a French- speaking public that may not have otherwise had access to this valuable resource, thereby exerting a degree of control over their administration to the laity. The eyewitness testimonies in the Histoire des martyrs treat nearly every aspect of martyrdom from imprisonment to death. They reveal, often in minute detail, observable phenomena like martyrs’ behavior during interrogations and displays of constancy while suffering the pains of torture and execution. The eyewitness perspectives are diverse, some anonymous and others named, some Catholic and others Reformed. The settings in which eyewitnessing occurs also vary, though legal settings such as court rooms are arguably the most common, followed by execution sites where eyewitnesses record the details of martyrs’ deaths.

* * *

The Catholic eyewitness testimony in the Histoire des martyrs offers a compelling illustration of Crespin guiding readers toward a certain perception of religious truth — that is, interpreting the eyewitness testimony in favor of the Reformed martyr. This type of testimony is compelling because it was intended to have the opposite effect, to discredit the martyr. But through strategic editorial interventions Crespin reappropriates its symbolic power in support of the Reformed cause. He renders the martyr all the more triumphant, and therefore persuasive, by having the Catholic enemy narrate portions of the account.

The account of Barthélemy Hector in the 1564 edition provides a case in point.

Crespin prefaces the account with relevant context, including the circumstances of

Barthélemy’s arrest. Contextualizing the account may seem like a neutrally motivated editorial move, but the information Crespin conveys personalizes the martyr to a significant degree and conditions the reader’s interpretation of the testimony. The account begins thus:

Barthélemy Hector natif de Poitiers, ayant longuement fait état de voiturier, se retira avec sa femme & ses enfants en la ville de Genève : mené d’un zèle de purement servir au Seigneur. Et pour gagner la vie de sa petite famille, il allait ordinairement par pays porter des livres de la sainte écriture. Advint étant en Piedmont, comme il allait du val d’Angrongne au val de saint Martin, fut arrêté par un gentilhomme du pays, nommé du Perrier : lequel pour faire le bon valet, en avertit les seigneurs du Parlement de Turin :… iceux se transportèrent à Pignerol, ville audit Piedmont, où le prisonnier avait été mené. Les VIII. & IX. jours de Mars, firent venir le prisonnier devant eux pour l’examiner (Crespin, Actes 839)

Poitiers native Barthélemy Hector, having long been a traveling merchant, settled with his wife and children in the city of Geneva, led by a zeal to purely serve the Lord. And in order to support his small family, he regularly went across the country carrying books of Holy Scripture. It happened that while he was in Piedmont, en route from the valley of Angrogna to the valley of Saint Martin, he was arrested by a gentleman from the area named Du Perrier, who saw an opportunity for reward and told the seigneurs from the Parlement of Turin about the traveler… these men traveled to Pinero, a small city in Piedmont, where the prisoner had been brought. On March 8th and 9th, they had the prisoner brought before them for questioning.

Crespin first provides the reader with Barthélemy’s background information, noting personal details like his occupation and family. By using adverbs like “longuement,”

“purement,” and “ordinairement,” Crespin shapes how readers perceive Barthélemy’s character — that is, these adverbs help Crespin to portray an experienced and hardworking book peddler whose priorities are providing for his family and serving the Lord. Similarly,

Crespin presents Barthélemy’s arrest not as the result of the criminal act of selling banned books, but rather a matter of chance and another man’s greed. In so doing he diminishes any negative character assumptions readers might make if the arrest seemed justified.

Crespin then makes a somewhat subtle transition from editorial voice to eyewitness testimony by denoting the first two trial dates. The specificity concerning dates suggests that Crespin worked with testimonies from at least one eyewitness who had recorded the events of the trial — which, as readers soon learn, lasted from March 8 to June 20, 1556.

After Crespin establishes the context of the account, the eyewitness assumes the role of narrator, asserting in the first-person voice, “J’ai vu le procès contre Barthélemy

Hector” (I saw the trial brought against Barthélemy Hector) (Actes 840). To be doubly sure that readers know they are dealing with an eyewitness testimony, he inserts an expletive marginal gloss that identifies the eyewitness as an inquisitor:

Figure 2: Crespin, Actes 840

Perhaps to grant further legitimacy to the testimony, the eyewitness denotes a second sense, in addition to sight, that he used in recording Barthélemy’s case. Not only did the inquisitor see what he describes (“J’ai vu”), but he also heard about and thereafter confirmed additional details (“j’ai entendu parler & affirmer”). Thus far, it is difficult to challenge the eyewitness and there are no grounds on which to assume Crespin altered the testimony.40

What follows, however, appears suspect: “… c’est assavoir que l’Evangile n’est en lieu du monde plus purement prêché qu’à Genève” (it is known that the Evangel is not in any other place on earth more purely preached than in Geneva) (Crespin, Actes 840). This clause appears suspect in that it closely resembles Crespin’s use of adverbs like “purement,” accompanied by the superlative “plus,” that readers encounter in the account’s introduction.

Moreover, it praises the Genevan Reform. And although we can only speculate as to

40 To my knowledge, there is no evidence available as to where Crespin acquired this testimony. As previously mentioned, even though Crespin kept an editor’s catalogue, he typically did not cite his sources. The only certainty is that it was Calvin who sent Bruly to Valenciennes in 1544, but the latter was arrested and executed the following year. Given Crespin’s successful acquisition of letters from Calvin in the case of the Lyon Five, which I discuss later in this chapter, we can reasonably assume that Bruly had corresponded with Calvin and that in turn someone sent this material to Crespin.

whether or not Crespin is responsible for this detail, it is reasonable to assume that he did manipulate the eyewitness testimony in such ways to shape the reader’s interpretation without outwardly compromising its authenticity.

The eyewitness goes on to recount the events of Barthélemy’s trial, succinctly noting what was asked of the martyr. Crespin intervenes much less subtly than he does earlier in the account by way of marginal glosses, signaling for his readers the nefarious tactics of the men trying the case. For example, just before the vicar and inquisitor announce that they plan to delay sentencing by six days, to allow the martyr “d’y penser”

(to think it over) in hopes of repentance, Crespin writes in the margin, “Grande instance pour subvertir Hector” (major attempt to undermine Hector) (Actes 841). The gloss interrupts our reading of what would otherwise appear to be minor details and encourages us think about them in terms of a strategy to dissuade Barthélemy. Similarly, near the end of the testimony Crespin writes, “Notez quelles ruses & façon de faire, on procède en tous lieux contre les enfants de Dieu” (Note what tricks and tactics they use, everywhere, against the children of God) (Actes 842). In this same passage, he also inserts an asterisk next the word “miséricorde” (mercy) and notes in the margin, “*C’est-à-dire cruauté enragée” (In other words, rabid cruelty) (Crespin, Actes 842). Both marginal glosses are direct interventions that tell us, the readers, how to interpret the eyewitness’s testimony and influence our understanding of the trial.

In addition to Catholic eyewitness testimonies in legal settings, eyewitnesses also record the public executions of martyrs, often in vivid detail. As Katherine Maynard notes, such testimonies in the martyrology give readers “an immediate, personal vision of the martyr on the scaffold” (“Writing” 35). This immediacy, as Crespin himself suggests in the account of Claude Le Peintre, whose martyrdom he claims to have witnessed, is decidedly

moving and persuasive. In fact, Le Peintre’s public execution is said to have compelled

Crespin to publish the first edition of the Histoire des martyrs. Well aware of their symbolic power, Crespin includes eyewitness testimonies of executions in the martyrology to move readers to admiration, pity, and outrage, effectively stirring our emotions to valorize martyrs and shape our perceptions of their acts.

The martyrdom of Thomas Calbergue in the 1570 edition offers a poignant example. Crespin prefaces the account by denoting both the presence of an eyewitness and the spectacle-like nature of Calbergue’s martyrdom:

En la personne de Calbergue nous avons un exemple de vraie constance… Laquelle de tant plus est admirable, que celui étant de basse condition, a surmonté par la grâce de Dieu ce qui lui pouvait faire peur, & éblouir les yeux. (Histoire des martyrs 291)

In the person of Calbergue we have an example of true constancy… What is most admirable is that this man, being of a lowly status, overcame by the grace of God that which could have frightened him, and to awe us.

Crespin’s mention of constancy (“de vraie constance”), a verbal or bodily manifestation of steadfast belief, denotes the presence of an eyewitness in that readers simply could not know about such manifestations unless someone had observed and recorded them. He then emphasizes the visual quality of the account by using lexical items like “admirable” and

“éblouir.” These lexical items also condition to a certain extent readers’ perceptions of

Calbergue’s martyrdom by stating outright how he affected his public. In other words,

Crespin implies that readers should admire and be awed by the eyewitness testimony of

Calbergue’s death.

The opening paragraph that treats Calbergue’s arrest and interrogation says precious little of his trial and interactions with judges, suggesting that either the eyewitness had only heard about them or that Crespin took it upon himself to contextualize the account. By

contrast, the vivid account of Calbergue’s public sentencing and execution comprises the majority of the account and gives readers the impression of watching events unfold. Indeed, readers seem to stand among the crowd gathered in a public square as “le peuple eut entendu cette sentence” (the people heard this sentence) — that is, that Calbergue was to be

“brulé vif & réduit en cendres” (burned alive and reduced to ashes) (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 291). Readers sense the disbelief and shock as the eyewitness describes the “grande murmure en la ville” (a great murmur in the city) that culminates with public outcry in defense of Calbergue:

… plusieurs à haute voix disaient par les rues,… cet homme-ci, qui s’est toujours bien gouverné, & honnêtement vécu, soit condamné & mis à mort si cruelle ! Le bruit fut tel, que les seigneurs de la ville furent contraints, pour apaiser le tumulte,… de faire commandement aux archères & arbalestiers, & ceux qu’ils nomment du serment, de trouver en équipage à l’exécution de Calbergue. (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 291)

several shouted in the streets,… (how is it that) this man here, who was always well mannered and led an honest life, is condemned to a death so cruel! The noise was such that the seigneurs of the city were obliged, in order to calm the tumult,… to ask the archers and arbalests and other named persons, to gather together in a group for the execution of Calbergue.

The eyewitness portrays a noisy and chaotic scene in which the public defends Calbergue’s character (“toujours bien gouverné, & honnêtement vécu”). Fearing an uprising, authorities seek armed protection to lead him to the execution site. The immediacy that the testimony creates is readily apparent as readers anticipate the scenes to follow.

When Calbergue reaches the scaffold, the eyewitness recounts another vivid scene in which Catholic authorities torture the prisoner:

Étant donc venu audit lieu,… le sénéchal de Hainaut, capitaine du château de Tournai, grand ennemi & persécuteur de ceux qu’on accusait être Luthériens, avait fait venir pour tourmenter le patient, & divertir de son opinion. (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 291)

Having been brought to said place, the seneschal of Hainaut, head of the castle of Tournai and great enemy and persecutor of those who are accused of being Lutherans, brought (others to the scaffold) to torment the martyr and dissuade him from his opinion.

The eyewitness further authenticates his testimony by naming the men who try to dissuade

Calbergue by argumentation and force. Moreover, the eyewitness denotes the reputation of the seneschal as a dire enemy (“grand ennemi”) who is known for enacting repressive measures against Reformers (“persécuteur de ceux qu’on accusait être Luthériens”). In this way, he introduces a villain-like character that stands in opposition to the courageous and steadfast martyr-hero that readers find in Calbergue. Such details vivify the narrative and encourage the reader to admire the martyr’s conviction.

Calbergue, readers learn, quietly prays as “cette vermine de moines montèrent après lui l’un après l’autre, pour faire leur métier accoutumé” (this vermin group of monks met

Calbergue on the scaffold, one after the other, to exercise their usual craft) (Crespin,

Histoire des martyrs 291). The provost Nicholas de Calonne is the last church authority to try to dissuade Calbergue from his religious beliefs, though the eyewitness claims he did so only to “complaire au sénéchal” (please the seneschal) and that he “profita autant que les autres” (profited just as much as the others), presumably meaning that he further tortured the victim (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 291). Although the eyewitness does not provide details about how Calbergue was tortured, the enumeration of torturers, lexical items, and expressions denoting villainy create a horrific image of injustice that readers associate with

Catholic authorities.

The scene then shifts from torture to verbal conflict between Calbergue and his enemies as the executioner prepares the fire. Three friars yell to the martyr, “Thomas, croyez qu’il y a un purgatoire où les âmes doivent faire leur satisfaction” (Thomas, know

that there is a purgatory where souls must repent) (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 292).

Calbergue responds, “Je crois que le sang de Jésus Christ nous purge & nettoie de tous nos péchés…” (I believe that the blood of Christ purges and cleans us from all our sins)

(Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 292) . The rapid back and forth of question and answer continues, creating an acceleration effect that culminates with Calbergue’s final words and stoic composure:

Il répondit intelligiblement du milieu de la flamme, Je crois être de ses ouvriers : & dressa la vue au ciel, & en criant par trois et quatre fois, mon Dieu, mon Dieu, il rendit l’esprit. (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 292)

He responded intelligibly from the center of the flame, I believe to be among his laborers; and he looked toward the heavens and cried out three and four times, my Lord, my Lord, and delivered his spirit.

The eyewitness signals Calbergue’s sense of composure by describing his voice as calm and intelligible (“intelligiblement”), even as he burns. The eyewitness amplifies this awe- inspiring feat by repeating Calbergue’s final words in a devotional context that is seemingly void of pain (“Mon Dieu”). To use the expression of historian John Knott, martyrs like

Calbergue exhibit “a superhuman endurance” — that is, a hyperbolized strength that projects a triumphant image of the Reformer to current and potential followers or sympathizers.

Perhaps to ensure that readers are indeed moved by the act of martyrdom, the eyewitness concludes with an anecdote depicting reactions to Calbergue’s death. After the execution is carried out, readers learn that the seneschal of Hainaut told a nearby Cordelier that he intended to “faire une remontrance au peuple qui était venu à ce spectacle”

(reproach those who came to see the spectacle) (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 292) . What could have been an attempt to rival Calbergue’s admirable feat is unexpectedly ruined when the Cordelier vomits “tout ce qui était en son estomac” (everything that was in his

stomach), in front of the crowd, on the seneschal of Hainaut (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs

292). The crowd, the eyewitness suggests, draws its own conclusion from Calbergue’s martyrdom:

Plusieurs par ce moyen furent émues à s’enquérir de la vérité, & à détester la chapardise. Les fidèles du pays furent grandement consolés de ce que Thomas n’avait aucunement fléchie, ainsi avait vertueusement bataillé jusques à la victoire contre les ennemis du Seigneur. (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 292)

Several in this way were moved to inquire about the truth and to hate false devotion. The faithful of the region were greatly consoled by the fact that Thomas never yielded in any way and thus battled virtuously to victory against the enemies of God.

The spectacle of martyrdom thus had its intended effect. It moved the public (“émues”), generated potential Reformers (“s’enquérir de la vérité”), and portrayed Calbergue as the uncontested victor in the battle between Reformed belief and the Catholic enemy.

* * *

Letters

The letter is a type of written communication between an individual or group pertaining to matters of common concern. Letter writing can be understood as an art, a means of promoting understanding, and a social asset, to name a few. There are numerous ways of categorizing letters that reflect such diverse uses, largely depending on the field or fields in which they circulate.

In the religious field, the letters in the Bible exemplify the function of written communication. The Pauline letters, in particular, serve to encourage the development of new churches and ensure the further spread of the teachings of Christ. Similarly, Revelation

Chapters two and three constitute letters that use poetic language and rhetorical flourish to encourage churches to overcome their enemies. These letters have economic and symbolic utility in that they are a means of increasing religious ‘profit’ — that is, they persuade

individuals to support firmly and unquestioningly their faith.41 In this way, biblical letters amount to power in the field and are a form of religious capital.

A major contributing factor to the symbolic power of biblical letters is the fact that lay persons take them to be authentic primary sources. Religious authorities safeguard the power of these letters by constantly reasserting their authenticity and value. In the case of mid-sixteenth-century Geneva, Calvin assumed this authoritative position by authoring commentaries that explain and interpret the letters. Though Calvin commented on nearly every aspect of the Bible, he began by writing commentaries on the New Testament’s sixth book, “The Epistle to the Romans.” These letters were especially popular among Reformers and were often the basis for mounting theological attacks against Catholics (Austin 134).

The function and symbolic power of biblical letters provides an important backdrop for the rise in popularity of a similar, albeit more contemporary kind of religious capital in letter form — the martyr’s letter. Like biblical letters, the letters that Reformed martyrs wrote to family, friends, and religious authorities served to spread their beliefs, encourage fellow Reformers to overcome enemies, and persuade others of the legitimacy of their faith.

Martyrs’ letters were also similar to biblical letters in that they were taken to be authentic and valuable material. However, whereas religious authorities like Calvin safeguarded the symbolic power of biblical letters, martyrologists like Crespin controlled the influence of martyrs’ letters in the religious field. The letters in Crespin’s martyrology communicate the individual experiences of the martyrs who are said to have written them. These letters were written from prisons and were also smuggled into them. Their emotive and expressive

41 In Bourdieu’s writings, ‘economic’ refers to a kind of economic logic and cannot be reduced to economy proper (economic theory). For Bourdieu, something that is economically useful represents a means of maximizing material and symbolic profit.

qualities bring the accounts to life and give readers the impression of having first-hand contact with the martyrs. The range of content and possible purposes vary significantly, from words of encouragement meant to console and inspire, to personal reports and feelings meant to inform and affect readers.

Crespin must have recognized the letters’ versatility and power vis-à-vis his readership, as he actively sought to incorporate more of them into each edition. As Mark

Greengrass confirms,

The tradition of martyrs’ letters was expanded in the ‘third part’ of the martyrology in 1556 and, by the first folio edition of 1570, there were well over 100 letters relating to the French martyrs. (“Informal” 82)

Crespin was not alone in this epistolary endeavor. English martyrologist John Foxe likewise “understood the significance of the martyr letter and had already begun to explore its possibilities in the early Latin edition of his martyrology, the Rerum” (Greengrass,

“Scribal” 22). Foxe even decided to publish the letters he had compiled in a separate volume, a decision that reflects the extent to which he saw them as influential and valuable material (Greengrass, “Scribal” 23). In the preface to this epistolary collection, Miles

Coverdale

drew on the Humanist topos of the letter rendering the absent present… in order to convey his sense of letters having the capacity to reveal how ordinary people had suffered for the faith in almost a three-dimensional reality. (Greengrass, “‘Epistolary Reformation’” 447)

For Foxe, martyrs’ letters vivified accounts, making the martyr relatable and acts of martyrdom understandable to readers. And while Crespin did not publish an epistolary collection, he undoubtedly held similar views on martyrs’ letters.

* * *

The most well-known collection of letters in the Histoire des martyrs come from its account of the Lyon Five. Only a year before Crespin printed his first martyrology, there was a heightened demand and interest among Reformers for the letters and other material related to the trial and execution of the Lyon Five, as Jean-François Gilmont’s research confirms:

Durant leur incarcération, ils bénéficièrent de l’appui d’une communauté bien organisée et de marchands étrangers. Ils purent ainsi échangé une correspondance abondante, dont il reste de nombreux témoins. Très tôt les milieux réformés ont perçu la valeur de ces documents qui furent bien vite diffusés… Crespin, le premier, a compris que ces écrits méritaient mieux : le recours à l’imprimé. (Jean 168)

During their incarceration, they (the Lyon Five) received support from a well- organized community of foreign merchants. They could thus exchange letters abundantly, and much evidence of this remains. Very soon Reformed circles perceived the value of these documents and quickly circulated them… Crespin was the first to understand that these writings deserved better, so he went to print.

So abundant and in-demand were these letters that they comprised the vast majority of the first edition of Crespin’s martyrology, and they were presumably a major reason for its initial success.42 The account of the Lyon Five treats the arrest, trial, yearlong imprisonment, and eventual execution of Martial Alba, Pierre Escrivain, Charles Favre,

Pierre Navihères, and Bernard Seguin. In the months leading up to their execution, the

Lyon Five gained international attention due largely to the circulation of letters they

42 According to Jean-François Gilmont, the “pages relatives à leur groupe représentent 40% de l’édition princeps” (the pages pertaining to their group represent forty percent of the first edition) (Jean 168). However, it should be noted that this figure includes a group of six martyrs who were embroiled in the polemic and publicity surrounding the Lyon Five, and were also executed in Lyon in 1553. Regarding the success of the Histoire des martyrs, we can infer that it was due in part to the Lyon Five, given the public’s interest and the fact that the first edition largely was this account. Gilmont also asserts that the Lyon Five were an impetus for Crespin to print his Histoire des martyrs in 1554 (Jean 168).

exchanged with family and Reformed authorities, including Calvin.43 Crespin assumed ownership over these letters by rendering them an accessible resource to the widest audience possible in a single, condensed format.

The letters in the account of the Lyon Five have an argumentative, often violent tone that directly engage readers and grant them access to the martyrs’ thoughts and experiences from behind the walls of their prison cells. Gascony native Pierre Écrivain, as we can infer from his surname, was a prolific letter writer and arguably the most zealous among the Lyon Five. Crespin describes him in an introductory passage in his 1570 edition as an “homme d’esprit vif auquel le Seigneur donna bouche magnifique” (man of keen mind whom the Lord gave a splendid mouth) (Histoire des martyrs 203). As Crespin goes on to suggest, Écrivain used his rhetorical skills to attack the enemies of the Reform and bolster support for their cause (Histoire des martyrs 203). Even the confession of faith that

Écrivain wrote on behalf of the other martyrs sharply denounces their “adversaires”

(adversaries) and speaks to the potential of their martyrdom to bring a “un grand fruit… à toute l’Église” (a great profit to the entire Church) (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 207;

203).

The letters of martyrs like Écrivain move readers from either side of the confessional divide. For the Reformed, in particular, they are intended to move readers to action. A note of consolation from Écrivain to his fellow martyrs provides a characteristic example. He employs a lexicon of comradery, violence, and war that gives the reader the impression of being called to battle:

43 This was a polemical affair in many respects. Of particular note is the Parlement of Paris’ involvement in the case, which William Monter addresses in Judging the French Reformation, pp. 129-33.

Et si tant d’exemples du temps passé ne nous peuvent émouvoir, ni inciter de marcher en bataille pour maintenir la cause du fils de Dieu : hélas, pour le moins que ceux de notre temps, que Dieu nous présente devant nos yeux, le fassent. Nous voyons nos pauvres frères & sœurs étant amenés aux tourments & à la mort cruelle de toutes parts, pour maintenir cette même cause tant juste & raisonnable. Nous voyons la terre arrosée du sang innocent, l’assaut qui a été donné contre le fort de l’anti-Christ, & la grande brèche qui a été faite par cette grande artillerie de la parole de Dieu : & nous ne prendrons courage de marcher en bataille, & donner l’assaut ? Pensons-nous à voir la couronne de gloire sans avoir premièrement bataillé avec notre grand capitaine ? pensons-nous régner avec le Fils de Dieu sans avoir souffert & enduré avec lui en ce monde ? Nenni, nenni, pourquoi, chers frères & sœurs, courons, courons au combat qui nous est proposé… (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 207)

And if so many examples from the past cannot move us, nor incite us to march into battle in order to protect the cause of the son of God; alas, at least those of our time, whom God presents to us before our eyes, do. We see our poor brothers and sisters being brought to torments and to a cruel death in all ways, in order to protect this same cause, so just and reasonable. We see the earth drenched in innocent blood, the onslaught that was given against the fort of the anti-Christ, and the great breach made by this great artillery of the word of God: and do we not find the courage to march into battle and attack? Do we think we can look at the crown of glory without having first battled alongside our great leader? Do we think we can reign with the son of God without having suffered and endured with him in this world? Not at all, not at all. This is why, dear brothers and sisters, run, run to the battle we have been given.

Here Écrivain evokes a sense of community in martyrdom to unite martyrs and Reformed readers in their common suffering. The martyr praises his Reformed brothers and sisters

(“nos pauvres frères & sœurs”) who have endured persecution in defense of their religious cause (“amenés aux tourments… pour maintenir cette même cause”). He then likens their suffering to a bloody onslaught (“la terre arrosée du sang innocent, l’assaut”), a pitiful image that he juxtaposes with a battle cry. The martyr writes that is not enough to sympathize in the face of injustice, suggesting instead that Reformers wage war with haste and purpose (“courons, courons au combat”). His epistolary voice creates a feeling of immediacy and urgency, vivifying the account and exercising a rhetorical violence that is by and large unique to the martyrology.

The young Pierre Navihères’s correspondence with family members reveals a similarly polemical tone. Navihères’s uncle, who writes a succinct letter on behalf of the martyr’s mother and father, criticizes his imprisoned nephew for having a “folle opinion”

(foolish opinion) and “malheureuses paroles” (unfortunate words), which have caused

“tristesse à ton père & mère” (grief for your father and mother) and “méritent récantation”

(merit abjuration) (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 222). Navihères boldly addresses his family in a return letter to show them their error and persuade them of the honor of dying for the Reformed faith:

Pour quelle cause contristez-vous ? est-ce pourtant que m’est advenu le plus grand honneur & le plus grand bien que pourrait advenir à homme mortel, s’il le savait bien entendre? l’honneur, dis-je, & bien, non pas devant les hommes charnels, mais devant celui qui nous a faits & formez,… Voulez-vous empêcher que je sois du nombre de ceux qui ont exposé leur vie pour maintenir la sacrée & sainte vérité de Dieu, lesquels reposent maintenant avec lui ? (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 223)

For what cause do you grieve? Is what happened to me not the greatest honor and the greatest reward that could happen to a mortal man, if he knew how to listen? Honor, I say, and reward, not in front of carnal men, but in front of he who made and formed (us),… Do you want to keep me from being among those who exposed their life in order to protect the sacred and saintly truth of God, who at present rest with him?

Here Navihères engages his family members in debate, bluntly asking them to articulate the cause of their grief. He then emphasizes the honor in martyrdom by repeating the superlative “le plus grand” and reiterates his point (“dis-je”) that such an honor can only come from God. This display of confidence from the young martyr is impressive and serves to showcase the strength and unity among Reformers. It also adds a polemical edge to the martyr’s defense of his faith, in a way similar to the violent rhetoric in Écrivain’s letter.

Toward the end of the account of the Lyon Five, having presented letters from each martyr — with the exception of Charles Favre, whom readers learn was “moins érudit” — in addition to letters from Calvin and Pierre Viret to the martyrs, Crespin returns to Pierre

Navihères. Crespin includes two letters in the 1570 edition, the first addressed to the martyr’s cousins and the second to his mother and father. It is not clear why Crespin would have added these letters to the end of the account rather than group them with Navihères’s other writings, though it was likely a last-minute addition. Perhaps anticipating confusion,

Crespin highlights their conformity with the martyr’s writings: “Les Deux épitres suivantes… ont grande convenances avec les précédentes écrites par Pierre Navihères… ”

(The following two letters closely resemble the previous ones written by Pierre Navihères)

(Histoire des marytrs 233). Crespin also signals the value of these letters to readers, writing that they “démontrent le soin qu’un vrai fidèle doit avoir envers ceux de son sang & parentage” (demonstrate the care that a true follower must show toward those of his bloodline and family) (Histoire des marytrs 233).

In these final letters Navihères adopts a far less polemical tone than he had in his previous correspondences, explaining in the letter to his parents his responsibilities as a future martyr:

Mes très honorés père & mère, tout ainsi que les armes matérielles nous sont données pour résister à la violence des ennemis qui nous voudraient molester : ainsi les prières & oraisons, qui sont armes spirituelles, nous sont données de Dieu pour repousser les assauts & la violence de notre ennemi mortel diable. (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 234)

My honorable mother and father, just as material weapons are given to us to resist the violence of enemies who would like to harm us, so too prayers and orations, which are spiritual weapons, are given to us by God to reject the assaults and violence of our diabolic mortal enemy.

Here Navihères addresses his parents in respectful terms (“très honnorés”) and constructs his argument in a restrained, non-violent manner. He likens defenses against physical violence (“ennemis qui nous voudraient molester”) to song and prayer used by Reformers to defend themselves against spiritual violence (“notre ennemi mortel diable”). Navihères

further develops this idea of prayer as a defense mechanism by making a distinction between habitual prayer and “les prières faites en foi” (prayers made in faith):

Or il est facile de prier souvent, & dire plusieurs oraisons tous les jours : mais en cela ne consiste la vraie prière, de laquelle je ne doute qu’êtes bien informé : toutefois pour satisfaire à mon devoir, il m’a semblé bon de vous toucher sommairement ce que s’ensuit, pour plus grande instruction. Premièrement… (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 234)

It is easy to pray often and make several orations every day, but doing so does not consist of a true prayer, of which I do not doubt you are anything but well informed. Nevertheless, to fulfill my duty, it seems to me a good idea to tell you summarily what follows, in order to better instruct. Firstly…)

As we have seen elsewhere, namely in the confession of faith, the martyr prescribes

Reformed manner of worship, here by way of prayer. Navihères suggests that Reformed prayer is more authentic and meaningful than formulaic orations whose repetitiveness and frequency diminish their significance. He goes on to articulate the correct way to pray, using prescriptive expressions such as “il faut que la prière soit…” (it is necessary that prayer is), “Donc il est requis que…” (So it is required that), and “Toutes nos prières & oraisons doivent…”) (All our prayers and orations must) (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs

234). According to the martyr, the faithful must pray directly to God in response to their needs or to express gratitude in a language that they speak and understand. The martyr also emphasizes the need for the faithful to pray with confidence that God hears them and will answer their prayers, which he describes on several occasions as praying “d’intelligence” and “en intelligence” (mindfully) (Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 234).

Navihères concludes his final letter by restating the value of mindful prayer, likewise telling his addressees that he has enclosed sample prayers for them to read to one another: “j’ai bien voulu vous envoyer un petit livre, par lequel pourrez entendre comment un bon Chrétien se doit préparer à bien mourir” (I very much wanted to send you a small

book, in which you will learn how a good Christian may best prepare himself to die)

(Crespin, Histoire des martyrs 234). Prayer, then, like the letter, is an instructionally valuable asset to Reformers, especially the Reformed martyr who must prepare for his inevitable death.

IV. Conclusion

The Reformers who read the Histoire des martyrs in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, like the martyrs whose accounts fill its pages, would have to some extent personally experienced religious persecution and, at some point, imagined themselves filling the role of martyr and making the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of their Reformed beliefs and religious cause. Crespin’s martyrology would have prepared them well in this regard, given its instructional and polemic content and tone that show readers how to argue, behave, and worship according to Reformed principles of belief. In other words, the

Histoire des martyrs, a mirror of religious ideals to strive for, showed readers how to be unwavering members of the Reform. The materials within the martyrology that most clearly exemplify this function — confessions of faith, eyewitness testimonies, and letters

— are thus highly valuable religious goods, or capital, for both the martyrology’s readership and its producer, Crespin. By providing readers with culturally and symbolically valuable capital, Crespin sought to advance his own authority and influence within the religious field of the Reform movement.

Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs was indeed influential and circulated widely among

Reformers throughout the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. In some cases,

Reformers who read and were inspired by accounts of martyrdom went on to produce their own cultural works that reveal the impact of the Histoire des martyrs in shaping Reformed culture and identity. Examples of Crespin’s influence on later Reformed works include the

Genevan Histoire Ecclesiastique and Agrippa d’Aubigné’s Histoire universelle, as well as the foreign-language martyrologies of John Foxe and Ludwig Rabus, whom Jameson

Tucker confirms “directly drew on Crespin’s sources and his interpretations” (182). It is

also worth noting Crespin’s influence on the martyrology as a physical object and tool of cultural mediation. The Reformed printer made choices with regard to the martyrology’s physicality such as size, layout, abridgements, and illustrations — all of which were factors in how the book was experienced by his readers.44 Indeed, the physical changes that

Crespin made to each new edition of the Histoire des martyrs in turn changed the readers’ responses to and understanding of the cultural knowledge reflected therein. In this way, in addition to influencing the works of later Reformers, Crespin contributed to the shaping of

Reformed culture and identity by introducing shifts in reading practices.

Reformed identity in sixteenth-century France, as expressed in prominent Reformed cultural works like the Histoire des martyrs, was largely grounded in matters of faith, but also extended to the constancy, suffering, and self-sacrificial attitudes and behaviors embodied by the many Reformed martyrs whose accounts Crespin made public. Crespin’s martyrology provided sixteenth-century Reformers with instructional and inspirational material, essentially guiding them toward a resilient and steadfast sense of self in the face of religious persecution and violence. These and other aspects of Reformed identity will be further explored in the next chapter, which considers the writings of one of Crespin’s fellow Reformers and reader of the Histoire des martyrs, the French explorer, author, and later minister Jean de Léry. There is a remarkable continuity between the works of Crespin and Léry that will allow us to trace the narrative of religious violence from the time of

Reformed martyrdom to the momentous trials of French Reformers in the both the New

World and during France’s Wars of Religion.

44 In The Order of Books, Roger Chartier discusses the book as object and its physical reality that contributed to the many shifts in the cultural and social landscapes of sixteenth- century France, “discerning how material forms affect meaning” (23).

Chapter Two

Famine, Food, and Reformed Identity in the Works of Jean de Léry,

1574-1580

Dis-moi ce que tu manges, je te dirai ce que tu es.1

Tell me what you eat and I will tell you what you are.

— Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, French gastronomer

I. Introduction

Explorer, pastor, and writer Jean de Léry (1534-1613), from the present-day

Bourgogne-Franche-Comté region of eastern France, is best known for his involvement in the first attempt of Reformers to settle in the New World. Little is known about Léry’s life before he joined the expedition in the early 1550s, though his training for the ministry in

Geneva assumes prior adherence to the Reformed faith. After returning to France from

Brazil, Léry became involved in France’s Wars of Religion and would later lead a

Reformed resistance movement in Sancerre. Léry then published accounts of his experiences, the first entitled the Histoire d’un voyage faict en la terre du Brésil, and the second the Histoire mémorable de la ville de Sancerre.2

1 This famous aphorism is from Brillat-Savarin’s first book, Physiologie du goût, which he published in 1825, just a year before his death (19). 2 The full title reads, the Histoire memorable de la ville de Sancerre, contenant les entreprinses, sieges, approches, bateries, assaux et autres efforts des assiegans, le tout fidelement recueilli sur le lieu par Jean de Lery (memorable history of the city of Sancerre, containing the undertakings, sieges, strategies, attacks, and other efforts made by the besieged, everything faithfully recorded on-site by Jean de Léry). Following Janet Whatley and other scholars, I use the edition published by Géralde Nakam, Au lendemain de la Saint-Barthélemy, modernizing the punctuation and spelling when appropriate. All French- to-English translations from the Histoire mémorable are my own.

Although Léry traveled to Brazil nearly 20 years before publishing his travelogue, the first edition appearing in 1578, he published his account on the siege of the fortified hilltop city of Sancerre in 1574, less than a year after it had occurred. The fact that his writings began circulating around the same time suggests that they are connected, or that for Léry the 1570s were the right time to share his perspectives on these events with the

French reading public. Indeed, given the varying but widespread outbreaks of violence in

1570s France,3 including the dozens of religious massacres in provincial cities following the events of Saint Bartholomew’s Day in Paris in 1572, it is likely that Léry chose to circulate his pro-Reformed writings around the same time and to similar ends. Put plainly,

Léry’s writings were contributions to intellectual but also polemical conflicts that coincided with physical conflicts inherent in war.

In addition to Léry’s writings, the events themselves — the attempted Reformed settlement in Brazil and the Siege of Sancerre — are also connected. Importantly, one could make the claim that both the Reformed settlement and Sancerre’s besiegement developed from a desire among Reformers to find and achieve refuge. In the former case, it was

Admiral Gaspard de Coligny who sought to establish multiple French colonies in the New

World, beginning with the initial expedition in 1555 (Marshall 65). The expedition team, led by Nicolas Durand de Villegagnon, brought two ships and around 600 men to the small island of present-day Rio de Janeiro in Brazil, building Fort Coligny and naming the settlement “France antarctique” (York 294). And although Coligny never expressed

3 In the Politics of Religions in Early Modern France, Joseph Bergin address the wide range in local experiences of violence in France, which he explains was prevalent and at times severe during the 1560s and 1570s (26).

religious motives for establishing the settlement,4 the ship that arrived a year later and carried over a dozen Reformers — some of whom had received missionary training under the direction of Calvin, including Léry — reflect developments in Coligny’s project that were indisputably directed toward creating a place of refuge for Reformers (York 294).

In Sancerre, Reformers from nearby regions fled to this fortified city and Reformed stronghold in resistance to the Catholic crown’s increasingly repressive attempts at gaining their submission (Wood 29). The pressure that many Reformed communities and strongholds like Sancerre were under was not only religious but also fiscal and political

(Holt 195-96).5 The years leading up to the Siege of Sancerre were characterized by “the collapse of the monarchical authority” that was due, in part, to “the breakdown of the traditional patronage structure of the Renaissance monarchy” (Carroll 3). And while the crown would bolster its authority in the seventeenth century, Royalist sieges were part of the process of political change and an especially acute social reality at the time of

Sancerre’s besiegement (Nolan 322). Hence Reformers retreated to Sancerre in resistance to the monarchy and in hopes of achieving a level of of economic, religious, and political independence from the crown.

The connections between the Siege of Sancerre and the Reformed settlement in

Brazil, and Léry’s accounts of them in the Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage, will be explored in more precise ways in the pages that follow, as they form the basis of the

4 Philip Boucher makes this argument in France and the American Tropics, writing that Henri II, whose approval Coligny needed, never would have authorized or agreed to finance the initial expedition had Coligny’s project been presented to him as a Reformed refuge overseas (45). 5 According to Robert J. Knecht in The French Civil Wars, 1562-1598, sieges were more common than sustained warfare in the 1570s, precisely because Reformed strongholds like Sancerre refused to give in to royal demands for money following the financially ruinous religious wars in the preceding decade (177).

present chapter. As its title suggests, this chapter considers food in relation to the articulation of identity in the Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage. More exaclty, it examines how Léry conveys the identity of the religious group to which he belongs by giving particular focus to what Reformers consumed in these accounts of defining moments in the history of the French Reform. Central to Léry’s writing, I argue, is an awareness that religious identity can be articulated in alimentary terms, and both of his accounts may be understood as reflections on Reformed identity in times of heightened religious violence and extreme hardship. In pursuing my argument, I analyze passages from the Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage in which food is his primary focus. These include descriptions of the famines that Léry and his fellow Reformers experienced at sea and during the siege, along with the ingenuous methods that they find for feeding themselves when food was scarce. I also consider the theme of cannibalism that appears in Léry’s eyewitness testimony of a Tupinamba ceremony and his commentary on an act of anthropophagy that occurred while Sancerre was under siege. Finally, alongside each of these considerations, I discuss how the reader derives meaning from the different foods and eating habits that Léry describes — that is, I show how food helps to define religious identity and delineate its boundaries in the Histoire d’un voyage and Histoire mémorable.

I divide this chapter into three sections. In the first section, “You Eat What You

Are: Food and the Shaping of Religious Identity,” I briefly demonstrate how food choices and rituals serve as expressions of religious identity. Focusing on the early modern period, I discuss how different foods and eating patterns mark boundaries and divisions between religious groups and allow writers, in particular, to shape these boundaries and make assertions about religious identities. I also consider changes in the way that early modern people thought about food and eating in relation to Léry’s works and expressions of

Reformed identity. In the second section, “Feeding (and Eating) the Besieged,” I examine the connection between food and Reformed identity in the 1574 account of the Siege of

Sancerre, the Histoire mémorable. I pay particular attention to the famine endured by the

Sancerrois, as Léry recounts in his tenth chapter, “De l’extreme famine” (Of the extreme famine) (Histoire d’un voyage 526; History of a Voyage 208). I then turn in the third section, “The Eaters and Eaten of the New World,” to his 1580 travelogue, the Histoire d’un voyage.6 Here I focus on passages reflecting the hardships Reformers endured at sea during their trying voyages to and from Brazil due to food shortages, in addition to the alleged Tupi custom of eating enemies and prisoners of war that Léry describes in his fifteenth chapter, “Comment les Ameriquains traittent leurs prisonniers prins en guerre, et les ceremonies qu’ils observant tant à les tuer qu’à les manger” (how the Americans treat their prisoners of war and the ceremonies they observe both in killing and in eating them)

(Histoire d’un voyage 354; History of a Voyage 122).7

By addressing the connections between food and religious identity in the Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage, this chapter offers new perspectives on early modern texts shaped by the Reformed voices of late sixteenth-century France. French Reformers did indeed have distinct cultural and stylistic sensibilities that, as George Hoffmann argues in Reforming French Culture, influenced Reformation attitudes just as much as written production (17). My interest lies more in the attitudes of Reformers, as the ways in which they manifest in Reformed works reveal a dynamic yet often overlooked sense of

6 Following the lead of many literary scholars, I have chosen to reference the 1580 edition of the Histoire d’un voyage. 7 Unless otherwise noted, all French-to-English translations from the Histoire d’un voyage are based on Janet Whatley’s History of a Voyage to the Land of Brazil. For in-text citations I provide the English translation after the original French and the page number that corresponds to each edition.

engagement — that is, they show a desire to move readers on an emotional level to effect cultural and political change in a kingdom divided by religious conflict, which is the overarching focus of this dissertation. And whereas the first chapter considers the symbolic value that Jean Crespin instills in accounts of martyrdom, thereby inspiring great admiration and reverence for persecuted Reformers, here Léry’s attention to food and eating speak to a Reformed sense of self that is resilient and resourceful in the face of adverse, food-related circumstances. Léry thus incites sympathy toward Reformers and the

Reformed cause through his descriptions of alimentary choices and consumption.

Numerous scholars, ranging from Claude Lévi-Strauss, through Frank Lestringant and Michel Jeanneret,8 to Andrea Frisch and Cathy Yandell,9 have provided valuable research and insight regarding Léry’s writings from ethnographic, historiographic, sociologic, and theological perspectives. To date, however, no scholar has attempted a food studies approach to the texts under consideration. This is understandable, given that food studies as an academic discipline, a largely North American development that roughly coincided with the emergence of gender studies, “is still being defined” (Black 202).10 The discipline was arguably born as early as the nineteenth century, when French lawyer Jean

8 From Frank Lestringant, see, for example, “Catholiques et Cannibales: le thème du cannibalisme dans le discours protestant au temps des guerres de Religion” in Pratiques et discours alimentaire à la Renaissance and “Une relecture des guerres de Religion au temps des ‘Scène de la vie de province’: Le siège de Sancerre de Jean de Léry à Abraham Malfuson (1574-1826).” From Michel Jeanneret, see, “Analogie et différence chez deux voyageurs au Brésil au XVIe siècle” in Analogie et Connaissance and “Léry et Thevet : Comment parler d’un monde nouveau ?” in Mélanges à la mémoire de Franco Simone. 9 See, for example, Andrea Frisch, “In a Sacramental Mode: Jean de Léry’s Calvinist Ethnography” and Cathy Yandell, “Cannibalism and Cognition in Jean de Léry’s Histoire d’un voyage” in Memory and Community in Sixteenth-Century France. 10 Peter Jackson confirms this point in the introduction to Food Words, writing that food studies is “far from well defined,” specifically in comparison with other disciplines in the humanities and social sciences (1).

Anthelme Brillat-Savarin published his Physiologie du goût, a gastronomic endeavor that underscores the centrality of food in social life rather than focusing on food in relation to agriculture, medicine, or production (Black 201).11 In the twentieth century, anthropolgists like Syndey Mintz showed increased interest in food as a way to uncover economic and power dynamics across cultures and races.12 Most recently, food studies came to be understood as a cross-disciplinary field, pioneered by Warren Belasco,13 that draws on fields as diverse as anthropology, cultural studies, economics, literature, religious studies, and sociology. The goal of food studies research is to uncover the cultural and social meanings embedded in people’s tastes, distastes, eating habits, culinary practices, and food rituals. Put another way, food studies scholarship considers food to be a core mode of exploring and explaining the world.

Perhaps the most recent and relevant scholarship to a food studies reading of Léry’s writings is an essay by Hope Glidden that examines anthropophagic scenes in the Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage.14 Glidden sees “a continuity between the two texts”

11 Ancient Greek philosophers like Epicurus and Plato did, of course, study food in an intellectual sense. However, their approach to food was largely based on concerns for health and well-being. Brillat-Savarin’s approach to food was revolutionary in that it demonstrated an academic interest in the pleasures of eating and its role in shaping communities. 12 See Sidney W. Mintz, Sweetness and Power: The Place of Sugar in Modern History. Mintz examines the economic and power structures that existed between Europeans and the native populations in Europe’s tropical colonies. 13 See Warren Balasco, Food: The Key Concepts. 14 I must also draw attention Hannah Chapelle Wojciehowski’s second chapter in Group Identity in the Renaissance World, which examines the impulse of sixteenth-century Europeans to incorporate by eating, meaning to absorb and reappropriate individual identities and differing cultural norms, specifically with regard to the New World and colonizing processes (80-81). One of Wojciehowski’s areas of focus is the writings of André Thevet and Jean de Léry, who claim to have observed the Tupinambá natives practicing ritual anthropophagy. In accordance with my argument that Léry’s descriptions of these cannibalistic practices articulate and shape Reformed identity, Wojciehowski shows how group identities — native and European, and perhaps Reformed and Catholic —

that constitute a kind of “uncanny dialogue,” arguing that Léry’s works reveal a vital link between memory and community through “the pain suffered by religious communities, among others” (74). And though I also see Léry’s attention to Tupian cannibal rituals as a lens through which the reader may better understand the extent of Reformers’ sufferings, it is my contention that all discourse pertaining to food and eating in Léry’s two works serve similar ends. Scenes of cannibalism and famine, in particular, both reflect the moral and physical limits of the Reformed community, with discussions of food and eating, and not just the question of anthropophagy, delineating religious identity, while religious identity defines the boundaries of what can and cannot be consumed. The current food studies approach is thus a needed addition to existing scholarship on religious identity in the

Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage. I further detail this approach in the following section.

were “defined by the practice of physically incorporating their enemies… and members of their own group” (83).

II. You Eat What You Are: Food and the Shaping of Religious Identity

Food is central to individual and group identities. What we choose to eat, what we can afford to eat, what we have been culturally conditioned to eat, what we find appetizing, what we are willing to taste, how we prepare food, and how and with whom we eat in various contexts are all expressions and shapers of identity. Religious identity, in particular, is formed by religious communities and is made up of numerous dimensions, including beliefs, knowledge about the religion, religious behavior and rituals, and formational experiences and feelings. Food is an important fixture in shaping nearly every aspect of religious identity. Christian creationism, for example, develops only after Eve ate something that she had been forbidden to eat. Rituals such as Holy Communion require church members to consume the body and blood of Christ. The observance of Lent requires

Catholics to abstain from eating meat for a stipulated period of time. Muslims also fast, from sunsrise to sunset, and engage in increased prayer during Ramadan. At many dinner tables, prayers of thanks are given before eating a meal.

It goes without saying that food and eating practices are a means of expressing and defining religious identity in today’s religions. In early modern Europe, specifically, food choices and rituals “bound neighbors into communities, but also marked out the shifting boundaries of ‘us’ and ‘them’” (Kissane 6). Food historians have pointed to several major instances of religious divide in which alimentation and eating provide valuable insights into the demarcations of these boundaries, with the European Reformations being among the most salient and consequential. To understand the Reformations and religious identity through food, however, requires evidence of what and how people ate. Food studies scholar

Robert Appelbaum has effectively penetrated these early modern “mentalities” through the

study of writing and rhetoric, considering discourses on food-related topics like gluttony, hunger, and restraint in novels, plays, and poetry, arguing that early modern people were aware of the “religious issues that eating and drinking” can surface (xiv). Texts like the

Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage, which are remarkably food-centric, are thus critical to our understanding of religious divide and the question religious identity in early modern Europe, namely in post-Reformation France.

The works of Léry are also important to consider in that they were published at a turning point in the ways in which early modern people thought about food. 1570s Europe, for example, marks a “departure from orthodox(y)” in which an individual’s experiences and group rituals became more decisive factors in everyday eating than the restrictive dietary suggestions and attitudes toward food that Galenists propogated beginning in the

1530s (Albala 37). Galenism, also known as Humoralism, was a well-known medical philosophy in the mid-sixteenth century that considered food to be the key element in maintaining the correct humoral balance and thus prescribed a diet characterized by regulation and self-control, with dietaries of the period adopting a “stern” and “guilt- ridden” tone with regard to food choices (Albala 32). Léry, who authored the Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage around the time of this departure from the Galenic system and its anti-gluttonous views, played a role in the shift in how the French, in particular, thought about food and eating. Indeed, his personal experiences in the New

World and during the Siege of Sancerre, where survival often trumped preferences and tastes, forced him to eat uncustomary foods and exposed him, as well as his contemporary readership upon publishing his works, to new, non-European ways of eating. And although

Léry’s divergence from the rigid dietary customs of the preceding decades was largely need-based and exploratory rather than prescriptive, his attention to alimentary choices in

his writings can be understood as part of the broader trend in the late sixteenth century toward an interest in “the social meaning of food” (Albala 37). Among the range of social meanings that Léry’s descriptions of food and eating convey, the religious identity of the fervent Reformer stands out as paramount.

Léry covers a broad range of food-related topics in the Histoire mémorable and

Histoire d’un voyage, from scarcity of resources, hunger, and starvation to ingenuous cooking methods, uncustomary foodstuffs, and morality in food choices. In each text, food is a matter of survival for Reformers, whether they are forced to ration supplies and endure hunger or tolerate the eating rituals of other, more powerful communities. How Léry articulates these experiences of dire consequence illustrate some of the most fundamental facets of Reformed identity in late sixteenth-century France, such as religious otherness, physical and psychological resilience, adaptability and resourcefulness in adverse circumstances, and, importantly, adherence to theological beliefs that demarcate Reformers from Catholics, like those pertaining to the Eucharist. In addition to articulating Reformed identity through food, Léry shapes his readership’s understanding of it by inviting them to identify with Reformers’ plights. This authorial technique and attempt to generate sympathy for the religious other becomes apparent upon closer consideration of Léry’s descriptions of food and eating in the Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage.

My reading of the Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage contributes quite tangibly to the growing cross-disciplinary field of food studies. I examine textual engagements with food at its various stages, like alimentary and culinary, alongside rhetorical traditions that chronicle the “conditions” of food, meaning its impact on the way people live, socialize, and understand their place in the world (Tigner and Carruth 1). When applied to Léry’s Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage, how these works interact

with food — that is, how they depict food cultures and practices — speaks to the lived and perceived experiences of Léry and his fellow Reformers during times of heightened religious violence and hardship. Religious identity and matters of faith are especially prominent aspects of the experiences that Léry brings to the fore by way of his attention to food.

III. Feeding (and Eating) the Besieged

The Siege of Sancerre followed the Siege of La Rochelle in July 1573, the latter marking the formal end to France’s Fourth War of Religion and a culminating point of religious violence sparked by the Saint Bartholomew’s Day Massacre in August 1572. The

“disastrous and ill-conceived” peace treaty ending that war, however, did not put an end to fighting in the south and west, where numerous Reformed towns “continued their resistance” (Konnert 125). To the west of Burgundy, the fortified hilltop city of Sancerre was under siege from January to August 1573, after which the Reformed community was forced to surrender, as the population had been all but decimated by famine. The defenders of Sancerre were included in the treatise signed one month prior to their surrender, though few Reformers remained to tell their story of resistance and survival, Léry being an exception.

The famine that Reformers endured during the Siege of Sancerre does not appear until the Histoire mémorable’s tenth chapter. Before this, however, Léry discusses the city’s alimentary resources and oversights that contextualize the period of severe food shortage that define, for Léry, the experience of besiegement. In the Histoire mémorable’s first chapter, for example, Léry first provides his readers with a three-page overview of

Sancerre, including the historical details of its founding,15 location and geographic

15 Léry’s knowledge of “l’antiquité de la ville de Sancerre” (the early history of the city of Sancerre) is quite limited, as he immediately admits, but dismisses as irrelevant to the present account: “Mais laissant disputer aux autres de son ancienneté, je m’arrêterai seulement à décrire sa situation” (But leave to others to dispute its history, I will focus only on describing its predicament) (Histoire mémorable 193).

features,16 as well as physical dimensions.17 Following this brief overview, he turns to what are in his opinion the city’s most prominent qualities — that is, soil fertility and the

Reformed faith of its inhabitants:

Le pays est fort bon et fertile tant en bled qu’en autres fruits nécessaires pour la vie humaine. Mais entre les principaux bénéfices que cette ville de Sancerre a reçus de Dieu, elle a été des premières en France où sa parole a été purement prêchée, à cause de quoi elle a encouru la haine de ceux qui ne peuvent porter ni entendre cette doctrine, assavoir des Catholiques, qui des pieça lui portent une merveilleuse haine, l’ont assiégée et assaillie plusieurs fois, et ont tâché par tous moyens de la surprendre. (Léry, Histoire mémorable 195)

The land is very good and fertile both in soil and other fruits that are necessary for sustaining life. But among the principal advantages that this city of Sancerre received from God, she was one of the first in France where His word was preached purely, and because of this she incited the hate of those who could neither support nor hear this doctrine, namely Catholics, who long ago had an incredible hatred of it, besieged and attacked the city several times, and tried by all means possible to take it.

Léry’s short list of notable features includes the quality of the land and its soil fertility

(“fort bon et fertile”) and, importantly for his fellow Reformers, the fact that Sancerre was one of the first bastions of the Reformed religion (“où sa parole a été purement prêchée”).

Already, then, Léry begins to establish a connection between food and faith by equating a literal source of human sustenance with spiritual sustenance, claimining that both were desirable assets (“principaux bénéfices”) in that they were both sources of nourishment for the Sancerrois. For Léry, the city’s desirability as a source of nourishment provoked the

16 “Elle (Sancerre) est assise au milieu, et comme au centre du royaume de France, au pays et duché de Berry, sur une haute et raide montagne, et n’y peut-on arriver sans monter de toutes parts, tellement que le lieu et la place sont naturellement forts” (Sancerre is situated in the middle, as in the center of the kingdom of France, in the land and duchy of Berry, on a high and steep mountain, and one cannot go there without climbing from any side, so naturally fortified is the area and the city’s placement) (Histoire mémorable 193-94). 17 “Elle a environ deux mille cinq cens pas de tour,… Sa largeur,… est d’environ cinq cens cinquante pas” (Sancerre has around two thousand five hundred feet around it,… The city’s size,… is around five hundred and fifty feet) (Histoire mémorable 194).

hatred of Catholics (“a encouru la haine”), likewise causing Sancerre to be the object of numerous attacks (“assiégée et assaillie plusieurs fois”). In this way, Léry suggests that the conflicts incurred by the Sancerrois were in fact conflicts over sustenance, of which the

Reformed had an abundance, literally and figuratively.

For the next several chapters, Léry addresses the violent persecution of Reformers in other cities and some of the political disputes surrounding early attacks on Sancerre.

Then in chapter six, “De l’ordre et gouvernement” (Of the law and order),18 Léry introduces the main subject of his account, which is to say the siege and the onset of severe food shortage, first speaking to the increasingly imminent danger of besiegement: “En ce temps,… le bruit était grand, et avait-on nouvelles de toutes parts que Sancerre serait en bref assiégée” (At this time, people were talking, and we heard from all around the city that we would soon find ourselves besieged) (Histoire mémorable 238). It was during this crucial period, as Léry goes on to lament, that the Sancerrois committed some of their most detrimental errors: “plusieurs… mésprisaient tous ces avertissements” (several people disregarded all of these warnings) (Histoire mémorable 238). This general sense of disregard and lack of foresight, of course, would exacerbate the severity of the famine.

In addition to not taking these warnings seriously enough, the Sancerrois took very few practical measures, especially with regard to food provisions, to prepare the city for inevitable food shortages. Léry deeply regrets these collective oversights, as they were undoubtedly leading factors in the desperation and suffering among Reformers during the most trying moments of hunger toward the end of the siege. His regret manifests itself in a

18 Chapter 6 in Léry’s Histoire mémorable bares the title, “De l’ordre et gouvernement qui fut mis en la ville de Sancerre, pour s’opposer à ceux qui la voulaient forcer, et de quelques sorties et escarmouches” (Of the law and order that was used in the city of Sancerre, to combat those who wanted to obstruct, and on some leavings and skirmishes) (233).

list he offers readers of what “on aurait pu faire” (what we could have done) had the city’s leadership heeded early warning signs, such as acquiring a more substantial supply of food and destroying “les bourgs voisins” (nearby towns) that the enemy would later occupy and utilize for its own alimentary purposes (Nakam 92). Or more succinctly, as Léry writes,

“Ce mépris et nonchalance d’aucuns, causa beaucoup de maux” (The disregard and indifference of certain individuals caused much suffering) (Histoire mémorable 238).

The “maux” to which Léry refers, and that held the interests of numerous readers and writers for decades, including fellow Reformed authors Jean Crespin and Agrippa d’Aubigné, are the subject of the Histoire mémorable’s tenth and perhaps most infamous chapter, descriptively entitled,

De l’extrême famine, cherté de vivres, chairs et autres choses non accoutumées pour la nourriture de l’homme, dont les assiégés dans la ville de Sancerre ont été affligés, et ont usé environ trois mois. (Histoire mémorable 279)

Of the extreme famine, high cost of food supplies, skins, and other things unfit for human consumption that afflicted the besieged in the city of Sancerre, and that they exhausted in roughly three months.

As its title suggests, this chapter breaks from discussions of military operations, disputes among and between political and religious parties, and strategic measures taken in response to armed attacks, to recount the atrocities experienced by the besieged Sancerrois over course of several months. Léry makes food and the lack thereof, including ways that

Reformers found to eat the inedible, the primary focus in his lengthiest and most unique chapter in terms of content, effectively conveying to readers what it was like to be in

Sancerre during the siege. For Léry, then, famine is what defined the experience of the

Sancerrois and other Reformers in their attempts to stave off Catholic troops.

Léry justifies this change in subject and style by suggesting that nowhere else, neither in collective memory nor historical accounts, can readers find comparable material:

“chose non moins veritable qu’admirable, non ouye, ny pratiquee de peuple quel qu’il soit, dont la memoire et les histoires facent mention” (something so true and admirable, neither heard nor experienced by any people whatsovever, of which memory and histories make mention) (Histoire mémorable 279). To be sure, Léry cites several historical sieges and instances of famine, which serve to cast an even more serious light on the Siege of

Sancerre:

… la famine de Samarie… l’histoire tragique et prodigieuse durant le siège de Jérusalem,… ce qui advint à Numance étant assiégée… et autres histoires, touchant les misérables et déplorables nécessités, dont plusieurs ont été affligés, ne seront plus révoquées en doute, et ne mettront les hommes en plus grande admiration que celle-ci. (Histoire mémorable 279-80)

… the famine of Samaria… the tragic and prodigious history during the siege of Jerusalem,… that occurred in the besieged Numantia… and other histories, touching on the miserable and deplorable necessities, that afflicted several people, will no longer be doubted, and will not fill men with any more admiration than what they have for this case here.

Here Léry enumerates other well-known famines and sieges, thus likening the case of

Sancerre to them. He also insists that the singularity of what the Reformers endured during the Siege of Sancerre will inspire admiration in his readers. In this way, Léry signals a sense of greatness, perhaps even willpower, that coincides with Reformers’ abilities to deprive themselves, in this case of food, for the sake of their religious cause. Hence, Léry hints at the martyr-like quality of constancy that the Sancerrois, and Reformers more generally, possessed in this and other notable instances of religious strife.

Continuing in this manner, Léry further sensationalizes the notion of famine by providing graphic details that highlight the most gruesome, unnatural actions of the besieged when starved to the point of desperation:

… où les meres mangèrent leurs enfants, et où les têtes d’ânes et fientes de pigeons se vendaient grande somme d’argent,… où cette mère et femme honorable,…

s’armant contre les loix de nature, occit et mangea le propre fruit de son ventre, avec horreur des plus cruels qui virent ce spectacle,… (Histoire mémorable 279-80)

… when mothers ate their children, and when the heads of donkeys and pigeons’ feet were sold for large sums of money,… when that mother and honorable wife,… arming herself against the laws of nature, killed and ate the very fruit of her womb, with the cruelest horror that was this spectacle.

Here Léry foreshadows the unspeakable horrors that he witnessed during the the siege

(“horreur des plus cruels”), suggesting that the most shocking incident was an act of cannibalism in which a mother ate her own child (“mangea le propre fruit de son ventre”).

The spectacular aspects of the famine that Léry underlines in this prefatory material serve the purpose, of course, of building anticipation. In so doing, Léry enhances the reader’s engagement with the text and increases the likelihood of an emotional response, which factors into the identity-defining process.

Following this introduction to the Histoire mémorable’s tenth chapter, Léry recounts in detail the events surrounding “l’extrême famine,” paying particular attention to

Reformers’ eating habits, including the ways in which they collect, distribute, prepare, and consume food (279). According to Léry, these events began in March 1573, just before the first attacks on Sancerre made by Catholic troops,19 and culminated in the city’s surrender in August. In early March, Léry informs his readers that food was already in short supply:

“… dès le mois de mars, les vivres commençassent déjà à s’accourcir dans Sancerre, et principalement les chairs de bœuf et autres dont on use ordinairement” (as early as March, food supplies in Sancerre had already begun to dwindle, namely beef and similar things that

19 Léry address these attacks in the Histoire mémorable’s eighth chapter, “De l’assaut donné à Sancerre, comment il fut soutenu, l’ordre des assiégeants et assiégés à assaillir et defendre : le nombre des morts et blessés ce jour-là, et le cantique des soutenants après la victoire” (Of the attack made on Sancerre, how it was carried out, the way that the besiegers and besieged attacked to seize and defended themselves: the number of deaths and injured persons on that day, and the hymn of the victors afterward) (255).

we normally ate) (Histoire mémorable 280). Having nearly exhausted their usual foodstuffs, Léry gives readers an example of an uncustomary source of food that the

Sancerrois find after enemy troops had attacked the city, killing a horse in the process:

… un cheval de charrette du Ballif Johanneau gouverneur de ladite ville étant tué d’un coup de canon en charriant les fascines et terres aux remparts, fut écorché, découppé, emporté et mangé par le commun des vignerons et manouvriers, qui faisaient récit à chacun n’avoir jamais trouvé chair de bœuf meilleure. (Histoire mémorable 280)

… a carriage horse belonging to Ballif Johanneau, governor of the city, having been killed by a cannon shot while transporting brushwood and earth to the ramparts, was skinned, cut up, and taken away and eaten by a group of wine-growers and laborers, who all said that they had never had beef that tasted better.

Motivated partly by need, but also taking advantage of this unexpected sitation, the city’s besieged made use of the fallen horse to satisfy their growing hunger. The fact that Léry specifies at the outset of this passage the manner in which the horse died suggests that the choice to consume the animal was not an act of pure desperation, but rather one of resourcefulness — that is, he and his fellow Reformers saw no reason why they should waste a perfectly good horse, even if it was not something that they would normally eat. In addition to resourcefulness, Léry conveys the sense of collaboration among Reformers by enumerating what was done to the horse in preparation for eating, actions that he notes were carried out by various members of the community (“le commun des vignerons et manouvriers”). Together, the Sancerrois skinned, cut, transported, and finally ate the horse

(“écorché, découppé, emporté et mangé”). Lastly, by denoting the widespread amazement over the taste of horse meat, Léry also indicates that hunger had changed Reformers’ perceptions of what was appetizing. More exactly, when he tells readers that no one had ever tasted something so good (“chacun n’avoir jamais trouvé… meilleure”), Léry reveals adaptability as a defining characteristic of the besieged. These early stages of famine, then,

portray Reformers as resourceful, collaborative, and able to adjust their expectations when confronted with adverse food-related circumstances.

Léry reaffirms all three of these characteristics in passages reflecting subsequent stages of the famine. The taste for the uncustomary dish of horse meat, having “fit envie à plusieurs” (made many envious), was very much on the minds of the besieged, whose hunger went unfulfilled until early April (Léry, Histoire mémorable 280). And when eventually, Léry tells us, they decided to kill and consume livestock that was as uncommon to eat as horse meat, the response among the Sancerrois to eating uncustomary food was precisely the same: “… et fut trouvé bon de tous ceux qui en mangèrent, tant bouilli que rôti et mis en pâté, mais sur tout le foie rôti avec cloux de giroffle fut trouvé comme un foie de veau” (and everyone who ate the meat found that it tasted good, whether boiled, roasted, or as a pâté, but the best of all was the roasted liver prepared with cloves, which was like veal’s liver) (Histoire mémorable 280). As he had also done in the previous passage, Léry enumerates the ways in which the Sancerrois handled their food in preparation for consumption, specifying the various cooking methods that they employed, from boiling and roasting to creating a kind of meat paste. In this way, Léry conveys the ingenuity of the besieged that helped them find ways of sustaining themselves in dire circumstances. He also signals their adaptability when he gives readers his opinion as to what recipe he preferred, writing with an air of nostalgia that the roasted meat tasted as good as veal

(“comme une foie de veau”).

Léry further emphasizes Reformers’ abilities to adapt to different conditions, making mention of the fact that his taste buds were not the only ones that seemed to change as they sought out new food sources:

Vrai est qu’à ce commencement aucuns (plus d’appréhension qu’autrement) eurent mal au cœur d’en avoir mangé, mais peu de jours après, et avant le quinzième dudit mois, cela fut tout commun aux plus délicats. (Histoire mémorable 280-81)

It is true that at the beginning no one was upset for having eaten it (though there was some apprehension), but several days later, before the fifteenth of the month, this was a commonly served dish among the most delicate men.

After some time (“peu de jours après”), even the most delicate of appetites (“plus délicats”), meaning Sancerre’s wealthier class, had grown accustomed to eating the meat that was available. Rather than breeding desperation, Léry suggests to readers that hunger in these early stages of famine was something of an equalizer. Any apprehension that the wealthy may have otherwise shown toward strange food had disappeared (“plus d’appréhension qu’autrement”), leaving them just as satisfied as anyone else to have something to eat.

Despite the many postitive character traits that Léry demonstrates in recounting the eating behaviors of the Sancerrois — namely resourcefulness, ingenuity, and adaptability

— Léry expresses regret over a critical error on the part of the besieged. Though they were resourceful in consuming “beaucoup d’ânes et mulets” (a lot of donkeys and mules), they did not properly ration their supplies (Léry, Histoire mémorable 281):

… ils furent tous dans un mois tués et mangés au lieu de bœuf, tellement que (pour n’espérer une telle longueur de siège) on en fit trop grand dégât et fut-on bien marris après de n’avoir mieux ménagé la chair. (Léry, Histoire mémorable 281)

… within a month they were all killed and eaten in place of beef, and neglecting to better ration the meat caused great harm and distress, though we did not expect such a long siege.

Léry readily admits that the besieged were not as prepared as they could have been for the miseries to come, killing and eating all beef alternatives within a month’s time (“tous dans un mois”). However, he suggests that they are not entirely at fault for quickly exhausting these supplies, since they had hoped for, perhaps even anticipated, a much shorter-lived

siege than what they had in fact experienced. Moreover, the besieged Sancerrois quickly righted this particular wrong after the smaller livestock had been eaten, establishing a rationing system for their next primary food source: “On commença au mois de mai à tuer les cheveaux” (we started killing horses in the month of May) (Léry, Histoire mémorable

281). By making note of their errors and attempts at righting them, Léry offers readers a subtle reminder of the singularity of the circumstances surrounding the Siege of Sancerre and the fact that many of the Reformers’ decisions had to be made in the moment. In this way, Léry seems to seek our sympathy as we begin to learn of the disastrous effects of these early yet decisive mistakes that lead to further suffering due to food shortages.

Indeed, when it came to eating the city’s horses, Léry says that they had learned from their previous mistakes and established a system for seeing that food was properly handled and rationed, presumably so as not to waste meat, but also to ensure that the greatest number of people were fed for as long as possible:

… le conseil, tant pour obvier à la puanteur et putréfaction que pouvaient engender les tripailles et fientes par les maisons particulières, où chacun en faisait tuer à sa volonté, que pour donner ordre que la chair ne fut ainsi gourmandée, et qu’elle ne se vendit à prix excessif, ordonna que les chevaux seraient tués, et se vendraient à la boucherie ordinaire (Histoire mémorable 281)

… so as to avoid letting the intestines and excrements smell and rot in people’s homes, with everyone slaughtering horses at will, and to keep the meat from being devoured or sold at an exceedingly high price, the council ordered that the horses be killed and sold by the city’s butcher.

In reponse to the dwindling supply of horse meat, those in charge chose a plan of action that reveals a desire to maintain a degree of normality in terms of daily life. For example,

Léry tells readers that all horse meat was to be sold to the city’s butcher, as per usual (“à la boucherie ordinaire”). Not only would this measure eliminate greedy impulses and hasty decisions to use up already scarce resources, but it would also curb the urges of those who

had meat to sell to overcharge their fellow Sancerrois, effectively starving the poor.

However, Léry admits that their well-intentioned set of rules was “mal observé” (poorly observed), due to “l’extrême avarice d’aucuns qui n’apprehendaient la main de Dieu en ce temps si calamiteux” (the extreme avarice of those that did not fear the wrath of God in these tumultuous times), even with “tout l’ordre et police qu’on y sut mettre” (every possible known measure) (Histoire mémorable 281). In other words, hunger and impulses among individuals were no match for the well-intentioned policies of Léry and other

Reformers in charge of maintaining order within Sancerre. Léry thus presents hunger and the scarcity of food as very powerful motivators that also expose the true nature, good or bad, of the Reformers during Sancerre’s siege.

Although Léry seems disappointed by the lack of respect for attempts at establishing order and distributing food fairly, by turning to the versatility and taste of this newfound meat, he redirects the reader’s focus toward Reformers’ ingenuity:

Or je dirais ici, que la chair de cheval, par le rapport de ceux qui l’ont mieux goûtée, est meilleure que celle d’ânes,… et convient mieux à son naturel d’être bouillie que rôtie.… Le goûst participe de la chair de porc, mais plus approchante de celle de bœuf. Si on la met en pâté, il ne la faut faire cuire ni bouillir auparavant, ainsi la mettre crue dans la croûte,… La graisse est comme auve de porc, et ne se prend point. La langue est délicate, et le foie encores plus. (Histoire mémorable 281-82).

I would say that the horse meat, according to those who tasted it, is better than donkey meat, and is naturally better when boiled rather than grilled. It tastes like pork meat, but also close to beef. If one makes it into a pâté, it is not necessary to boil it beforehand, but rather to put it in the pot raw. The fat is like pork’s fat, and hardly hardens. The tongue is delicate and the liver even more so.

Léry describes at length the ways in which horse meat could be prepared, emphasizing its versatility and taste, and likening it to other, more familiar meats such as beef and pork.

The various cooking methods that Léry mentions suggest that Reformers were not interested in eating to survive, but rather thriving in spite of the adverse circumstances that

they faced. Put another way, Léry’s detailed descriptions of food preparation give readers the impression that the besieged were culinary pioneers that could concoct, in the absence of customary foods, veritable delicacies from available resources. Alternately, it is possible that Léry merely wanted his readers to view their predicament in as positive a light as possible, and thus deemphasizes what might be seen as strange or grotesque. But in either case, Léry certainly intended to underscore Reformers’ abilities to adapt, an aspect of their identity that becomes all the more impressive and moving as the famine worsened.

The seriousness of the famine becomes amply clear once the Sancerrois had exhausted their supply of larger livestock and resort to eating cats, as Léry explicitly states:

Or la famine s’augmentant de plus en plus à Sancerre les chats aussi eurent leur tour, et furent tous en peu de temps mangés, tellement que l’engeance en faillit en moins de quinze jours. (Histoire mémorable 282)

As Sancerre’s famine worsened, cats in turn were also consumed, and the supply was exhausted in no time at all, less than fifteen days.

Not only does Léry tell readers outright that the famine worsened (“la famine s’augmentant”), but the fact that the Sancerrois began consuming cats, an uncustomary and unappatezing source of meat, also contributes to the sense of direness in which Reformers found themselves (“les chats aussi”). Moreover, readers learn that this resource was exhausted in only two weeks (“en moins de quinze jours”), which leaves us in anticipation of subsequent culinary finds. Léry delivers, of course, suggesting by way of written cues like “À cause aussi de” (also because of), “on était pressé” (we were forced), and a parenthetical explanation, that the dire need for sustenance drove the Sancerrois to make unpleasant, even vile decisions with regard to food (Histoire mémorable 282). For example, he justifies the decision to consume moles and mice by denoting their desperation: “la faim qui les pressait leur faisant incontinent trouver l’invention de toutes sortes…” (the hunger

that pressed them made them unrestrained in their search for food of any kind) (Léry,

Histoire mémorable 282). Here Léry makes the connection between the desperation and hunger among the besieged and the inventiveness and resourcefulness that the famine brought out in the Reformers.

Similarly, Léry further conveys Reformers’ ability to find new ways to survive during the worsening famine in a scene in which Sancerre’s children and poor consume every last morsel of the mice that they were able to find:

… mais sur tout vous eussiez vu les pauvres enfants bien aises quand ils pouvaient avoir quelques souris, lesquels ils faisaient cuire sur les charbons (le plus souvent sans écorcher ni vider) et d’une grande avidité les dévoraient plutôt qu’ils ne les mangeaient : et n’y avait queue, patte, ni peau de rat qui ne fut soudainement recueillie pour servir de nourriture à une grande multitude de pauvres souffreteux. (Histoire mémorable 282)

… but above all you would see poor children very content with themselves when they could find a few mice, which they would cook over coal (most often without skinning or gutting them), and with great avidity they devoured them rather than eating them. And even rat tails, paws, and skins were quickly gathered and served as food to a large number of poor and sickly persons.

Here readers confront a vivid description that is equal parts pitiful and disturbing, but also rather impressive. It is pitiful, of course, in that the children who have resorted to eating mice have become so accustomed to eating vile matter that they are not at all phased by their behavior (“enfants bien aises”). Léry also adds that they were eager to eat the mice

(“grande avidité”), juxtaposing the idea of eating (“mangeaient”) with that of devouring

(“dévoraient”), effectively highlighting the barbarity of their actions and the baseness to which they have been reduced. However, Léry also seems intent on revealing the admirable, impressive ability of the Sancerrois to take pleasure in cooking and eating whatever they have at their disposal, and sharing these improvised meals with others. So

while the besieged were forced by hunger to adopt disturbing, unnatural eating habits, readers learn that they were able to maintain a sense of normalcy and humanity.

Léry offers a culminating point on repulsive edibles, inspiring pity and awe in his readers as he adresses the consumption of dogs:

Mais quoi ? les chiens, chose que je ne crois avoir été auparavant pratiquée, ou pour le moins bien rarement, ne furent pas épargnés : ainsi sans horreur ni appréhension furent tués pour manger aussi ordinairement que les moutons en autre saison (Histoire mémorable 282)

But what? Dogs, something that I do not believe had been eaten before, or at least very rarely, were not spared. Thus without horror nor apprenhension they were killed to be eaten just as ordinarily as sheep in another season

In this passage Léry inserts an interjection into his narrative to emphasize the pitiful state of desperation among the Sancerrois, likewise signaling the surprise that readers should feel in imagining such a scene unravel (“Mais quoi ?”). Moreover, by denoting the lack of horror and apprehension in slaughtering dogs (“sans horreur ni appréhension”), Léry suggests that the besieged had become accustomed to eating the most uncustomary foodstuffs. In fact,

Léry says that the Sancerrois ate dogs as if it were sheep’s meat (“aussi ordinairement que les moutons”), thereby reiterating the apparent ease with which Reformers adapt to their surroundings, while also underscoring his correligionists’ perserverance in the face of extreme adviersity.

By the end of June, having consumed nearly everything that could be considered edible, Léry turns to “l’extrêmité” (the end), a stage in the famine where “le ventre” (the stomach) and “la nécessité” (necessity) drive the Sancerrois forward (Histoire mémorable

283). Hunger and necessity incite a resourcefulness among the besieged that leads them to expand their palate in impressively ingenuous ways. A testament to this, as Léry suggests, was a rather successful cooking experiment to see if “les cuirs de bœufs, de vaches, peaux

de moutons et autres (mêmes sechants par les greniers) pourraient suppléer au lieu de la chair et des corps” (the hides of cattle, cows, and sheepskin, even dried in the barns, could be served as meat) (Histoire mémorable 283). Rather than focusing on the desperation that motivated the Sancerrois to engage in such experimental cooking, Léry recalls his memories of eating animal hides with fondness, highlighting the taste and texture of their newfound meat substitute:

… entre les peaux celles de veaux se trouvèrent merveilleusement tendres, et délicates, et en ai mangé de si bonnes, que si on ne m’en eut adverti, j’eusse estimé avoir mangé de bonnes tripes… (Histoire mémorable 283)

… among the hides, those from the young cows were marvelously tender and delicate, and tasted so good that I hardly would have expected it, as if I were eating good tripe.

Here Léry suggests that the ingenuity of the Sancerrois was such that these otherwise inedible animal skins could be mistaken for tripe. Using adverbs and adjectives like

“merveilleusement,” “tendre,” “délicat,” and “bon,” it is as if Léry is trying to convince readers that the besieged made a culinary discovery that they would take pleasure in tasting.

In a way, then, Léry portrays the Sancerrois as hopeful and resourceful gourmands who do not lose sight of the joys of cooking and eating.

Despite the valuable resource that the Sancerrois were able to contrive, it, like previous food sources, quickly depleted, requiring further ingenuity:

Mais comme ainsi soit que ceux qui ont faim s’advisent de tout, les cuirs et les peaux commençeant à faillir, et à diminuer, les plus subtils et ingénieux commençèrent à tester et faire essai du parchemin (Léry, Histoire mémorable 284)

But since those who are hungry make all the decisions, the supply of hides and skins starting to dwindle, the most subtle and ingenious among us started to taste and experiment with parchment.

As one can imagine, it took the most skilled Sancerrois (“subtils et ingénieux”) to test and experiment with various resources (“tester et faire essai”) in order to find ways to make

parchment edible. Perhaps anticipating readers’ astonishment or curiosity, Léry specifies that “non seulement les peaux de parchemin blanc furent mangées, mais aussi les lettres, titres, livres imprimés et écrits en main,” including “les plus vieux et anciens de cent à six vingts ans” (not only was the white of the parchment consumed, but so were the letters, titles, and the printed and hand-written text) (Histoire mémorable 285). By enumerating all the different kinds of paper that the Sancerrois ate, Léry underlines the fact that the besieged sought, found, and used every last food source possible, even seemingly inedible household items like books and journals, essentially eating the very fabric of the small city.

Léry explains at length the manner in which the Reformers made sheets of paper consumable:

La façon de les apprêter était de les faire tremper un jour ou deux (selon que la necessité le permettait), les changer souvent d’eau, les bien racler avec un coûteau : puis les faisait-on bouillir un jour ou demi jour, et jusques à ce qu’ils fussent attendris et amollis (Histoire mémorable 285)

They were prepared by soaking for a day or two days (depending on what necessity would permit), changing the water often and scraping them thoroughly with a knife. Then we boiled them for a day or a half-day, until they they were tender and soft.

Paper was thus prepared in a manner similar to animal hides, boiling it down over a long period of time until it was soft enough to eat (“attendris et amollis”), presumably paste-like.

What is striking about the way that Léry recalls this part of the famine is the extent to which he likens paper to customary food like bread and meat. Readers learn, for example, that the Sancerrois viewed pieces of paper as a kind of culinary delicacy:

… lors qu’en les rompant et tirant avec les doigts on les voyait glutineux : et ainsi on les fricassait comme tripes, ou bien on les apprêtait avec herbes et épices en façon de hochepot : mêmes les soldats par le corps de garde, et autres par la ville les froitaient et graissaient du suif de la chandelle, et les ayant mis un peu griller sur les charbons les mangeaient ainsi. (Léry, Histoire mémorable 285)

… while breaking them up and tearing them with our fingers we found them to be bready. And so we fried them like tripe, or we prepared them with herbs and spices

as if it were a stew. Even the soldiers on guard, and others in the city fried them and greased them with candles, and grilling them slightly we ate them thus.

Here Léry touches on the bready quality of the boiled down paper (“glutineux”), the way that it could be pan-fried as if it were tripe (“fricassait comme tripes”), and the herbs and spices used to flavor it (“avec herbes et épices”), in this case as if it were stew

(“hochepot”), all before it was grilled and eaten (“griller… mangeaient ainsi”). Léry’s attention to the process of making paper edible, as well as his efforts to convince readers of the many similarities between paper and food that would be familiar to them, reveal his preoccupation with portraying the besieged Reformers as admirably resilient and persistent in the face of impossible odds and situations. In other words, in his passages describing their handling of food, Léry seeks to convey the patient endurance of the Sancerrois, a oft- evoked quality of martyred Reformers that here extends to everyday survival.

As Léry nears the end of his account on the famine, the besieged become more and more desperate, and what they are able to consume borders the reprehensible. Léry, “pour ne rien omettre de tout ce que gens affamés se peuvent rassasier” (in order to not omit anything that starving people fill up on), presents readers with everything that had been left untouched from Sancerre’s livestock (Histoire mémorable 285):

… les cornes de pied de cheval amassés sur les fumiers, les vieilles cornes de bœuf et de vache, les vieux os recueillis par les rues furent mangés et rongés de plusieurs… (Histoire mémorable 285)

… horse hooves piled on manure heaps, the old horns from cattle and cows, the old bones collection from the street were eaten and gathered by several people.

No longer attempting to liken food items to familiar delicacies, Léry highlights the undesirability and unappatezing quality of the hooves, horns, and bones that they consumed, repeating the adjective “vieux” and using the verb “ronger,” as well as evoking the grotesque places that such things were found, namely on or near feces (“sur les

fumiers”). Similarly, Léry conveys the desperation and severe hunger among the Sancerrois in telling readers that, after the animal bones were gone, “les rues et ruettes étaient ainsi fouillées pour remplir le ventre de ce que les pourceaux et chiens laisseraient” (the roads and alleyways were ravaged to fill stomachs with what the pigs and dogs left behind)

(Histoire mémorable 285). Human feces, too, were eventually consumed: “… je puis affermer que les fientes et excremens humains y ont été amassés et recueillis pour manger”

(I can assert that the human excrements were gathered to be eaten) (Léry, Histoire mémorable 290). Léry thus makes it clear to readers that the Sancerrois had reached the point of desperation. But rather than surrender to enemy troops, they resorted to the consumption of the most vile substances imaginable, thereby revealing the extent to which they are willing to suffer for the sake of their religious cause and community.

Although the besieged Reformers have proven resilient in the face of impossible odds, at the beginning of July, when there is nothing left to eat, readers cannot help but anticipate surrender. However, starvation and hopelessness are not the culmination of their misery: “voici encores le comble de toute misère…” (here is the height of all misery) (Léry,

Histoire mémorable 290). In this passage Léry presents his most horrific memory from the siege, which pertains to an act of cannibalism. Léry refers to the incident as a “crime prodigieux, barbare et inhumain” (prodigious crime, barbaric and inhumane), hence making clear to readers his moral stance on the issue (Histoire mémorable 290). He then provides us with details:

… le vingt-et-unième de juillet il fut découvert et avéré qu’un vigneron, nommé Simon Potard, Eugène sa femme, et une vieille femme qui se tenait avec eux nommé Philippes de le Feüille, autrement l’Emérie, avaient mangé la tête, la cervelle, le foie et la fressure d’une leur fille âgée d’environ trois ans, morte toutesfois de faim et en langueur. (Léry, Histoire mémorable 291)

… the twenty-first of July it was discovered that a wine grower named Simon Potard, his wife Euguen and an old woman named Philippes de le Feüille, or Emerie, who lived with them had eaten the head, brain, and liver of their three-year- old child, having died in agony of hunger.

Léry describes exactly what happened in a concise and straightforward manner, almost as if he were referring to any other food source, save his use of the possessive “leur,” denoting the child’s age (“trois ans”), and specifying that the young girl had died of hunger before being consumed (“morte toutesfois de faim”). So although Léry does not stray far from the style used throughout the chapter, these minor details speak to the pity that he wishes to draw from his readers.

Léry then presents at length how the Sancerrois handled the crime and what punishments were deemed appropriate. Perhaps wanting to reclaim any lost credibility among his readership, especially among those who saw this act of cannibalism as cause to discredit the besieged and Reformers more generally, Léry assures us that the guilty parties were justly punished:

Si quelqueuns trouvent cette sentence trop rigoureuse, on les prie de considérer l’état où était lors réduite la ville de Sancerre, et combien la conséquence était dangereuse de ne punir à telle rigueur ceux qui avaient mangé de la chair de cet enfant (Histoire mémorable 293)

If anyone finds this sentence too harsh, I beg them to consider the state to which the city of Sancerre had been reduced, and the dire consequences of not punishing so harshly those who had eaten the flesh of this child.

What is interesting here is the fact that Léry uses the circumstances surrounding the famine not as an apology for the act of cannibalism, but rather for the harshness of the punishment

(“cette sentence trop rigoureuse”). In this way, he suggests that for the most part the people of Sancerre, despite their suffering (“l’état où estait lors réduite la ville”), had not been reduced to lawlessness. However, Léry makes a point to say that their circumstances were

such that those who had not experienced the famine could not possibly understand this unfortunate turn of events:

Ceux qui n’ont point été en ces extrêmités, ne peuvent pas si bien comprendre toutes les circonstances de tel fait, et de telle matière, que ceux qui les ont vu, et que Dieu en a retiré. (Histoire mémorable 293)

Those who have never experienced such extremeties cannot fully understand the circumstances of the account at hand, as only God and those who saw it can.

Léry thus reiterates his position of authority vis-à-vis the reader, as he had indeed lived in such extreme conditions (“en ces extrêmités”) and was among those who had personally witnessed the happenings within the walls of Sancerre (“ceux qui les ont vu”).

Léry concludes his chapter on the famine in Sancerre by remembering “quelques autres honnorables” (some other honorable persons), whom he tells readers “méritent bien que je fasse ici mention” (deserve mention) (Histoire mémorable 296). Focusing on the generosity of these Reformers during the siege’s most trying times, Léry highlights the food and monetary goods that they distributed to those less fortunate than themselves “au milieu de cette grande détresse et calamité” (in the midst of this great distress and calamity)

(Histoire mémorable 298). In this way, he leaves readers with an image of Reformers as a self-sacrificing, community-oriented people whose relationship to food and eating, in particular, makes manifest prominent aspects of their identity. And when considered alongside their displays of resiliency, adaptability, and ingenuity, to name but a few characteristics that Léry emphasizes throughout his account, our Reformed author and survivor of the Siege of Sancerre effectively conveys a detailed portrait of how food, or the lack thereof, intersects with the Reformed experience.

IV. The Eaters and Eaten of the New World

In 1578, nearly two decades after Léry returned to France from the Bay of

Guanabara near present-day Rio de Janeiro, he published an account of his experiences, entitled the Histoire d’un voyage faict en la terre du Brésil.20 Léry was part of the fourteen- man expedition sent to Fort Coligny by Reformed church leader Jean Calvin and French admiral Gaspard de Coligny, at the request of the settlement’s founder, French naval officer

Nicholas Durand de Villegagnon. Reformers’ claims of Villegagnon’s increasingly repressive leadership led Léry and several comrades to flee the French colony and live among the Tupinambá, a native tribe and early ally to the French. After 11 months in

Brazil, Léry boarded an ill-equipped and unseaworthy ship for what would be a harrowing voyage back to Europe. Those who crossed the Atlantic endured famine and suffered the loss of men and material goods. When Léry’s return ship reached land in 1558, he carried with him some of early modern Europe’s most significant environmental and ethnographic observations. Indeed, the Histoire d’un voyage inspired centuries of anthropological thought and study, from Michel de Montagne in the sixteenth century to Claude Lévi-

Strauss in the twentieth century. In addition to contributions to scientific inquiry, Léry

20 The complete titles of Léry’s account in French and English read, the Histoire d’un voyage faict en la terre du Brésil, autrement dite Amerique. Contenant la navigation, et choses remarquable, veuës sur mer par l’aucteur. Le comportement de Villegagnon en ce pays-là. Les mœurs et façons de vivre estranges des Sauvages Ameriquains : avec un colloque de leur langage. Ensemble la description de plusieurs Animaux, Arbres, Herbes, et autres choses singulieres, et du tout inconnues par deçà. (45)

The History of a Voyage to the land of Brazil, otherwise called America. Containing the navigation and the remarkable things seen on thesSea by the author; the behavior of Villegagnon in that country; the customs and strange ways of life of the American savages; together with the description of various animals, trees plants, and other singular things completely unknown over here. (iii)

brought back the most fundamental and unshakable component of his identity: his

Reformed faith. Not only was his faith one of the leading reasons for the expedition, but it was also a point of contention between Léry and Villegagnon at Fort Coligny, and a matter of dire consequence to the many writers who engaged in fierce polemic debate over the failed attempt at a New World settlement.

One of the most effective ways in which Léry conveys his religious identity in the

Histoire d’un voyage is through his attention to food and eating. In particular, there are three instances of food-related hardship that can be read as articulations of Reformed identity. The first concerns the expeditition members’ experiences at sea during their voyage to Brazil, including severe storms and fresh water shortages, while the second addresses the return voyage and the famine that Léry and his fellow Reformers endured. In addition to these hardships, Léry’s descriptions of the anthropophagic rituals that he observed in Brazil speak to religious identity. More specifically, the consumption of Tupi enemies serves as a metaphor for the persecution of Reformers by Catholics. He presents cannibalism in this way, tying it back to the religious conflicts of late sixteenth-century

France, to incite pity in his readers and sympathy for Reformers, the religious other that he seeks to promote and was his reason for traveling to the New World.

In Chapter 1 of the Histoire d’un voyage, Léry frames the voyage to Brazil around his Reformed faith, thereby directing the reader toward a religious intrepetation of his experiences. He dedicates a signifant amount of text to the reasons why he and his fellow

Reformers joined the expedition, articulating their motives thusly:

L’an 1555. un nommé Villegagnon… se faschant en France,… fit entendre… que dés long temps il avoit non seulement une extreme envie de se retirer en quelque pays lointain, où il peust librement et purement servir à Dieu selon la reformation de l’Evangile : mais qu’aussi il desiroit d’y preparer lieu à tous ceux qui s’y voudroyent retirer pour eviter les persecutions : lesquelles de fait estoyent telles

qu’en ce temps-là plusieurs personnages, de tout sexe et de toutes qualitez, estoyent en tous les endroits du Royaume de France, par Edits du Roy et par arrests des Cours de Parlements, bruslez vifs, et leurs biens confisquez pour le faict de la Religion.21 (Léry, Histoire d’un voyage 106)

In the year 1555 a certain Villegagnon… discontented in France… let it be known… that he had long yearned to withdraw into some distant country, where he might freely and purely serve God according to the reformation of the Gospel, and, moreover, that he desired to prepare a place for all those who might wish to retire there to escape persecution: which, indeed, at that time was such that many persons, of both sexes and of all station of life, in all parts of France, by edicts of the king and by decrees of the Parlement were being burned alive, their goods confiscated, on account of the Religion. (Léry, History of a Voyage 3)

Here Léry frames the expedition not only around the Reformed faith (“la reformation de l’Evangile”) and Reformers’ desire to worship freely (“librement et purement servir à

Dieu”), but also their hope of fleeing the persecutory measures of François I and Henri II that preceded the French Wars of Religion. Moreover, Léry makes clear that the impetus for establishing a colony in Brazil had everything to do with the Reformed religion and the well-being of its followers, rather than dynastic ambitions in France or their drive to stake claims in the New World, as Catholic explorer and contentious opponent André Thevet seems to have wanted the French reading public to believe.22

Having framed the voyage to Brazil around the Reformed faith, Léry spends the next several chapters describing their experiences at sea. These chapters are essential to changing the Reformed reader’s understanding of their past in that they highlight the trials and tribulations endured by Léry and his comrades, essentially incorporating their story into

21 I have chosen to not modernize the spellings of the French text, since Frank Lestrignant’s edition and Janet Whatley’s translation are so meticulously presented and frequently cited. 22 André Thevet (1502-1590) is the enemy target of much of Léry’s criticism in the Histoire d’un voyage. Thevet, who also spent time in Brazil, albeit much less time and while severely ill, published accounts of his experiences that Léry denounces as inaccurate, intentionally falsified, and misleading. Thevet recounts his version of events in Cosmographie universelle (1575) and Les Singularitez de la France Antarctique (1578).

the biblical tradition of hardship, suffering, and resilience. In fact, one of the first aspects of sea navigation that Léry mentions in Chapter 2 is the incredible resiliency of the ship itself when faced with the violence and perilousness of the sea:

Comme certainement c’est chose admirable de voir qu’un vaisseau de bois, quelque fort et grand qu’il soit, puisse ainsi resister à la fureur et force de ce tant terrible element.… Nous fusmes doncques ainsi agitez, et navigeasmes avec grandes difficultez jusques au treizieme jour apres nostre embarquement, que Dieu appaisa les flots et orages de la mer. (Histoire d’un voyage 115)

It is an amazing thing to see a wooden vessel, however large and strong, resist the fury and the force of that terrible element.… We were, then, tossed about, and we navigated with great difficulty until the thirteenth day after our embarkation, when God pacified the swell and storms of the sea. (History of a Voyage 8)

Although Léry evokes his admiration for the ship and its ability to resist the fury and force of the Atlantic (“la fureur et force de ce tant terrible element”), one could argue that he is here making an analogy between the seemingly simple wooden vessel and the Reformed mission, or perhaps his faith in general. Indeed, Léry then likens the ship’s difficulties to their own (“Nous fusme doncques ainsi agitez”), but offers the Reformed reader an optimistic outlook in noting that God eventually eased their troubles (“Dieu appaisa les flots et orages”).

In a later passage in Chapter 2, Léry again describes the dangers of sea travel in the context of his faith:

Or pour retourner à nostre route, la mer s’estant derechef enflée, fut l’espace de six ou sept jours si rude, que non seulement je vis par plusieurs fois, les vagues sauter et s’eslever par-dessus le Tillac de nostre navire, mais aussi, estans lors à la praticque de ce qui est dit au Pseaume 107.… Et de faict (comme il est dit au mesme Pseaume) quand de ceste façon en temps de tormente sur mer, on est tout soudain tellement haut eslevé sur ces espouvantables montagnes d’eau qu’il semble qu’on doive monter jusques au ciel, et cependant tout incontinent on redevale si bas qu’il semble qu’on vueille penetrer million de sepulchers, n’est-ce pas voir les grandes merveilles de l’Eternel ? (Histoire d’un voyage 117-18)

Now to return to our journey. The sea swelled again, and for six or seven days it was so rough that sometimes I saw the waves leap about the upper deck. Putting

into practice what is said in Psalm 107,… And indeed, as it is said in the same Psalm, when in such turbulence one is suddenly lifted so high on these terrifying mountains of water that it seems one must rise to heaven and just as abrubtly one plummets so low that it seems one must penetrate to the hollows of the deepest gulfs and abysses — to dwell thus, I say, in the midst of a million sepulchers, is this not to behold the great wonderfs of the Eternal? (History of a Voyage 9)

As Léry recounts an episode in which the ship and crew endured a storm (“la mer s’estant derechef enflée”), he likens the crashing waves to mountains that they must climb in order to gain access to heaven (“qu’on doive monter jusques au ciel”). Similarly, Léry compares the perilous descent from the waves to a profound abyss (“profonds gouffres”). But rather than lament over their plight, our author invites readers to interpret the hardships that the

Reformers endured as a means of contemplating and experiencing God’s marvels (“les grandes merveille de l’Eternel”). This way of presenting adverse circumstances becomes increasingly common throughout the Histoire d’un voyage, and is an important authorial strategy on Léry’s part — that is to say, he quite clearly intends for readers to view their suffering and eventual failures not as punishment or shortcomings, but rather as examples of their unyielding trust in God.

Another form of suffering, this time immediately food-related, that members of the

Reformed expedition experienced was also due to storms. Léry tells readers in Chapter 4 that “le comble” of their “affliction” was the torrential rain that they experienced as they approached Brazil, namely in that it more or less spoiled their remaining food supply:

Or pour reprendre mon propos, le comble de nostre affliction sous ceste Zone bruslante fut tel, qu’à cause des grandes et continuelles pluyes, qui avoyent penetré jusques dans la Soute, nostre biscuit estant gasté et moisi, outre que chacun n’en avoit que bien peu de tel, encor nous le falloit-il non seulement ainsi manger pourri, mais aussi sur peine de mourir de faim, et sans en rien jetter, nous avallions autant de vers (dont il estoit à demi) que nous faisions de miettes. (Histoire d’un voyage 139)

To get back to what I was saying. When our afflictions under this burning zone were at their worst, we found that because of the heavy and continual rains that had

penetrated the hold, our biscuit was spoiled and mouldy; each of us had but a very little, and not only did we have to eat it rotten, but also — for it was this or die of hunger, since we could afford to throw nothing away — we swallowed as many worms (of which it was half-composed) as we did crumbs. (History of a Voyage 21)

Here Léry touches on the resourcefulness of his comrades when faced with potential famine

(“sur peine de mourir de faim”), and in particular their willingness to look beyond the taste and presentation of foods for the sake of survival. Léry uses vivid and often hyperbolic descriptors in such a way that suggests his desire to move and perhaps shock his readership, using adjectives like “gâté,” “moisi,” and “pourri” to that effect. Indeed, Léry goes on to rebuke “messieurs les delicats” (finicky gentlemen), whom he is certain would not be able to do without a proper supper in a “belle salle fraische” with food “bien proprement apprestée et servie” (fine cool room, properly prepared and served), asking such readers directly, and perhaps provocatively, “Voulez-vous vous aller embarquer pour vivre de telle façon?” (Are you willing to board a ship to live in such a fashion?) (Histoire d’un voyage

140; History of a Voyage 21). In this way, Léry seems to want to enhance readers’ sense of awe or shock in terms of what the Reformers were able and willing to do to survive, portrarying their adaptability as a character trait unique to their religious group.

The hardships endured by the Reformers at sea during their voyage to Brazil are mere precursors to what they would experience upon setting sail to return to France. And while the series of unfortunate circumstances regarding their ship’s state of disrepair and the difficulty of sea navigation — what with unpredictable weather and the possibilities of encountering pirates or enemy vessels — appeals to the reader’s pity and sense of awe, for

Léry their most impressive and devastating challenge during the return voyage was the onset of famine, a subject that he treats at length in Chapter 22. This final chapter in the

Histoire d’un voyage, entitled “De l’extreme famine, tourmentes et autres dangers d’où

Dieu nous preserva en repassant en France” (Of the extreme famine, tempests, and other dangers from which God delivered us as we were returning to France), tells the story of

Reformed survival during the last “cinq cens lieuës” (five hundred leagues) of their voyage

(Léry, Histoire d’un voyage 526; History of a Voyage 208). Léry focuses primarily on the resourcefulness of his fellow Reformers, highlighting their ability to endure the seemingly impossible and overcome adverse circumstances.

Léry begins by placing the famine in the broad context of errors beyond the

Reformers’ control, telling readers that a “retardement du mauvais temps” (delay because of bad weather) led them to believe that they were near the “Cap de Fine terre (qui est sur la coste d’Espagne)” (Cape Finisterre, on the coast of Spain) when in reality they were

“encore à la hauteur des Isles des Essores” (still at the level of the Azores) (Histoire d’un voyage 526; History of a Voyage 208). Thus, this “erreur doncques” (this navigational error), as Léry explains, “fut cause que dés la fin du mois d’Avril nous fusmes entierement despourveus de tous vivres” (because of this… by the end of the month of April we had completely run out of all provisions” (Histoire d’un voyage 526; History of a Voyage 208).

He then rapidly enumerates all of the “vivres ordinaires” (ordinary food supplies) that they consumed, moving readers to “le commencement du mois de May” (the beginning of May), when the famine seems to have become detrimental to the crew, “deux mariniers estans morts de malle rage de faim” (two seamen having died of hunger) (Léry, Histoire d’un voyage 527; History of a Voyage 208).

It is in these worsening conditions that Léry would like to plunge his readers, conveying vividly what he and the other Reformers experienced:

… ne pouvans plus autrement conduire le vaisseau, il le fallut laisser aller au gré des ondes et du vent :… somme nous voila derechef tout à coup en la famine jusques

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aux dents, assaillis de l’eau par dedans, et tourmentez des vagues au dehors. (Histoire d’un voyage 527)

… since we could no longer direct the ship, we had to let it drift with the waves and the wind,… so there we were once again in famine up to our teeth, assailed by the water from within and tormented by the waves from without. (History of a Voyage 208-09)

Here Léry attempts to make readers understand how the Reformers were entirely at nature’s mercy (“laisser au gré”), and especially the famine’s brutality as it consumed them

(“jusques aux dents”). He does so through verbs that convey physical violence (“assaillir”;

“tourmenter”), in addition to the juxtaposition of water that threatened them from both outside and inside of the ship (“l’eau par dedans”; “des vagues au dehors”). Léry then reemphasizes the weakened physical state of the crew:

Or estans jà si maigres et affoiblis, qu’à peine nous pouvions nous tenir debout pour faire les manoeuvres du navire, la necessité neantmoins au milieu de ceste aspre famine suggerant à chacun de penser et repenser à bon escient de quoy il pourroit remplir son ventre (Histoire d’un voyage 528)

We were already so thin and so weakened that we could hardly hold ourselves up to perform the maneuvers for the shop; nevertheless, necessity, in the midst of this harsh famine, prompted each of us earnestly to think and rethink just what he could fill his belly with. (History of a Voyage 209)

By stressing yet again their sufferings, denoting in particular how they had physically diminished (“si maigres et affoiblis”), to the point where they could barely stand upright to control the ship (“qu’à peine nous nous pouvions nous tenir debout”), Léry makes their ingenuity regarding potential sources of food seem all the more impressive. Here he communicates this kind of resourcefulness to readers through the verbs “penser” and

“repenser,” as well as the adverbial locution “à bon escient,” which denotes a sense of wisdom or intelligence.

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Indeed, much like he had done in the Histoire mémorable, Léry organizes his examples and anecdotes based on the most readily available and normally nonedible items that the Reformers found ways to consume:

… quelques uns s’estans advisez de couper des pieces de certaines rondelles faites de la peau de l’animal nommé Tapiroussou,… les firent bouillir dans de l’eau pour les cuider manger de ceste façon : mais ceste recepte ne fut pas trouvée bonne. (Histoire d’un voyage 528)

Some took it into their heads to cut pieces of the shields made of the hide of the tapiroussou and boil them, intending to eat them this way; but this recipe was not found to be good. (History of a Voyage 209)

While boiling pieces of animal skin would appear to be a rather obvious, albeit less than appetizing choice, here Léry suggests that there were ways to make such nonedible items not only edible, but somewhat satisfying. This recipe, he says, was not very good, and goes on to describe an instance where more ingenuity on the part of Reformers did in fact help them to ease their hunger:

… d’autres qui de leur costé cherchoyent aussi toutes les inventions dont ils se pouvoyent adviser pour remedier à leur faim, ayans mis de ces pieces de rondelles de cuir sur les charbons, apres qu’elles furent un peu rosties, le bruslé raclé avec un cousteau, cela succeda si bien que les mangeans ainsi, il nous estoit advis que ce fussent carbonnades de coines de porceau. (Léry, Histoire d’un voyage 528-29)

Others, also seeking all the devices they could invent to remedy their hunger, put these pieces of leather shields on the coals with such success that after the pieces were roasted a little, and the burned part scraped off with a knife, it was as if we were eating carbonadoes of bacon rind. (Léry, History of a Voyage 209)

Although Léry is referring to the same pieces of leather as in the above-cited passage (“ces pieces de rondelles de cuir”), here he details a cooking process that is much more involved and well-thought-out than simply boiling. More exactly, the crew roasted the leather over coals and scraped off the burnt pieces with a knife, allegedly giving the end product, according to everyone who tried it (“nous estoit advis que”), the taste of pork carbonnade.

These particularities are of course relevant to Léry’s purposes in that they serve to

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demonstrate a quality among Reformers that he suggests is worthy of admiration and praise. It is not a surprise, then, that Léry concludes this episode with an implied comparison between Reformers and the besieged in Jerusalem:

… (ils) se repeurent de leurs couroyes, souliers et cuir de leurs pavoirs, aussi y eut-il entre nous qui vindrent jusques-là, de manger leurs collets de maroquins … (Histoire d’un voyage 529)

… the besieged in the city of Jerusalem fed on their thongs, their shoes, and the leather of their shields, so too some among us arrived at the point of eating their morocco collars (History of a Voyage 209)

In this way, Léry suggests that resourcefulness is a trait inherent to the persecuted, and encourages an understanding of the Reformers’ trials and tribulations along such lines.

In addition, Léry would like readers to understand the famine Reformers endured in the larger context of the French Wars of Religion. And while these wars had not technically started at the time of their return voyage, they had been underway for over a decade at the time Léry published the Histoire d’un voyage. Hence he reminds readers of his Histoire mémorable and the Siege of Sancerre, during which Reformers, we know, also endured the hardships of famine:

… combien que la famine laquelle, en l’an 1573, nous endurasmes duran le siege de Sancerre, ainsi qu’on peut voir par l’histoire que j’en ay aussi fait imprimer, doive estre mise au rang des plus grieves dont on ait jamais ouy parler (Léry, Histoire d’un voyage 533)

… although the famine that we endured in 1573, during the siege of Sancerre, must be ranked among the most severe that has ever been heard of (Léry, History of a Voyage 211)

When compared to the many months spent behind the city walls without food, Léry suggests that the short period at sea, though comparable to the siege (“mise au rang”), was perhaps worse (“plus grieves”). As Léry goes on to explain, there were certain elements

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that made their hardships at sea especially unbearable, in comparison with his experience in

Sancerre:

… n’y ayant eu faute ni d’eau ni de vin, quoy qu’elle fust plus longue, si puis-je dire qu’elle ne fut si extreme que celle dont il est ici question : car pour le moins avions- nous à Sancerre, quelques racines, herbes sauvages, bourgeons de vignes et autres choses qui se peuvent encores trouver sur terre. (Histoire d’un voyage 533-34)

… there was no lack either of water or of wine; so, while the famine was longer, I can say that it was not as severe as the one I am treating here. For in Sancerre we at least had roots, wild herbs, vine sprigs, and other things that can be found on land. (History of a Voyage 211)

Sancerre, of course, being on dry and presumably fertile land, left Reformers with more possibilities for food (“le moins avions-nous”), namely plant-based (“choses qui se peuvent encores trouver sur terre”), than they had aboard their vessel. By making this association between the two instances of famine, Léry not only seeks to establish a kind of trope that is meant to reinforce the resiliency of Reformers, but he also amplifies the sense of destitution and distress of the Reformed seafarers, thereby vivifying the account and ultimately the reader’s perception of their experience.

After further detailing the final days of famine and additional deaths, Léry at long last takes readers to their “delivrances” once they reach land, where the surviving

Reformers are “à peu pres quittes” of their “maux” (it would seem that for this time we were quits with all our ills) (Histoire d’un voyage 543; History of a Voyage 216). He concludes Histoire d’un voyage thus:

Pour conclusion, puis, comme j’ai montré en la présente histoire, que non seulement en général, mais aussi en particulier j’ai été déliveré de tant de sortes de dangers, voire de tant de gouffres de morts, ne puis-je pas bien dire,… que j’aI experimenté que l’Eternel est celuy qui fait mourir et fait vivre ? qui fait descendre en la fosse et en fait remonter ?… C’est finalement, ce que j’ai observé, tant sur mer en allant et retournant en la terre du Bresil dite Amerique,… (Léry, Histoire d’un voyage 550- 51)

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To conclude: Since, as I have shown in the present history, I have been delivered, not only with my fellows but also in my single person, from so many kinds of dangers, indeed from so many abysses of death, can I not say,… that it is the Eternal who causes us to live and to die, to descend into the grave and to arise from it?… That, finally, is what I have observed, both on the sea, during the voyage to and from the land of Brazil, called America (Léry, History of a Voyage 219)

It is significant that Léry chooses to end his account in this manner. By signaling the dangers he met, as well as his numerous encounters with death, Léry suggests that the lessons readers should take from the Histoire d’un voyage pertain to Reformers’ abilities to remain steadfast in their faith through the most difficult of circumstances, instead of judging Reformers based on the outcome of their voyage. In other words, their failed attempt at settlement in the New World and the death toll among their crew should not be interpreted as deserved punishments, but rather testaments to their resilience and constancy.

* * *

In addition to the above-examined passages treating the hardships that members of the Reformed expedition endured at sea during their travels to and from Brazil, another way in which Léry articulates Reformed identity is through his descriptions of the cannibalistic practices of the Tupinambá. The preparation of human flesh for consumption and the eating of Tupi enemies functions metaphorically in Léry’s account, representing the figurative consumption of Reformers by Catholics. Léry presents the Tupi’s anthropophagic practices in this way to encourage readers to sympathize with the religious other — that is to say

Reformers, in the wider context of the French Wars of Religion during which the Histoire d’un voyage was published.

Léry broaches the subject of cannibalism in his account’s fifteenth chapter,

“Comment les Ameriquains traittent leurs prisonniers prins en guerre, et les ceremonies qu’ils observent tant à les tuer qu’à les manger” (How the Americans treat their prisoners of

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war and the ceremonies that they observe both in killing and in eating them) (Histoire d’un voyage 354; History of a Voyage 122).23 He begins the chapter with a summary of the

Tupian anthropophagic ritual, moving to specific details based primarily on his own obervations in the villages of “Srigoy” and “Piravi-jou” (Piraui-jou) and concludes by making an explicit connection between “ce qui se fait par deçà parmi nous” (the things that go on… among us), with “nous” designating his fellow Frenchmen (Léry, Histoire d’un voyage 357; 358; 375; History of a Voyage 123; 124; 132). The less explicit means by which Léry draws a parallel between the two cultures is through passages on the man- eating Tupi, gesturing toward the cannibal-like brutality of French Catholics who persecute

Reformers. These passages can be divided into three alimentary categories: the preparation of Tupi enemies for consumption, the cooking and eating methods employed, and post- digestive thoughts, all of which evoke the reader’s pity vis-à-vis the oppressed religious minority and speak to the ongoing identity formation process of French Reformers.

Before eating their prisoners of war and other men and women from enemy tribes, the Tupi have a speficic method for preparing them for death and subsequent consumption that Léry discusses at length. Léry’s insights with regard to this preparation posit the victim as a willing recipient of death, a well-known identity marker among Reformers, specifically

23 It should be noted that Léry does make mention of cannibalism elsewhere in the Histoire d’un voyage, likewise distinguishing between the literal consumption of human flesh and the theophagic practice of taking Communion. My interest is not, however, in the well- known commentaries made by Léry and other Reformers on the God-eating ritual of the Catholic Church, but rather his sustained descriptions of the Tupi natives killing and eating their enemies. Léry addresses the Eucharist at length, likening it to cannibalism, in the sixth chapter of the Histoire d’un voyage, “De nostre descente au fort de Coligny en la terre du Bresil. Du receuil que nous y fit Villegagnon, et de ses comportemens, tant au fait de la Religion, qu’autres parties de son gouvernement en ce pays-là” (Of our landing at Fort Coligny in the land of Brazil. Of the reception that Villegagnon gave us, and of his behavior, regarding both religion and other aspects of his government in that country) (Histoire d’un voyage 161; History of a Voyage 33).

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as it relates to martyrdom.24 For example, at the chapter’s outset Léry signals one prisoner’s awareness of his fate and participation in a ceremony that will conclude, for him, in his death:

Mesme celuy qui n’ignore pas que telle assemblée se faisant à son occasion, il doit estre dans peu d’heure assommé, emplumasssé qu’il sera, tant s’en faut qu’il en soit contristé, qu’au contraire, sautuant et buvant il sera des plus joyeux. (Histoire d’un voyage 355)

Even he who is not unaware that this gathering is on his account, and that in a short time he will be clubbed to death in all his feathered regalia, is by no means downcast; on the contrary, leaping about and drinking, he will be one of the merriest ones there. (History of a Voyage 122)

Léry denotes the prisoner’s understanding of the grim, even brutal death that awaits him

(“assommée”), and juxtaposes the reaction that the reader might expect the prisoner to have, which is to say fear or despair (“constristé”), with his immense joy as he participates in the ceremony. Moreover, Léry hyperbolizes the prisoner’s acceptance of death by making mention not only of his joy, but also his elated actions, like jumping and drinking merrily (“sautuant et buvant”), and claiming that he is the happiest among those present at the Tupi ceremony (“des plus joyeux”). These expressions of elation over an otherwise bleak outlook closely ressemble, of course, many of Jean Crespin’s martyrological accounts in which he portrays the Reformed martyr as taking great pleasure at the prospect of death, a trope that would have been very familiar to Léry.25 They also call to mind the passages from the Histoire mémorable’s chapter on the famine in Sancerre that describe the pleasure and satisfaction that Léry and his fellow Reformers took from their culinary ingenuities,

24 I refer my reader again to Nikki Shepardson’s book, Burning Zeal: The Rhetoric of Martyrdom and the Protestant Community in Reformation France, 1520–1570, in which she discusses the martyr’s displays and expressions of joy in dying for their religious cause and community. 25 The trope of the joyous martyr is a central component of my argument in Chapter One of this dissertation.

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like cooking seemingly inedible animal hides in such a way as to make them taste like tripe

(283).

In addition to general descriptions of Tupi enemies’ joyful demeanor prior to being killed and eaten, Léry provides firsthand accounts that animate his text and thus enhance reader engagement. Importantly, such accounts often contain dialogue, which allows Léry to more effectively convey the character of the Tupi’s prisoners. After his overview of their cannabilistic ritual, for example, Léry turns to an encounter with a prisoner being prepared for consumption in the village of Sarigoy: “Et de fait, un jour… je vis un prisonnier…” (In fact, one day… I saw a prisoner) (Histoire d’un voyage 356-57; History of a Voyage 123).

Having reasserted vis-à-vis the reader his role of eyewitness to the ceremony, Léry presents us with an exchange between the Tupi executioner and the victim, a member of their enemy tribe the Margajas. Léry suggests that the purpose of this exchange is to intimidate the victim by first focusing on his imminent death and the manner in which he will be killed:

… celuy qui doit faire le coup ne s’estant point encor monstré toout ce jour-là, sortant lors d’une maison avec une de ces grandes espées de bois au poing, richement decorée de beax et excellens plumages,… (Histoire d’un voyage 357)

… he who is to strike the blow, who has not yet shown himself that day, comes out of a house gripping one of those great wooden swords, richly decorated with beautiful feathers of the finest quality ornaments (History of a Voyage 123)

Léry denotes the executioner’s extravagant appearance as he flaunts the weapon that will be used to kill the prisoner. He also conveys to the reader the singularity of the events to follow by specifying that the executioner only shows himself to confront his victim, sword in hand, in what could easily be interpretated as an intimidating gesture.

Léry juxtaposes the executioner’s intimidating presence with the prisoner’s response, which reveals his lack of fear of being killed and eaten:

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… Ouy, je suis tres fort et en ay voirement assommé et mangé plusieurs. …O que je ne m’y suis pas feint : ô combien j’ay esté hardi à assaillir et à prendre de vos gens, desquels j’ay tant et tant de fois mangé (Histoire d’un voyage 357)

“Yes, I am very strong, and have slain and eaten a great many.”…“O, I have never hesitated: how bold I have been in attacking and seizing your people, of whom I have eaten time and time again,”… (History of a Voyage 123)

The prisoner counters these verbal and physical intimidation tactics by asserting his current and past displays of strength (“je suis tres fort”; “j’ay esté hardi”), as well as the fact that he has proudly and valiantly killed and eaten a great number of his executioner’s people. And while this discourse merely suggests a willingness to die a martyr-like death, Léry adds a parenthetical note to this series of direct quotes, stating plainly his opinion of the prisoner’s character:

Et bien, respond-il encore (aussi resolu d’estre assomé pour sa nation, que Regulus fut constant à endurer la mort pour sa republique Romaine), mes parens me vengeront aussi. (Histoire d’un voyage 357-58)

“Very well,” replies the prisoner (as resolved to be slain for his nation as Regulus was steadfast in enduring death for his Roman Republic), “my kinsmen will avenge me in turn.” (History of a Voyage 125)

Léry intervenes in such a way so as to direct the reader’s intrepation of this exchange between executioner and prisoner. The prisoner merely promises his executioner that his fellow Margajas will avenge him, but Léry comments specifically on his resolve and readiness to die for his “nation” by comparing him to Marcus Atilius Regulus, a Roman who died a gruesome, heroic death. In this way, Léry likens the early stages in preparing

Tupi prisoners for consumption to the persecution of his fellow Reformers accused of heresy, whom his contempories portrayed as steadfast, resolute, and willing to die for the

Reformed faith.

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Léry gives another example, “pour monstrer qu’encores” (to show again)26 that the

Tupi’s victims are “heureux de mourir ainsi publiquement au milieu de leurs ennemis, ne s’en soucient nullement” (fortunate to die thus publicly, in the midst of their enemies, and are utterly untroubled) (Histoire d’un voyage 358; History of a Voyage 125). Léry bases this example on what he had witnessed after he “inopinément” (unexpectedly) found himself “en un village de la greande isle, nommée Piravi-jou” (in a village on the big island called Piraui-jou) (Histoire d’un voyage 358; History of a Voyage 125). In this case Léry talks directly to the prisoner, whom he specifies is “une femme prisonniere toute preste d’estre tuée de ceste façon” (a woman prisoner all ready to be slain”) (Histoire d’un voyage

358; History of a Voyage 125). This gender distinction is an important one, as women played a major role in the Reformed martyrological tradition and were often portrayed as having a kind of superhuman constancy in the face of death. And not only does Léry state plainly that she was indeed prepared for death (“toute preste”), but he also conveys her acceptance of her imminent execution and consumption in her responses to his questions during their brief exchange. When Léry asks her about praying to the God-like figure in her culture, she shows no concern for or fear of anything that her death might bring about:

“pour toute response hochant la teste et se moquant de moy,…” (Her only response was to shake her head… in mockery” (Histoire d’un voyage 360; History of a Voyage 125). Léry denotes her firm dismissal of his questions and even laughter with regard to the afterlife, therby conveying to the reader in no uncertain terms the victim’s resoluteness as the Tupi prepare her for death and subsequent consumption.

26 Whatley chooses to not translate the adverb “encore” in History of a Voyage, so this translation is my own.

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The second of three alimentary categories that comprise Léry’s chapter on cannibal rituals pertains to the cooking and eating methods that the Tupi employ after killing their enemies. And much like the passages addressing the manner in which the Tupi prepare their victims for consumption prior to killing them, Léry’s attention to how their victims’ bodies are cooked and consumed reveal his preoccupation with the cannibalistic practices of his fellow Frenchmen. In particular, Léry draws deliberate parallels between the so- called barbaric Tupi and French butchers, cooks and hunters to encourage readers to reflect on the similarities that exist between these two seemingly — but not actually — different cultures. He also directs readers’ focus toward the vengefulness that motivates man-eaters, as opposed to nourishment, in passages depicting the various parts of the victims’ bodies that the Tupi consume. Such passages are further illustrations of the metaphor that Léry establishes in this chapter in which the eaters are Catholics and the eaten victims are

Reformers.

From the initial steps in cooking a victim’s body, Léry invites his reader to think about the consumption of fellow humans as a practice that is just as French as it is Tupi:

… les autres femmes, et principalement les vieilles… se presentans avec de l’eau chaude qu’elles ont toute preste, frottent et eschaudent de telle façon le corps mort qu’en ayant levé la premiere peau, elles le font aussi blanc que les cuisiniers par- deçà sçauroient faire un cochon de laict prest à rostir. (Histoire d’un voyage 361)

… the other women, and chiefly the old ones… come forward with hot water that they have ready, and scald and rub the dead body to remove its outer skin, and blanch it the way our cooks over here do when they prepare a suckling pig for roasting (History of a Voyage 126)

In describing how women clean the victim’s flesh immediately after his or her execution,

Léry likens their blanching method to one that the French use before roasting a pig. The fact that Léry uses the French as a point of reference is curious in that the description is straightforward enough that readers would not in all likelihood require it. But by making

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mention of the French and creating an association between the two cultures based on food preparation techniques, the reader might be inclined to imagine the French as capable of applying those same techniques to human flesh, as well.

Similarly, in describing the dismembering of the vicitm’s body, Léry prompts the reader to base their interpretation of the Tupi practice on their own cultural framework:

Apres cela,… prenans ce povre corps le fendront et mettront si soudainement en pieces, qu’il n’y a boucher en ce pays ici qui puisse plustost desmembrer un mouton. Mais outre cela (ô cruauté plus que prodigieuse) tout ainsi que les veneurs par-deçà apres qu’ils ont pris un cerf en baillent la curée aux chiens courans, aussi ces barbares à fin de tant plus inciter et acharner leurs enfans, les prenans l’un apres l’autre ils leur frottent le corps, bras, cuisses et jambes du sang de leurs ennemis. (Histoire d’un voyage 362)

After that,… (they) will take this poor body, cleave it and immediately cut it into pieces; no butcher in this country could more quickly dismember a sheep. But even beyond that — O more than prodigious cruelty — just as our huntsmen over here, after taking a stag, give the quarry to their hounds, so, too, these barbarians, in order to incite their children to share their vengefulness, take them one at a time and rub their bodies, arms, thighs, and legs with the blood of their enemies. (History of a Voyage 126)

Léry seems to want the reader to understand fully the handling of the victim’s body, and therefore includes in this passage references to butchers and hunstemen, both familiar cultural figures. However, the emphasis that he places on the likeness between them and the

Tupi — namely by specifying the exact sameness (“tout ainsi que”) of the behaviors of the

French huntsmen and the natives — indicates a desire to show that both cultures are equally cannibalistic.

In addition to drawing such parallels, it is worth noting that Léry conveys to readers his moral judgement of these culinary practices through his use of adjectives like poor

(“povre”) and prodigious (“prodigieuse”), a parenthetical aside that includes an apostrophe and makes mention of the cruel nature of the anthropophagous (“ô cruauté”), and most directly by calling the Tupi barbarians (“ces barbares”). In this way, Léry rouses our pity

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for the victim and horror of the man-eating Tupi, who are subtly but unmistakeably likened to the French — a metaphor that Léry continues to develop and make clearer throughout the chapter.

Léry also encourages the reader to view the consumption of human flesh through the lens of religious conflicts in France by focusing on the vengefulness that prompts such cannibalistic tendencies. For example, in an anecdote illustrating “la façon… que les

Bresiliens ont de cuire la chair de leurs prisonniers” (the way the Brazilians cook their prisoner’s flesh), Léry draws our attention toward the way that the Tupi contemplate the meat before them (Histoire d’un voyage 365; History of a Voyage 127). Léry specifies that the Tupi look longingly at human flesh not because they are literally hungry, as readers might expect, but because revenge has been achieved:

… quand la chair d’un prisonnier, ou de plusieurs (car ils en tuent quelquefois deux ou trois en un jour) est ainsi cuicte, tous ceux qui ont assisté à voir faire le massacre, estans derechef resjouis à l’entour des boucans, sur lesquels avec œillades et regards furibonds, ils contemplent les pieces et membres de leurs ennemis (Histoire d’un voyage 365)

When the flesh of a prisoner, or of several (for they sometimes kill two or three in a day) is thus cooked, all those who have been present to see the slaughter performed gather again joyfully around the boucans, on which they gaze with a furious and covetous eye, contemplating the pieces and members of their enemies. (History of a Voyage 127)

Indeed, rather than eat to nourish their bodies, the Tupian relationship to the food before them is grounded in vengeance and hatred for their enemies. Léry introduces the idea that bearing witness to the execution or massacre of an enemy (“assisté à voir faire le massacre”), both of which readers would likely have been familiar with, is an important part of this cannibal ritual. These details would have shaped their understanding of eating a fellow human being, propmpting them to associate the act of cannibalism with the killing of an enemy, in this case the majority’s religious counterpart, French Reformers.

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What determines the parts of the body that the Tupi eat is also based on vengeance:

Non pas cependant, ainsi qu’on pourroit estimer, qu’ils facent cela ayans esgard à la nourriture… plus par vengeance, que pour le goust… leur principale intention est, qu’en pourquyvant et rongeant ainsi les morts jusues aux os, ils donnent par ce moyen crainte et espouvantement aux vivans. Et de fait, pour assouvrir leurs courages felons, tout ce qui se peut trouver és corps de tels prisonniers, depuis les extremitez des orteils, jusques au nez, oreilles et sommet de la teste, est entierement mangé par eux (Histoire d’un voyage 365-66)

Not, however (as far as one can judge) that they regard this as nourishment… it is more out of vengeance than for the taste… their chief intention is that by pursuing the dead and gnawing them right down to the bone, they will strike fear and terror into the hearts of the living. And in fact, to satisfy their ferocity, everything that can be found in the bodies of such prisoners, from the tips of the toes up to the nose, ears, and scalp, is entirely eaten by them (History of a Voyage 127)

Here Léry confirms that the practice of cannibalism has nothing to do with nourishment

(“non pas… ayans esgard à la nourriture”), and everything to do with seeking retribution from their enemies (“plus par vengeance”). He further defines these motives in graphic detail through a lexicon of gluttony, denoting how they gnaw at the victims down to the bone (“rongeant… jusues aux os”), and enumerating the body parts that are consumed in entirety (“entierement mangé”). In this way, Léry provides readers with an alternate frame from which they view cannibalistic practices. That is, rather than understanding cannibals as barbaric, voracious men and women, Léry suggests that they eat their enemies to fulfill their most violent yet human desires.

Having surveyed the culinary preparations of the Tupi’s victims for consumption and the manner in which they are cooked and eaten, Léry offers readers post-digestive reflexions, so to speak. These reflexions reveal explicit connections between the man- eating practices that he had observed in Brazil and the consumption of French Reformers by the anthropophagous Catholics during the Wars of Religion. In fact, he says that he no

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longer needs to give examples, likewise signaling his desire for the reader to reflect on what they have just read:

Je pourrois encore amener quelques autres semblables exemples, touchant la cruauté des sauvages envers leurs ennemis, n’estoit qu’il me semble que ce que j’en ay dit est assez pour faire avoir horreur, et dresser à chacun les cheveux en la teste. Neantmoins à fin que ceux qui liront ces choses tant horribles, exercées journellement entre ces nations barbares de la terre du Bresil, pensent aussi un peu de près à ce qui se fait par deça parmi nous (Léry, Histoire d’un voyage 374-75)

I could add similar examples of the cruelty of the savages toward their enemies, but it seems to me that what I have said is enough to horrify you, indeed, to make your hair stand on end. Nevertheless, so that those who read these horrible things, practiced daily among these barbarous nations of the land of Brazil, may also think more carefully about the things that go one every day over here, among us (Léry, History of a Voyage 131-32)

Léry suggests that the information he has provided for his readers is sufficient, and that any other observations would not give us any further insights on the cruelty of the Tupi vis-à- vis their enemies (“la cruauté… envers leurs ennemis”). Instead, he asks the reader to make connections between the cannibalistic practices that he described from his time spent in

Brazil and those committed by the French (“parmi nous”).

Léry turns to examples from his and his readers’ shared cultural perspective, describing the cannibal-like actions of his fellow Frenchman:

… en premier lieu sur ceste matiere, que si on considere à bon escient ce que font nos gros usuriers (sucçans le sang et la moëlle, et par consequent mangeans tous en vie, tant de veuves, orphelins et autres pauvres personnes auxquels il vaudroit mieux couper la gorge tout d’un coup, que de les faire ainsi languir) qu’on dira qu’ils sont encores plus cruels que les sauvages dont je parle. Voila aussi pourquoy le Prophete dit, que telles gens escorchent la peau, mangent la chair, rompent et brisent les os du peuple de Dieu, comme s’ils les faisoyent bouillir dans une chaudiere. (Histoire d’un voyage 375)

In the first place, if you consider in all candor what our big usurers do, sucking blood and marrow, and eating everyone alive — widows, orphans, and other poor people, whose throats it would be better to cut once and for all, than to make them linger in misery — you will say that they are even more cruel than the savages I speak of. And that is why the prophet says that such men flay the skin of God’s

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people, eat their flesh, break their bones and chop them in pieces as for the pot, and as flesh within the cauldron. (History of a Voyage 132)

Léry compares usurers to Tupi cannibals, describing the way in which they figuratively consume the French. Using the same lexicon of gluttony as readers encountered in his descriptions of Tupian methods of eating, Léry creates an association between the anti-

Reformer figures who endorsed usury doctrines in sixteenth-century France and the man- eaters among the Brazilian native populations.27 In particular, he denotes the sucking of blood and bones (“sucçans le sang et la moëlle”), defining the victims as France’s poor and already disadvantaged persons like widowns and orphans (“veuves, orphelines et autres”).

In a culminating passage Léry denounces the anthropophagous nature of his fellow

Frenchmen, comparing the previously described barbaric Tupi practices to the butchering of his innocent coreligionists throughout the kingdom of France:

Et sans aller plus loin, en la France quoy ? (Je suis François et me fasche de le dire) durant la sanglante tragedie qui commença à Paris le 24. d’Aoust 1572. dont je n’accuse point ceux qui n’en sont pas cause : entre autres actes horribles à raconter, qui se perpetrerent lors par tout le Royaume, la graisse des corps humains (qui d’un façon plus barbare et cruelle que celle des sauvages, furent masacrez dans Lyon, apres estre retirez de la riviere de Saone) ne fut-elle pas publiquement vendue au plus offrant et dernier encherisseur ? Les foyes, cœurs, et autres partie des corps de quelques-uns ne furent-ils pas mangez par les furieux meurtriers, dont les enfers ont horreur ? (Histoire d’un voyage 375-76)

And, without going further, what of France? (I am French, and it grieves me to say it.) During the bloody tragedy that began in Paris on the twenty-fourth of August 1572—for which I do not accuse those who are not responsible—among other acts horrible to recount, which were perpetrated at that time throughout the kingdom, the fault of human bodies (which, in ways more barbarous than those of the savages, were butchered at Lyon after being pulled out of the Saône)—was it not publicly sold to the highest bidder? The livers, hearts, and other parts of these bodies—were they not eaten by the furious muderers, of whom Hell itself stands in horror? (History of a Voyage 132)

27 In his article, “Usury, Calvinism, and Credit in Protestant England,” John H. Munro refutes the myth that usury disappeared in Reformation Europe, but notes that the exception among theologians was Calvin, who did not endorse such doctrines (12). Léry, a fervent Calvinist, would also have been opposed to usury and usurers.

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Léry, no longer making implicit connections between the Tupi and French Catholics, points to specific, recent incidents of barbarism that he insists the reader understand as acts of cannibalism. In particular, he highlights the infamous massacre in Paris, denoting its spectacle-like nature and the innocence of those who were killed (“la sanglante tragedie”;

“ceux qui n’en sont pas cause”). He then speaks to an incident of literal butchering of humans in Lyon following a massacre, inciting the reader’s engagement by asking, albeit rhetorically, if the fat from these Lyonnais had not in fact been sold publicly. Léry also ennumerates the body parts of the butchered humans, to further the intended feeling of horror and pity for the vicitms. In this way, Léry encourages us to question the barbarity of what he had just recounted with regard to the Tupinambá, and also to reflect on the cannabilistic nature of the French, namely French Catholics who voraciously devour their

Reformed neighbors and fellow Frenchmen.

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V. Conclusion

Some of the first gastronomic writings in the French vernacular were published in the nineteenth century,28 when there was a heightened interest in food culture among the

French reading public, as opposed to the previously dominant dietary and medicinal interests. In the midst of this trend was gastronome Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, who famously wrote in his Physiologie du goût, “Dis-moi ce que tu manges, et je te dirai ce que tu es” (Tell me what you eat and I will tell you what you are) (19). But the origins of this plainly stated observation that what one eats or does not eat reveals a great deal about individual and group identities extends much farther back in time. As I have shown in the present chapter, food choices, preparations, and rituals — all aspects of food culture and key elements of human identity29 — were of crucial importance to French explorer, pastor, and writer Jean de Léry, who published indisputably food-centric accounts of his lived experiences from both his voyage to the New World and the harrowing siege in the city of

Sancerre during France’s Wars of Religion. By telling his sixteenth-century French readers what Reformers ate or did not eat in both the Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage,

Léry effectively articulated Reformed identity and helped to shape their understanding of it.

Notably, the context for Léry’s many gastronomic descriptions was religious violence, a narrative thread that he consistently brought to the fore throughout his writings.

In this way, Léry rendered Reformers’ hardships from dwindling and uncustomary food

28 In fact, the term ‘gastronomy’ was used for the first time in French in the poem La gastronomie ou l’homme des champs à table, which Joseph Berchoux first published in 1800 (Drouard 37). 29 Massimo Montanari explains food culture in similar terms in the introduction to Food is Culture, writing that food is culture when it is produced, chosen, prepared, and eaten, to cite a small sample (xi-xii).

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supplies, outright famine, and the threat of being consumed integral facets of their identity.

He conveyed Reformed identity as the patient suffering of the daily and agonizing pains that closely but not coincidentally would have called to mind the Reform’s renowned martyrs, accentuating the resiliency and resourcefulness of Reformers in adverse, food- related circumstances. By engaging readers in this manner, I have argued that Léry sought to advance a positive image of the Reformers who fell victim to religious violence in the

New World and in Sancerre, portraying them as martyr-like and worthy of admiration for their heroic displays of constancy despite the reality of their defeat.

Léry, who read predecessor Jean Crespin’s martyrology, personally witnessed and seems to have deliberately drawn his readers’ attention to the continuity between the formal persecution of Reformers in the early to mid-sixteenth century — which the martyrology clearly embodied and was my primary focus in Chapter One — and the religious violence that they experienced in the years surrounding the French Wars of Religion. For Léry, the failed Reformed settlement in the New World and the ultimate loss of their stronghold in

Sancerre were pivotal events in the history of the Reform movement, much like the period of persecution in which martyrs were made, and needed to be rewritten so that they would be remembered as shining examples of Reformed culture and accomplishment. Roughly two decades after Léry published the Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage, another prominent voice of the French Reform would carry this legacy into the seventeenth century, reintroducing the story of martyrdom and religious violence to an audience in postwar France, at a time when hopes for a flourishing Reformed culture and presence had all but faded away. It is to the voice of Reformed poet and soldier Agrippa d’Aubigné that I now turn.

119 Chapter Three

“Les Feux” of the Reform: An Epic Martyrology in Agrippa d’Aubigné’s

Tragiques, 1616

Nous sommes ennuyés de livres qui enseignent, donnez-nous en pour émouvoir…1

We are tired of books that teach, give us some that move…2

— Théodore Agrippa d’Aubigné, French poet and soldier

I. Introduction

“Les Feux” is a book of martyrs,3 the fourth in Théodore Agrippa d’Aubigné’s seven-book epic, Les Tragiques. The epic is defined as a narrative poem that focuses on a pivotal moment in a community’s history and the lives of the characters who participated in the making of that history.4 The community in question can be a nation, a people, or all of humanity, while the pivotal moment may refer to said community’s rise, collapse, or some

1 This well-known quote is from one of Aubigné’s prefaces to Les Tragiques, “Aux Lecteurs” (53). All quotations from Les Tragiques are from Frank Lestringant’s critical edition. I have chosen to use this edition because Lestringant has modernized the spelling and punctuation without compromising the poetic aspects of the original. Additionally, it should be noted that all quotes from Les Tragiques are followed by the page number or book number, the latter using a Roman numeral, and verse numbers. I also reference Jean- Raymond Fanlo’s critical edition, but make the distinction clear each time. 2 Unless otherwise noted, all French-to-English translations from Les Tragiques are my own. 3 I discuss the etymology of the term ‘martyr’ in the dissertation’s introduction. Here it will suffice to recall its Greek origins as μάρτυς, meaning ‘witness’. 4 I derive this definition of the term ‘epic’ from Theodore Steinberg’s chapter, “Approaching the Epic,” in his study on various manifestations of the epic. As its title suggests, the chapter surveys distinguishing features of the classical epic tradition that should inform the approaches of readers and scholars to later developments of the epic, such as the epic novel or the epic film. The most relevant passage to my definition of the epic appears at the end of his chapter, where Steinberg succinctly discusses the form, audience, function, and stakes of epic narratives (29).

other event that decisively changed its dynamics. Moreover, because the epic’s narrative action is critical to showing the impacts of the pivotal moment on the community, it often entails a cosmic significance that contributes to the poem’s characteristic sense of grandeur.5 Grandeur affords the epic poet a large scope — moral, spiritual, and temporal, to name a few dimensions — that in turn helps him to put the pivotal moment in perspective for his readers.

In the case of Les Tragiques, the narrative of Aubigné’s epic spotlights the history of the Reformed Church from the founders of the European Reformations to the future of the movement’s followers on earth and in heaven. The pivotal moment in this history is, of course, the outbreak of war between French Catholics and Reformers. For Reformers,

France’s Wars of Religion (1562-1598) proved pivotal in that, on the one hand, their defeat more or less solidified their status as a minority group within the kingdom and prompted resistance to Catholic authority, while on the other hand it fueled convictions of divine election and thus eternal victory in the afterlife. In short, the seven books of Les Tragiques narrate the sufferings and earthly (past) defeat but celestial (future) triumph of Reformed communities.

The tension between earthly defeat and celestial triumph, long after France’s Wars of Religion had formally ended but before the living could take their place among God’s chosen people, is important to highlight. The particularities of this tension are largely what separate Aubigné from Ancient Greek and Roman epic poets the likes of Homer and Virgil, ultimately placing Les Tragiques within an epic tradition that focuses on historical

5 In Epic Grandeur, Masaki Mori defines ‘grandeur’ as a feeling of greatness that the poet conveys in the epic and that stems from “the hero’s attitudes toward his mortality, communal responsibility, and the dual dimension of time and space that he and the entire work must cope with” (47).

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narratives of the defeated.6 David Quint coins the term ‘loser’s epic’ in relation to this tradition and the example of Aubigné’s Tragiques,7 an epic that is “anti-Virgilian” namely in that it “speaks from the side of the losers,” as opposed to the dominant tradition of epic that Virgil’s Aeneid represents and that immortalizes a historical narrative of triumph from the perspective of the victors (133). And while the books of Les Tragiques do not have a single hero and they do not deny the losses that the Huguenot armies incurred during the

Wars of Religion,8 they nevertheless suggest a final triumph and victory for Reformers in

6 Homerian and Virgilian epic are only part — albeit a significant part — of the epic tradition that Aubigné would have been in dialogue with when writing Les Tragiques. Aubigné’s contemporaries, like the revered and slightly older Pierre de Ronsard (1524- 1585), also wrote epic poetry. The genre was of immense importance to early modern French culture, especially in the sixteenth century, and it is hardly an exaggeration to say that producing an epic was a dream for many writers. Notably, the Reformed poet Guillaume Salluste Du Bartas (1544-1590) completed this high achievement of producing an epic poem on two occasions, and was working on a third epic at the time of his death. Du Bartas’s biblical epics La Judit (1574) and La Sepmaine (1578) are worth mentioning because of the poet’s adherence, like Aubigné, to the Reformed faith, as well as his engagement with the French Wars of Religion through epic poetry. However, unlike Aubigné, Du Bartas’s epics were written during and not after the French Wars of Religion, and therefore speak to the epic’s potential impact on readers experiencing Catholic- Reformed warfare, rather than its impact on seventeenth-century readers whose memories of the wars guide them as they navigate France’s ongoing religious tensions and violence. Moreover, as Katherine Maynard has remarked, Du Bartas was far less sectarian than Aubigné, the former proposing “spaces of hope” and a “larger goal for peace” in his epics, whereas Aubigné “stirs up” his readers at “a time of renewed uncertainty” for the religious minority (Reveries 48-49; 126). Although similarities between these Reformed poets exist, their differences, especially with regard to intentionality and temporal circumstances, informed my decision to focus on Aubigné’s Tragiques. In a future book project, reading Du Bartas and Aubigné together, following the lead of Maynard in Reveries of Community, will be critical to furthering my observations on the relationship between the epic genre and religious violence. 7 Quint analyzes two other “epics of the defeated” in his fourth chapter of Epic and Empire, Lucan’s Pharsalia and Alonso de Ercilla’s Araucana. Aubigné’s Tragiques figures as the last loser’s epic in his study, confirming quite tangibly a shift from epic to romance in terms of both plot and style. 8 I explain in this dissertation’s introduction my preference for word variants of ‘Reformed’ rather than other terms like ‘Protestant’, yet here I use ‘Huguenot’ to specify Reformers who engaged in battle and other military activity during France’s religious wars.

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the afterlife — a triumph that for Aubigné was only attainable and made visible through the sufferings of the Reformed Church and its body of heroes, the Reformers who endured afflictions and death for the sake of heavenly reward.

Indeed, for Aubigné and other early modern Reformers who witnessed religious persecution and war, visible forms of suffering were considered signs of divine election, and hence a guarantee of eternal victory. Given the centrality of suffering to Les Tragiques’ overarching narrative, it should come as no surprise that the two middle books, “Les Feux” and “Les Fers,” focus most directly on this history’s Reformed victims. These books respectively describe the acts of martyrdom of near-contemporary Reformers and the battles and massacres of France’s Wars of Religion, functioning much like historical annals of Catholic-Reformed conflict, albeit vividly illustrated and rhetorically energetic (Quint

196). Their baroque-style conceits serve to draw parallels between the horrors of the deaths of Reformers and the superior, heroic qualities of the martyrs of the Reform movement and the men, women, and children who fell victim to armed religious strife in late sixteenth- century France.

Although these middle books form the crux of the epic’s narrative, the present chapter focuses on “Les Feux,” as my main concern is Aubigné’s presentation of the

Reformed Church’s martyrs, whose acts of martyrdom largely predate the Wars of

Religion. This book is worthy of separate, individual consideration because it reveals a close connection between the above-discussed epic genre and the martyrology, a genre of its own that was arguably at its height in the late sixteenth century, and that I discuss in this study’s first chapter. What interests me about the connection between the epic and the martyrology is the persuasive and polemical functions that these genres evince, much like

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propaganda.9 More precisely, I read “Les Feux” as Aubigné’s engagement with martyrological writing that draws on both genres — the epic and the martyrology — to propagate an alternate, (spiritually but not literally) triumphant version of the history of the

Reformed Church that was championed by martyrs.

But first a few more words on the book’s singularity and hybridity. Notably, “Les

Feux” is the only early modern lyric rendition of martyrological accounts.10 By merging the epic and the martyrology, Aubigné effectively introduced the seventeenth-century French- reading public to a subgenre and style that I call ‘epic martyrology’ or ‘martyrological epic’.11 I define the epic martyrology as a type of narrative poetry that exemplifies characteristic elements of the epic and the martyrology to illustrate acts of martyrdom. My reading of “Les Feux” as an epic martyrology thus invites reflection, first and foremost, on what setting martyrological accounts to verse is12 — for now, let it suffice to say a new

9 See: Karl A.E. Enenkel and Ilja Leonard Pfeijffer, The Manipulative Mode. Political Propaganda in Antiquity: A Collection of Case Studies and Mark U. Edwards Jr., Printing, Propaganda, and Martin Luther. 10 Alec Ryrie has suggested that Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs and John Foxe’s Book of Martyrs constitute what I refer to as an ‘epic martyrology’ or a ‘martyrological epic’ in his essay, “The Unsteady Beginnings of English Protestant Martyrology” (52). However, aside from the brief mention of the term in the essay’s introduction, Ryrie does not offer further commentary on the epic genre. I do not believe that Crespin’s work is an epic martyrology. Regarding Foxe, an argument could be made for the Book of Martyrs resembling an epic martyrology, given its lyric aspects and rhetorically vibrant style, including the images that accompany and further enliven the reader’s experience of the text. 11 The terms ‘epic martyrology’ and ‘martyrological epic’ may be used interchangeably, but for the sake of consistency I will use ‘epic martyrology’ throughout this chapter. 12 In the fourth chapter of Epic Arts in Renaissance France, Phillip John Usher begins with a discussion of “what kind of epic this (Les Tragiques) is” (161). He goes on to articulate a link between Aubigné’s references to the sister arts and what may be viewed as an entirely new vision of the epic (164). While Usher focuses on Les Tragiques’ third book, “La Chambre dorée,” he brings attention to other art forms and genres that inevitably shaped the mise en œuvre of the epic. This chapter further develops such interpretive work, and offers new insights into what kind of epic Aubigné wrote by placing Les Tragiques in dialogue not with the sister arts, but with martyrologies and Reformed martyrs.

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subgenre and style for Aubigné’s contemporaries — and also points to what lyric and martyrological writing does.

As I demonstrate in this chapter, the epic martyrology affords accounts of martyrdom an emotional power and expressiveness that the Reformed martyrological tradition in France, first established by Jean Crespin in the mid-sixteenth century, is less equipped to convey. Unlike the plain style and uniform structure that characterizes

Crespin’s narrative prose in his accounts of Reformed martyrdom, the epic martyrology evinces numerous poetic devices, elements of orality, and diverse structural features that our poet-martyrologist used to create a “particular emotional climate” for his readership

(Alazard 68). In the case of “Les Feux,” I argue that Aubigné sought to move his reader toward an understanding of Reformed martyrs as heroes in an epic sense, whose admirable, courageous, and valorous deeds were worthy of commemoration and praise, and yet whose patient endurance of persecution and affliction could incite feelings of sympathy. He brought his skills as an epic poet to his book of martyrs to enhance the persuasive character of its martyrological accounts, essentially rewriting the martyrology of Crespin — fusing prose and verse, the martyrology and the epic — to make the voices of Reformed martyrs even more impactful.

In introducing his epic martyrology to a seventeenth-century audience, I ultimately suggest that Aubigné wanted to shape the attitudes of his readers toward the Reformed

Church’s history — a history of persecution and defeat, but also one of resilience and spiritual triumph. Much like the Reformed writings of Crespin and Léry that I considered in this dissertation’s first and second chapters, Aubigné’s “Feux” reveals a desire to guide his contemporary readership toward a sympathetic understanding of early modern France’s religious other, his fellow Reformers, and to advance the interests and prestige of their

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minority culture and faith. And while our poet-martyrologist clearly wrote on behalf and to the benefit of his coreligionists, Aubigné also sought to engage seventeenth-century French

Catholic readers,13 whose sympathy would for obvious reasons have been advantageous to members of the formally repressed Reform in postwar France. I elaborate on the possible interpretations of Aubigné’s motives vis-à-vis the Catholic reader in this chapter’s concluding remarks, putting forth the idea that his writings were part of a larger trend toward political discourses on religious toleration that became increasingly wide-spread in the first half of the seventeenth-century, and that inform the subject of my fourth and final chapter.

In pursuing my argument that Aubigné’s epic martyrology would have enhanced the persuasiveness of martyrological accounts and shaped the seventeenth-century reader’s perception of Reformed martyrdom, I divide this chapter into three sections. The first section, “From Reformer to Reformed Martyrologist,” addresses key factors that led

Aubigné to assume the dual role of poet and martyrologist, from his childhood experiences to his involvement in the French Reform and the Wars of Religion, including his authorial endeavors. Additionally, I describe briefly Aubigné’s connection to Crespin and the

Reformed martyrological tradition in France, as well as his approach to martyrological writing that he articulates at the outset of “Les Feux.” In the second section, “Une langue de flamme: The Language of the Epic Martyrology,” I further explore the subgenre and style that I argue the book “Les Feux” exemplifies. By offering points of comparison between “Les Feux” and the martyrology, I show how Aubigné’s work surpasses the

13 We find evidence of this claim in the epic’s other books. In “Princes” and “La Chambre dorée,” for example, Aubigné frequently offers direct addresses to his contemporary and near-contemporary Catholic enemies like the Valois kings and queen regent Catherine de Medicis, as well as judicial figures of the kingdom’s parlements.

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martyrological genre in its potential to persuade. More specifically, I reintroduce the rhetorical features most common to Reformed martyrological writing — sacrifice, reward, conviction, constancy, and joy — that martyrologist Crespin made typical of the martyrology, but focus on Aubigné’s treatment of them in my close readings of his accounts. These close readings also reveal how Aubigné’s langue de flamme, or his poetic voice, would have helped to shape the seventeenth-century reader’s understanding of

Reformed martyrs as heroes and incite feelings like admiration and sympathy. Lastly, in the third and final section, “The Power of Pain,” I consider an additional way in which the epic martyrology may have persuaded Aubigné’s readership. That is, I take into account the various kinds of body language that occur in “Les Feux” and that Aubigné often accentuates for the purpose of moving the reader. Here pain is of particular interest, as it is a decidedly persuasive form of non-verbal communication that Aubigné employs in his accounts of Reformed martyrdom. Aubigné channels the persuasive capacities of pain by emphasizing and at times sensationalizing the spectacle-like nature of martyrdom and the extreme physical affliction that Reformed martyrs endured in torture and execution. I conclude this discussion on the spectacle of martyrdom by suggesting that Aubigné understood — and wanted his seventeenth-century readers to understand — pain and suffering as essential components of Reformed culture and the Reformer’s sense of self.

My reading of “Les Feux” and consideration of the epic martyrology are part of an already rich area of study on the impact of martyrdom on an evolving Reformed culture and identity in early modern France. However, there is still a need for research on the singularity of Aubigné’s approach to martyrological writing,14 specifically with regard to

14 There are two scholars, in particular, who do in fact underscore the singularity of Aubigné’s accounts of Reformed martyrdom in “Les Feux.” Frank Lestringant studies the

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the lasting impact and influence of accounts of Reformed martyrdom on seventeenth- century readers — mainly Reformers, though not to the exclusion of potentially sympathetic Catholics — who were no longer contemporaries of the persecutory period in which the martyrs in question lived and died. Aubigné’s “Feux” is not so much an extension of the French martyrology, but rather a repurposing and revitalizing of accounts of Reformed martyrdom at a time when the hopes for a firmly planted and formally authorized Reformed presence in France had largely been dispelled.

complexity of the martyr figure in sixteenth-century France in his book Lumière des martyrs, among other works, using Aubigné’s “Feux” to show the “stricte discrimination entre les vrais martyrs et ceux qui n’en retiennent que l’apparence” (strict distinction between actual martyrs and those that only appear as such) (66). Furthermore, Lestringant calls attention to the need for additional literary approaches to historical and historically heavy texts like the martyrology and “Les Feux.” In addition, Katherine Maynard’s article “Writing Martyrdom: Agrippa d’Aubigné’s Reconstruction of Sixteenth-Century Martyrology” provides an essential comparative approach to Aubigné’s martyrological writing in the Histoire universelle and Les Tragiques, based on how the Reformed poet- soldier read Jean Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs. Maynard argues that Aubigné’s martyrological writing “has as much to do with the act of reading the Histoire des martyrs as it does with the act of re-writing Crespin’s texts” (“Writing” 32). Maynard puts Aubigné in dialogue with his sources, and, importantly, notes the clear differences in authorial motives that Aubigné had when composing “Les Feux” and the Histoire universelle. “Les Feux,” Maynard explains, “creates a series of descriptions that appeal to different senses, recreating an entire sensory experience” (“Writing” 37). Maynard’s work thus paves the way for my close-readings of martyrological accounts in “Les Feux” in largely sensory terms, which rely heavily on the poetic devices that Aubigné uses to move us, the readers.

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II. From Reformer to Reformed Martyrologist

From the moment of his birth, Aubigné’s life was marked by death, particularly in connection with the concept of sacrifice that came to define Reformed identity and culture in early modern France. His father, Reformer Jean d’Aubigné, chose to save the unborn child over his Catholic wife, Catherine de L’Estang, during a troublesome labor.15 Hence the name Agrippa, from the Latin ‘aegre partus’, meaning born with difficulty. The sacrifice that the Catholic mother made for the uncertain fate of the newborn son, who would be brought up in the Reformed faith and showed early signs of a heightened religious zeal,16 was a grim lesson that Aubigné seems to have carried throughout his childhood and in his career as a Reformed writer and soldier.17 Indeed, central to Aubigné’s identity, to his very existence, was the Reform movement and the faith its followers sought to defend and promote, even if doing so meant certain death.

Like Aubigné, the religious and political dimensions of the Reform were the raison d’être of many writers in France in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, whose works bore witness to the extent to which the motif of sacrifice had been embedded in their culture. An especially influential body of works was the Reformed martyrology that Jean

15 Aubigné was baptized as a Catholic, the religion of his mother’s family, but raised in adherence with the Reformed faith, which his father adopted around the time of his birth. 16 A famous example is the anecdote in which eight-year-old Aubigné was following his father to Paris, but when they reached Amboise he witnessed the devastating aftermath of the Conspiracy of Amboise, a failed coup against the House of Guise that resulted in the execution and imprisonment of numerous Reformers. Young Aubigné was allegedly “tellement esmeu” (so moved) by the sight of so many decapitated Reformers that he cried out in a display of religious fervor, “Ils ont descapité la France, les bourreaux” (They decapitated France, the killers) (Sa Vie 385-86). His father then instructed him to avenge their deaths, even if it meant sacrificing his own life. 17 Kathleen Long denotes the connection between the tragic circumstances surrounding the future poet’s birth and the “structure of theological and literary values” that would be characteristic of Aubigné’s life and works (198).

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Crespin introduced to the French-reading public in the vernacular. Accounts of martyrdom from his Histoire des martyrs were often read aloud at religious services and inside the homes of book-owning Reformers, thus indicating the strong demand for Crespin’s martyrology and the near-canonical status that it achieved in Aubigné’s lifetime (Maynard,

“Writing” 41). And while Crespin’s martyrology began circulating when Aubigné was only an infant, the future poet would prove an avid reader of its later editions, as an inventory of his library and personal acquaintance with Crespin’s successor to the project both suggest.18

However, the clearest evidence of Crespin’s influence on Aubigné — or rather, Aubigné’s dependence on Crespin — is his deliberate engagement with the Reformed martyrology in his own writings.

Aubigné published two works that contain large portions of sustained martyrological writing,19 and that also evince direct borrowing from Crespin’s martyrology

— his well-known epic Les Tragiques, followed by his ten-volume historical work the

Histoire universelle. The latter, an ambitious prose narrative on the years surrounding

France’s Wars of Religion, dedicates significant space to the lives and deaths of Reformed martyrs. But much to the disappointment of the seventeenth-century reader who may have anticipated Aubigné’s perspective on these acts of martyrdom, the Histoire universelle offers little more than abridged versions of only some of Crespin’s accounts. Aubigné even apologizes to his readers for the brevity of his work: “Ne s’offense mon Lecteur, s’il trouve mesmes choses escrites ailleurs plus generalement…” (Do not be offended, my reader, if

18 According to Jean-Raymond Fanlo in his critical edition of Les Tragiques, Aubigné probably referenced the martyrology’s 1582 edition in writing “Les Feux” (65-66). Fanlo also published a post-mortem inventory, “La bibliothèque genevoise d’Agrippa d’Aubigné après l’inventaire après décès” that strengthens this hypothesis. Crespin’s successor was Simon Goulart, who assumed the lead role of editor and printer after the former’s death. 19 As opposed to the occasional reference to accounts of martyrdom.

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this same content appears more comprehensive elsewhere) (Histoire universelle I.216-17).

Aubigné appears aware, then, of the limits of his authorial voice20 — limitations that are at least in part due to the prose style to which the work’s genre confined him, and, of course, the simple fact that he did not have any additional material to include in his version of these accounts.

In Les Tragiques, the second of Aubigné’s works that borrows directly from

Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs, the epic genre poses its own set of limitations that also reveal an authorial anxiety. Unlike his expressed concern in the Histoire universelle over being unable to provide readers with material that differed from Crespin’s martyrological accounts, in “Les Feux,” his book of martyrs within Les Tragiques, Aubigné’s authorial concerns stem from how vastly different his martyrological writing is from his source text.

And it is precisely these differences between “Les Feux” and the Histoire des martyrs, and

Aubigné’s own awareness of them, that indicate the boundary traversal between the epic and the martyrology that may be called epic martyrology. But to be more exact about his perceived limitations and underlying anxieties in “Les Feux,” Aubigné appears most concerned with navigating his role as an author of both an epic poem and a book of martyrs.

Indeed, in writing “Les Feux,” Aubigné must assume the dual role of poet- martyrologist. And while the term ‘martyrologist’ did not yet exist in French, authoring martyrologies and martyrological writing in general had been a prominent part of the cultural scene in France since the mid-sixteenth century.21 Aubigné’s conception of the

20 Katherine Maynard likewise denotes Aubigné’s awareness of the limits of Aubigné’s martyrological writing in comparison with Crespin’s Histoire universelle (“Writing” 31). 21 The French term for ‘martyrology’, ‘martyrologe’, comes from the Latin ‘martyrologium’, meaning an ‘elogium’ on the martyr.

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martyrology proper is uncomplicated, as he suggests in his Confession du Sieur de Sancy, where he defines it as a “liste de ceux qui sont morts pour une cause” (a list of those who died for a cause) (II.8). The same cannot be said, however, for his conception of the martyrologist.

When Aubigné announces at the outset of “Les Feux” that he intends to create a list of martyrs, he seems somewhat overwhelmed, suggesting that the work of the martyrologist is arduous and daunting:

Conduis mon œuvre, ô Dieu ! à ton nom : donne-moi Qu’entre tant de martyrs, champions de la foi, De chaque sexe, état ou âge, à ton saint temple Je puisse consacrer un tableau pour exemple. (Tragiques IV.19-22)

Direct my work, oh God! in your name: grant me Among so many martyrs, champions of faith, Of every gender, class, or age, access to your saintly temple So I may create a tableau as an example.

Although Aubigné clearly articulates his intention to engage in martyrological writing, he does not appear confident in his abilities as a poet to take on the work of a martyrologist, as his plea to God indicates. Contrary to the boldness of Aubigné’s famous battle cry at the outset of the epic’s first book, where he ponders an attack on the legions of Rome,22 here he cries for help, asking for God’s guidance in martyrological writing. In particular, Aubigné dwells on the problem of selecting a sample of Reformed martyrs, given that there are so many to choose from, all of whom proved their faith in death and thus superiority in relation to ordinary followers of the Reform, like our poet who is both amazed and intimidated by these “champions de la foi.”

22 Aubigné begins “Misères” with a threat to attack Rome, a bastion of Catholic tyranny: “Puisqu’il faut s’attaquer aux légions de Rome…” (Since we must attack the legions of Rome) (Tragiques I.1).

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Choosing which martyrs to include in “Les Feux” figures as one of Aubigné’s most serious authorial dilemmas, as he suggests when he returns to this subject yet again:

… Mais comment De tant de dons de Dieu ton faible entendement Veut-il faire le choix ? oses-tu bien élire Quelques martyrs choisis, leur triomphe décrire ? Et laisser à l’oubli comme moins valeureux Les vainqueurs de la mort, comme eux victorieux ? (Tragiques IV.27-32)

… But how With so many gifts from God is your feeble sense of reason Able to choose ? Do you dare elect A few select martyrs, to describe their triumph? And let escape from memory as if less valorous The victors over death, just as victorious as them?

How, Aubigné asks himself, does the feeble-minded (“foible entendement”) individual elect (“eslire”) martyrs whose triumphs are noteworthy (“leur triomphe descrire”)? In this way, he evokes his own human fallibility in a kind of justification for what he presents as one of his major shortcomings — that is, the fact that he risks letting the victories of certain martyrs fall into oblivion (“laisser à l’oubli”). In other words, Aubigné knows that the martyrologist’s primary task is to make sure that these acts of martyrdom will not be forgotten, but that he cannot deliver. Understandably, this limitation produces a feeling of anxiety, which is by and large unique to “Les Feux.” Because “Les Feux” is part of an epic and not a comprehensive martyrology like Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs, Aubigné cannot recognize every Reformed martyr, and he perhaps worries that his selection of martyrs may be interpreted as his partiality or special admiration for certain Reformers who suffered and died for the Reform.

In addition to his fear of neglecting to honor deserving Reformed martyrs, Aubigné also expresses a stylistic concern:

J’ay peur que cette bande ainsi par toi choisie

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Serve au style du siècle et à sa poésie, Et que les rudes noms, d’un tel style ennemis, Aient entre les pareils la différence mis. (Tragiques IV.33-36)

I fear that this group thus chosen by you Serves the style of the time and its poetry, And that the formidable names, in such a style enemies, Stand out among their fellows.

Aubigné fears that his choice in martyrs for “Les Feux” will appear, despite his intentions, to be driven by the wrong motives — or, even worse, that a misinterpretation on the part of the reader will result in the martyrs having served the wrong ends.

Although this worry is legitimate, Aubigné is also aware that he must take poetics into account when choosing his martyrs. “Les Feux” is, after all, part of an epic and written in verse. Hence, Aubigné specifies that stylistics are inherent to his martyrological writing:

Je réponds : « Tu sais bien que mentir je ne t’ose, Miroir de mon esprit ; tu as touché la cause La première du choix, joint que ma jeune ardeur A de ce haut dessein époinçonné mon cœur, Pour au siècle donner les boutons de ces choses Et l’envoyer ailleurs en amasser les roses. (Tragiques IV.37-42)

I respond, you know well that I do not dare lie to you, Mirror of my soul; you touched on the cause First of my selection, and of my youthful ardor That has with lofty intent marked my heart, To give to the era the buds of this And send it elsewhere to collect the roses.

Here Aubigné solicits the trust of his Reformed audience. His honest embrace (“mentir je ne t’ose”) of the high style and aims of epic poetry (“haut dessein”) is an honest embrace of his flawed nature, which is to say his youthful folly (“ma jeune ardeur”) and poisoned heart

(“époinçonné mon cœur”).23 Aubigné further solicits the trust of his audience by offering

23 For Aubigné, a fervent Calvinist, man’s fall led to a weakening of the soul’s capacity to govern his body and soul. Aubigné often evokes his youth as a time of giving into pleasure,

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them an additional martyrological work to supplement “Les Feux” that can be found elsewhere (“ailleurs”). This “ailleurs” refers to the Histoire universelle, in which Aubigné takes on the heavy work of the historian: “Me livrer aux travaux de la pesante histoire”

(Deliver me from the works of heavy history) (Tragiques IV.45). But as the verb “me livrer” suggests, Aubigné chooses a different approach to the martyrological writing in

“Les Feux.”

Indeed, despite his authorial concerns and justifications vis-à-vis his Reformed readers, Aubigné is aware that he is doing something different and new in “Les Feux,” and he reveals on several occasions his eagerness and preparedness to do so. At the outset of

“Les Feux,” for example, alongside his anxiety he expresses a desire for the occupational skills of the martyrologist.24 He later adds that he felt compelled to pursue this line of work, moving from self-doubt to ultimately justify his engagement in martyrological writing:25

Dormant sur tel dessein, en mon esprit ravi J’eus un songe au matin, parmi lequel je vis Ma conscience en face, ou au moins son image, … Ayant fait cette paix avec ma conscience, Je m’avance au labeur avec cette assurance Que, plus riche et moins beau, j’écris fidèlement D’un style qui ne peut enrichir l’argument. (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.23-25; IV.49- 52)

Sleeping on such a design, in my elated soul I had a vision in the morning, in which I saw My conscious facing me, or at least its image, in body and mind. It is for this reason that he revokes his Printemps, a collection of love poems written when he was much younger. 24 In one of the above-cited passages, Aubigné gives a clear indication of his desire for the skills needed to author his book of martyrs when he writes, “… donne-moi / Qu’… Je puisse” (grant me… so I may) (Tragiques IV.19-20; IV.22). 25 Calvin expresses a similar compulsion to write. For further insight into Calvin’s writing process, I refer my reader to Jean-François Gilmont’s John Calvin and the Printed Book, translated by Karin Maag. “Chapter Three: Writing,” addresses Calvin’s reasons for writing, questions of language and style, and, finally, where Calvin wrote.

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… Having made peace with my conscience, I continued in my labor with the assurance That, richer and less beautiful, I write faithfully In a style that cannot embellish the argument.

Aubigné’s poetic fury (“mon esprit ravi”) and a morning vision (“un songe au matin”) may have inspired him to write “Les Feux,” but it was not until after he had resolved the standoff between his passions as a poet and the power of his Reformed conscience that he was able to pursue these ambitions. In an ensuing passage, Aubigné confirms his awareness of the delicate balance that he must find between his poetic voice and the simplicity and sobriety of the Calvinist aesthetic that is characteristic of the French martyrology (Brown

120).26 To be precise, he insists that the youthful passions permeating his earlier works are

“mûrs” (firm), a thing of the past, thereby reaffirming that at present he is in fact able to write faithfully (“j’écris fidèlement”) (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.44; IV.51).

For our divinely inspired and self-appointed martyrologist, writing faithfully means engaging with the French martyrological tradition in a way that does not encroach on the persuasive efforts of the veritable rhetorical figures in a martyrological work, which is to say the martyrs themselves.27 And while Aubigné knowingly runs the risk of interfering with these martyrs whose accounts should speak for themselves, namely by setting their accounts to verse in “Les Feux,” he also seems to have recognized that the epic genre to which Les Tragiques belongs was well suited to enhance their voices and revitalize the traditional approach to martyrological writing that Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs first introduced to the French-reading public. It is to this subject of a new kind of martyrological

26 By ‘French martyrology’, it should be somewhat obvious that I mean the French vernacular tradition that Reformed martyrologist Jean Crespin initiated in 1554. 27 Here Aubigné closely echoes his predecessors. A similarly expressed desire to write fidèlement can be found in Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs, the martyrology par excellence.

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writing, epic martyrology, that we will now turn in an analysis of Aubigné’s fourth book in

Les Tragiques, “Les Feux.”

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III. Une langue de flamme: The Language of the Epic Martyrology

The epic martyrology is, for the most part, Aubigné’s own creation. It is a subgenre and style of writing that borrows from the epic and the Reformed martyrology, revealing characteristic traits from both traditions in its presentation of acts of martyrdom. “Les

Feux” is an embodiment of the epic martyrology in that it is a book of martyrs whose accounts Aubigné modeled after Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs, the quintessential

Reformed martyrology, but are also an integral part of the version of the Reformed

Church’s history that the epic Les Tragiques tells.

In merging the epic and the martyrology, Aubigné transforms the language of traditional martyrological writing from descriptive and prescriptive to language that is poetic and rhetorically charged in ways that would be ideal for moving the reader. So whereas Crespin’s largely straightforward and systematic treatment of acts of martyrdom moved sixteenth-century readers by virtue of the martyrs’ recorded actions, writings, and words,28 Aubigné’s highly stylistic and often hyperbolic treatment of many of the same acts of martyrdom would have further moved seventeenth-century readers of “Les Feux” by way of the book’s poetic devices and illustrative energy. In other words, the epic martyrology has an additional emotion appeal that the traditional martyrology’s prose cannot match.

28 I have already discussed and presented evidence of the extent to which Crespin’s martyrology did in fact move sixteenth-century readers, as well as how they exerted influence. However, it bears repeating that the influence of traditional accounts of Reformed martyrdom was predominantly grounded in accessible, readable matters of faith, like the instructional value that martyrs’ confessions offered Reformers, or what a display of constancy might look like when enduring the pains of torture and suffering death at the stake. Hence the descriptive, unembellished style of writing in the Histoire des martyrs is significantly different from what we find in “Les Feux.”

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The emotional power that Aubigné aims to generate in “Les Feux” comes from his langue de flamme, which in the broadest sense of the term refers to his voice in Les

Tragiques. Key features inherent to this voice, as other scholars have also noted,29 are

Aubigné’s religious zeal and a sense of divine inspiration that intensify his poetic expression and impel him to inspire a similar zeal among his Reformed readers. In fact,

Aubigné writes of his langue de flamme this way in the epic’s sixth book, “Vengeances,” when he pleads with God to grant him the power to move his contemporary French readership:

D’un saint enthousiasme appelle au ciel mon âme, Mets au lieu de ma langue une langue de flamme,30 Que je ne sois qu’organe à la céleste voix Qui l’oreille et le cœur anime des François. (Tragiques VI.57-60)

With a saintly enthusiasm call my soul to the sky, Place in lieu of my tongue a tongue of fire, So that I am but a mouthpiece for the celestial voice That animates the ear and the heart of the French

Here Aubigné suggests that his divinely inspired poetic voice is a direct channel from God to the readers of Les Tragiques, and that it serves to rouse their religious zeal, or at the very least increase their engagement with the text.

Aubigné threads a similar concept of the langue de flamme throughout “Les Feux,” except he does so in relation to the Reformed martyrs, establishing connections between their abilities to vanquish the flames that consume their bodies with the God-given flames

29 Frank Lestrigant, for example, speaks to this motif of the langue de flamme, “paroles de feu,” and other such expressions in his chapter in Olivier Pot’s volume, Poétiques d’Aubigné (“Mugissement” 58). 30 Emphasis mine.

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of their faith, to cite but one example.31 In another case, he writes that a group of martyrs whose tongues had been removed were gifted symbolic yet more effective “langues de feu”

(tongues of fire) in absence of their real ones, describing their patient endurance of pain as

“paroles de feu” (words of fire) and an impactful display of their faith and divine election

(Aubigné, Tragiques IV.508; IV.510). Aubigné’s voice, then, must also be understood alongside the voices of the Reformed martyrs in “Les Feux” — he presents the langue de flamme as a divine gift that grants him and the Reformed martyrs powerful means of expression.

Critically speaking, Aubigné’s langue de flamme reveals how epic martyrology surpasses Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs in terms of reader engagement and emotional appeal. Aubigné exercises his impassioned voice in “Les Feux” to better engage and move his seventeenth-century reading public, deliberately blurring the lines between the language of the martyrologist and the language of the epic poet to enhance the persuasive effects of traditional martyrological writing. This process and our poet’s aims become apparent upon closer study of the accounts of Reformed martyrdom in “Les Feux.” Of particular importance is Aubigné’s attention to the “main marks of the martyr” that Crespin prescribed in the Histoire des martyrs,32 and that came to define the rhetoric of martyrdom33 in the late-sixteenth century (El Kenz 129). These characteristic traits include

31 Here I am referring to an account in which Aubigné writes that the “feu de sa foi” (fire of her faith) was able to “vaincre les autres flames” (vanquish the other flames), meaning the flames that consumed the martyr’s body (Tragiques IV.194). 32 The martyr must shed blood; religious doctrine must be the cause for condemnation; the martyr must be tried and sentenced by a judge or tribunal; and, finally, the martyr must show constancy at all times. 33 In her book Burning Zeal, Nikki Shepardson describes the rhetoric of martyrdom as a rebirth, or a renewal of the language of suffering. Shepardson confirms that one of the main purposes of this language was to “strengthen the (Reform) movement from within” (14).

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the martyr’s willingness to sacrifice all earthly things for eternal reward, his or her sense of conviction in matters of the Reformed faith, the display of constancy in torment and in death, and finally, the martyr’s joy in suffering death for the Reformed faith and movement.

The pages that follow contain close-readings of accounts of Reformed martyrdom in

“Les Feux” that exemplify Aubigné’s treatment of sacrifice and reward, conviction, constancy, and joy. Each of these four motifs that are integral to the Reformed martyrology has its own subsection in which I first describe the concept in relation to the martyrological tradition. I then introduce a martyrological account in “Les Feux” that demonstrates how

Aubigné’s langue de flamme enhances its potential to affect his readership. Lastly, I offer reflections on these accounts of Reformed martyrdom that are crucial to upholding my argument that Aubigné, in creating the epic martyrology, sought to bolster seventeenth- century perceptions of the history of the Reform and reenergize the movement.

* * *

Sacrifice & Reward

Celui qui conservera sa vie la perdra, et celui qui perdra sa vie à cause de moi la retrouvera. (Nouvelle Edition de Genève, Matthieu 10.37-39)

Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. (New Revised Standard Version, Matthew 10:37-39)

The biblical motifs of sacrifice and reward, as expressed, for example, in the Book of Matthew, fueled early modern martyrological traditions, both Catholic and Reformed.

However, Reformers had a distinct way of interpreting the idea of sacrifice in the Bible, and the reward of salvation that it often entails, that distinguished their representations of sacrifice in the martyrology from those of their Catholic counterparts. Whereas Catholics

She also discusses its capacity to inspire potential Reformed sympathizers or even recruit followers.

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believed that the “perfect sacrifice,” which is to say Christ’s death on the cross, could be imitated and repeated by their martyrs, Reformers asserted that this sacrifice was unique

(Johns 245). The result was that in the Catholic martyrology the death of the martyr was the central event, as it was thought to mirror Christ’s sacrifice, and was a pretext for the

Catholic practice of venerating their martyrs. Contrarily, in the Reformed tradition the martyr’s death was a testament to his or her Christ-like virtues, which were of course revered by Reformed readers, but these readers did not worship the martyrs themselves.

The notion of sacrifice in the Reformed martyrology was the pretext for celebrating the

Christian virtues that guided martyrs in life and were confirmed in death.

Crespin’s accounts of martyrdom in the Histoire des martyrs demonstrate this distinctly Reformed understanding of sacrifice. In his martyrology, words of praise and mention of reward in the afterlife for having lived according to Reformed principles of belief outshine the details surrounding the martyr’s death. What Crespin’s language of sacrifice would have encouraged readers to admire was not the martyr’s self-sacrificial act per se, but rather the religious convictions and qualities that made said martyr worthy of eternal life in God’s kingdom.

In “Les Feux,” Aubigné also foregrounds the praiseworthy and Christ-like virtues of

Reformed martyrs in accounts that focus on the theme of sacrifice and reward. Following

Crespin, he harnesses the celebratory language that praises the Reformed martyrs in question and seeks to inspire admiration and awe in his readers. Aubigné differs from

Crespin through the display of his rhetorical skills in his poetic rendition of acts of martyrdom in which he seeks to enhance the emotional impact of the martyrs’ sacrifice and anticipated reward. In particular, he often relies on figures of amplification to create

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emotionally charged passages, as well as figures of pathos to evoke an emotional response from his readers.

This is perhaps most apparent in Aubigné’s 73-line account of Jane Grey, a martyr whose story would have been well known to the seventeenth-century reader.34 Her account reveals Aubigné’s unique approach to the theme of sacrifice and reward by way of his heightened attention to stylistic details that amplify the portrayal of her virtues. This concerns his use of figures like enumeration, hyperbole, and juxtaposition, but also includes his use of direct dialogue to enhance the reader’s engagement with the account.

Furthermore, Aubigné’s deliberate consideration of gender and female virtue, in particular, makes his martyrological writing stand out and well suited to captivate his audience.

Aubigné’s account of the martyrdom of Jane Grey introduces the motif of sacrifice and reward in reverse order. That is, Aubigné first asserts the martyr’s victory, then offers praise of her proven superiority, and follows the mention of her reward of salvation with that of her sacrifice:

Or l’autre avec sa foi garda aussi le rang D’un esprit tout royal, comme royal le sang. Un royaume est pour elle, un autre Roi lui donne Grâce de mépriser la mortelle couronne En cherchant l’immortelle, et lui donna des yeux Pour troquer l’Angleterre au Royaume des Cieux (Tragiques IV.207-12)

The other with her faith also kept her rank With a spirit so royal, like her royal blood. A kingdom is hers, another King gives her Grace to show contempt for the mortal crown

34 Jane Grey was England’s infamous “nine days Queen,” and the subject of much interest in France, for her character, her writings, and, of course, her execution (Snook 47). The story of Jane’s martyrdom gained momentum in France, as well, and would remain a source of inspiration for the French well after the sixteenth century, even around the time of the French Revolution, as paintings of her suggest. Highlighting her erudition and religious zeal, Paul F.M. Zahl aptly describes her as a “bookish child prodigy turned Reformation legend” (57).

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In searching for immortality, and gave her eyes To trade England for the Kingdom of Heaven

In accordance with Reformed interpretations of the concept of sacrifice, the martyr’s death is not the central event. Rather, Aubigné draws the reader’s attention to Grey’s faith and signals it as the key to her success and elevated status (“sa foi… le rang”) — a status that he also attributes to her character (“son esprit”), which he implies by way of the comparative conjunction “comme” is secondary to her status as a royal (“royal le sang”).

Aubigné then denotes her reward as a kingdom (“un royaume”), but creates an atmosphere of suspense with his use of an indefinite article and other vague descriptors like “autre” before finally confirming that her reward is in fact eternal life in God’s kingdom

(“Royaume des Cieux”).

It is only after introducing Grey’s admirable qualities and confirming her salvation that Aubigné addresses her sacrifice. However, he does not immediately refer to her martyrdom, choosing instead to expand the conception of sacrifice as the loss of life for greater gain after death to include her personal and material forfeitures. Aubigné tells his readers that Jane must despise earthly pleasures in order to merit eternal life (“mépriser la mortelle courrone”), an ability that he suggests can only come from God (“un autre Roi lui donne”). The poet further specifies that the martyr must give up her attachments to England

(“troquer l’Angleterre”), a sacrifice of her native land that also entails renouncing any personal ties or power that she may have had there. He then relates the passage back to the virtuous qualities that motivate her actions: “Car elle aima bien mieux régner sur elle- même” (because she loved to better govern herself) (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.213). In this way, Aubigné demonstrates his knowledge of the Reformed understanding of sacrifice, but also gives the reader other ways to think about what martyrs must give up, in addition to

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their lives, and the superior qualities inherent to those who have been martyred for their faith.

Following the notion of exchange that the verb ‘troquer’ implies, Aubigné portrays

Grey’s sacrifices as a series of exchanges between her trials on earth and her rewards in heaven. His use of enumeration and juxtaposition, figures of amplification and comparison, bring to the surface the contrast between mortal and martyr and emphasize in no uncertain terms the magnitude of Grey’s sacrifice:

Prisonnière çà-bas, mais princesse là-haut, Elle changea son trône empour un échafaud, Sa chaire de parade en l’infime sellete, Son carrosse pompeux en l’infâme charrette, Ses perles d’Orient, ses brassards émaillés En cordeaux renoués et en fers tous rouillés. (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.215-20)

Prisoner over there, but princess above, She exchanged her throne for a scaffold, Her lavish skin for the small tribunal bench Her pompous carriage for a vile carriage Her Oriental pearls, her golden armbands For knotted ropes and iron.

Yet again Aubigné conveys a broader, more complex notion of sacrifice than seventeenth- century readers, especially those familiar with traditional Reformed martyrologies, may have otherwise anticipated. Some of Grey’s sacrifices are material, like relinquishing exotic pearls (“perles d’Orient”) and adornments (“brassards émaillés”), while others are physical, such as enduring imprisonment and judicial torture (“prisonnière ça-bas; l’infime sellete”).

Hence for Aubigné, there are numerous dimensions to the martyr’s sacrifice. Moreover, by enumerating them, Aubigné seems intent on stirring the reader’s awe and admiration of

Grey’s sacrifice, saturating the page with her acts of selflessness in choosing to abandon material goods and personal comfort for the sake of her faith.

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Alongside the enumeration of Grey’s sacrifices in the above-cited passage, Aubigné relies on juxtapositions to communicate the immense strength of will and character that separates mortals from martyrs. Aubigné contrasts decidedly positive, desirable items and qualities like beautiful skin and luxurious jewelry with negative images and associations that coincide with Grey’s path to martyrdom, such as the torture and execution phases. The fact that she willingly relinquishes the good for the bad, and on so many occasions, serves to reinforce Grey’s firmness of mind and her awe-inspiring demonstration of the extent to which martyrs embody the Reformed notion of sacrifice. Similarly, Aubigné’s use of juxtaposition in this instance allows him to better guide the reader toward an enthusiastic and supportive attitude of Grey’s act of martyrdom and the history of Reformed sacrifice more generally.

In addition to figures of style, Aubigné enhances reader engagement with the account and the motif of sacrifice by including Grey’s own words. And though he specifies that these were written and not spoken — “Avec ces mots écrits :…” (with these words written) — Aubigné presents them as if Grey were speaking to the reader, much like our poet does throughout “Les Feux,” using the second personal singular pronoun “tu” in what reads as a direct address (Tragiques IV.233). It is curious that Aubigné focuses on orality and not literacy, effectively changing what Grey had actually written to create an imagined speech, especially since this martyr and queen was known for her writings. But an authorial intervention such as this is not an uncommon occurrence in “Les Feux.” In fact, Aubigné seems intent on making martyrs speak in “Les Feux,” and in this way veers significantly from Crespin’s cautious style and non-interference approach.35 By changing the type of

35 As compiler and editor of the martyrology, Crespin altered his accounts of Reformed martyrdom in the Histoire des martyrs, which I discuss in this dissertation’s first chapter.

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delivery from writing to speech, Aubigné adds performative force to the already engaging first-person perspective of Grey’s account, thereby evincing yet again a desire to revitalize martyrological writing.

Finally, there is the question of gender in Aubigné’s account. Aubigné signals

Grey’s gender as early as the third line with the stressed pronoun “elle,” and uses feminine forms of words six additional times across only eight lines in what is surely an intentional emphasis of her femaleness (Tragiques IV.209). However, once he establishes that the martyr in question is female, Aubigné soon turns to the masculine forms of nouns, likewise emphasizing the typically masculine qualities that Grey possesses, like intellect, moral strength, and superior verbal skills — and in fact, Aubigné downplays typical associations to female power, like pathos, choosing instead to highlight her masculine actions and character attributes (Nelson 5-6). Aubigné’s portrayal of Grey as surpassing men in nearly every way is a veritable topos in “Les Feux,”36 and serves to convey the idea that such rare examples of women — who are not, in these cases, naturally weaker than men — must surely have been chosen and influenced by God. In other words, for Aubigné, Grey’s masculine displays of strength and the feat of martyrdom that she achieved were not really her own, but rather a sign and manifestation of divine power. Aubigné uses the female as a template on which he may then paint a portrait of the incredible, transformational effects of the Reformed faith on its followers. He therefore emphasizes her femaleness only insofar as it gives readers an awe-inspiring example of the extent of such faith-based transformations,

However, a major difference between Crespin and Aubigné is that Crespin modified accounts largely for the sake of readability, and did not change aspects of the account as significant as the type of speech delivery. 36 Aubigné’s account of the martyrdom of Anne Askew, another female martyr in “Les Feux,” is yet another notable example that mirrors Grey’s account in many ways.

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which is no way a comment on gender among his contemporaries, meaning mere mortals.

Grey, the seventeenth-century reader would have readily recognized, was an exception and exceptional female.

The extraordinary examples of martyrdom, like Grey, that Aubigné chose for inclusion in his book of martyrs were surely meant to awe the seventeenth-century reader.

Aubigné’s attention to the awe-inspiring themes that were well-known traits of Reformed martyrs, like sacrifice and reward, are evidence of his authorial intent. In the case of Grey,

Aubigné’s use of rhetorical devices, and in particular enumeration and juxtaposition, but also gender, reveal his intentions to enhance the emotional impact of Jane’s martyrdom.

The desired effects on his seventeenth-century audience, as Aubigné’s writing suggests, include feelings of admiration, awe, and sympathy for Grey, and all Reformed martyrs, who approached the dernière épreuve and ultimate sacrifice with poise. Jane Grey was beheaded in 1554.

* * *

Conviction

In addition to the language of sacrifice and reward, Aubigné’s langue de flamme also enriches and revitalizes the martyr’s required display of religious conviction that the martyrologist almost always addresses in the traditional Reformed martyrology. In fact, the martyr’s demonstration of religious conviction was one of Crespin’s stipulated proofs that preconditioned his or her inclusion in the martyrology, thereby deciding whether or not said martyr would live on in the memories of Reformers as a witness of the Reformed faith.

Crespin and his sixteenth-century readers would have viewed the French term ‘conviction’ along the same lines as the Latin verb ‘convincere’, which meant to convict, to convince, to conquer, or to prove. The term conviction thus held a judiciary sense in the sixteenth

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century, and was understood as the action by which one proves either the guilt of someone else or his or her own innocence in a legal setting (“Conviction”). Religious conviction, of course, provoked especially high-stakes conflicts between Catholic authorities and

Reformers whose souls and salvation depended on their firm commitment to what they believed to be true in the eyes of God.37

For Crespin’s Reformed martyrs who had been condemned to death, usually on charges of heresy, the demonstration of religious conviction could take place in settings as varied as a jail cell or an execution site, but most preferably occurred during a formal trial or a court-ordered torture. In Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs, the martyr’s conviction appears to the reader as a verbally articulated adherence to the Reformed religion and cause. To the Reformed martyrologist and reader, this verbal manifestation of the martyr’s firmness of mind and strong beliefs was a means of proving innocence rather than guilt, and, by extension, defying judicial persecution. Hence, for early modern readers of accounts of Reformed martyrdom, the conviction that martyrs sought to prove during a trial or before an execution was twofold. On the one hand, the martyrs’ words and actions communicated their unfaltering belief in the Reformed faith and movement. On the other hand, their conviction provided a counter argument to the verdict of guilt shared by

Catholic authority figures like Parlement judges and magistrates, as well as those of an anti-Reformed perspective, including readers.

In “Les Feux,” Aubigné’s accounts of Reformed martyrdom that underscore the martyr’s conviction serve to further the persuasive and polemic dimensions of this

37 This notion of “high-stakes conflicts” comes from Martha Nussbaum’s discussion of religious conviction as distinct from other beliefs, as it concerns what she refers to as “the ultimate questions,” meaning questions of life, death, and salvation (168).

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characteristic feature of the traditional martyrology. Rather than present readers with proof of religious conviction merely to confirm a given Reformer’s commitment to their faith and worthiness of the title of martyr, Aubigné seems to use displays of conviction as a means of challenging Catholic authority to effect a shift in the reader’s perception of the martyr’s condemnation from guilty heretic to wrongly accused victim of judicial persecution. Such cases represent some of the many instances throughout Les Tragiques in which Aubigné engages his Catholic reader and readers whose stance may have been borderline sympathetic, but not supportive of Reformers’ beliefs and right to worship in France.

Aubigné’s langue de flamme is readily apparent in the martyr’s demonstration of conviction. Typically, he emphasizes aspects of the account that may bolster the martyr’s own authority and credibility. In the context of “Les Feux,” the martyr’s authority transpires vis-à-vis the persecutor or other figures delivering the condemnation, but

Aubigné’s intention is for the seventeenth-century reader to accept or be swayed by the martyr’s sense of command. Aubigné also poeticizes the martyr’s direct discourse in a way that renders his or her display of conviction markedly more violent in tone than what the reader would find in the Reformed martyrology. This, of course, has the effect of enhancing the martyr’s arguments, critiques, and justifications in the presence of judges and other

Catholic officials, and in turn, increasing the likelihood of moving readers toward an understanding of the Reformed martyr’s position as a victim of persecution. The account of the martyrdom of Anne du Bourg, one of the first high profile executions in Reformation

France,38 offers a case in point — that is, it shows how our poet manipulates the motif of

38 Bourg’s status as a social elite is singular. The social elite, in general, represent a small portion of any given Reformed martyrology. Here Aubigné turns to Bourg and speaks first of his social status in what may well be an effort to instill his book of martyrs with an authority figure.

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conviction to effect a shift in the reader’s perception of Bourg from a guilty heretic to a wrongly condemned Reformer.

Aubigné wastes no time with a lengthy introduction to the already well-known martyrological account of Bourg, a former magistrate of the Parlement of Paris and early adherent of the Reformed religion (Pettegree 118). Instead, a mere eight-line passage serves as a preface to the account, and as early as the outset indicates the poet’s intention to boost the martyr’s image and sway the reader’s attitude toward him:

Entre ceux dont l’esprit peut être traversé De l’espoir du futur, du loyer du passé, Du Bourg aura ce rang : son cœur pareil à l’âge, A sa condition l’honneur de son courage, Son esprit indompté au Seigneur des Seigneurs Sacrifia son corps, sa vie et ses honneurs. Des promesses de Dieu il vainquit les promesses Des Rois, et, sage à Dieu, des hommes les sagesses. (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.543- 50)

Among those whom the spirit can travel With hope for the future, with the weight of the past, Du Bourg will have this rank: his heart like his age, Like his condition the honor in his courage, His steadfast spirit like the Sovereign of Sovereigns He sacrificed his body, his life and his honors. With promises from God he vanquished the promises Of Kings, and, true to God, the truths of men.

In these introductory remarks, Aubigné encapsulates between “l’esprit” and “Son esprit” the qualities inherent to Bourg’s character, moving from the primordial experience of faith to the high esteem in which his contemporaries held him. Aubigné specifies that these traits were given to him by God, an idea that he emphasizes using the superlative-like structure

“Seigneur des Seigneurs.” Our poet also denotes the elevated rank that Bourg earned from

God for his honorable and courageous conduct in becoming a martyr. Importantly, Aubigné then gestures toward the kind of power that Bourg’s noble character and God-given, God-

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like spiritual nobility afforded him, which is to say the power to effectively have “vainquit” kings and men. What Aubigné means by ‘vanquished’ is not physical defeat, but rather a verbal, argument-oriented type of victory that the rhyme coupling of “promesses” and

“sagesses” convey. In this way, Aubigné seems to want to bolster our opinion of Bourg by highlighting the singularity of his person, while also foreshadowing the martyr’s demonstration of rhetorical skill with which he defeats his enemies and proves his conviction.

Following this prefatory material, Aubigné asserts the previously suggested authority of the martyr when he hands the account over to Bourg and makes him a speaking character: “En allant à la mort, tout plein d’autorité / Il prononça ces mots :…” (Going toward death, full of authority / He pronounced these words) (Tragiques IV.551-52).

According to Aubigné, Bourg exudes confidence and an air of self-mastery in his acceptance of death and his assumption of the role of porte-parole of his fellow Reformers.

Aubigné’s readers experience the majority and remainder of the martyrological account as if Bourg were telling it himself and in real time. From lines 552 to 574, Bourg delivers an uninterrupted speech to the readers of “Les Feux” that serves first and foremost to relay the martyr’s conviction. But by using sustained direct speech, a powerful and engaging narrative mode, Aubigné also adds an air of authenticity to Bourg’s sense of conviction, and furthers his poetic aims of persuading the reader.39 Furthermore, Aubigné’s poetic refashioning of Bourg’s speech — an at once authorial intervention and embellishment that

39 Following Bourg’s martyrdom, rumor quickly circulated that he had recanted before his execution at Place de Grève. Such rumors were not uncommon. Bourg was also criticized for having relied on the consolation and advice of a woman in a neighboring prison cell before fully embracing his role as martyr. Grounds for this critique were based on the fact that Bourg exhausted all of his appeals before accepting his death sentence.

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is unique to the epic martyrology — dramatizes and thus amplifies the reader’s engagement with the martyr’s message. Bourg’s message, in essence, is a violent critique of the judicial persecution of Reformers.

Through the voice of our poet-martyrologist, who writes as if his verse were the martyr’s actual words, Bourg challenges in no uncertain terms the judges who have condemned him to death: “… O Dieu de vérité / Montre à ces juges faux leur stupide ignorance, / Et je prononcerai, condamné, leur sentence” (Oh God of truth / Show these judges their false and stupid ignorance, / And I will pronounce, condemned, their sentence)

(Aubigné, Tragiques IV.552-54). By way of the juxtaposition between an all-knowing God and the enemy’s ignorance, Bourg appears to question the reasoning behind his own condemnation, as well as the intelligence of the judges who have charged him with heresy.

The repetition of three highly negative lexical items in close sequence, “faux,” “stupide,” and “ignorance,” renders Bourg’s criticism all the more violent. Moreover, the modification of the noun “ignorance” with the synonymous adjective “stupide” hyperbolizes an already sharp accusation of ineptitude on the part of Bourg’s persecutors. These lexical items designate the absence of truth (“vérité”), and, by extension, the absence of any connection with God and His omniscience (“Dieu de vérité”).

Bourg’s hyperbolic and violent language make him an epic martyr, as the poet

Aubigné, unlike the martyrologist Crespin, incorporates stylistic devices in what he presents as direct discourse and that is decidedly more impactful than traditional martyrological prose. This becomes increasingly evident as Bourg, through Aubigné, continues to elaborate his critique of those who persecute him, thereby providing readers with additional evidence of his conviction and further means through which he may move them. Indeed, having claimed that the judges who tried him are incapable of acquiring

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knowledge, Bourg goes on to declare them unfit to deliver a sentence on his behalf, and instead decides to deliver his own sentence:

Vous n’êtes, compagnons, plus juges, mais bourreaux, Car en nous ordonnant tant de tourments nouveaux Vous prêtez votre voix : votre voix inhumaine Souffre peine en donnant la sentence de peine, Comme à l’exécuteur le cœur s’oppose en vain Au coup forcé qui sort de l’exécrable main. (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.555-60)

You are not, comrades, great judges, but executioners, For in ordering so many new forms of torment You lend your voice: your inhumane voice Suffers the sentence by sentencing the punishment Like the executor the heart opposes in vain The fatal blow that comes from your heinous hand.

In this accusatory speech, Bourg seeks to criminalize the actions of judges. Bourg’s speech begins with the familiar “ne plus… mais” formula that Aubigné employs throughout Les

Tragiques to assign new roles to well-known figures. These judges are not judges, but rather executioners (“mais bourreaux”). According to Bourg, the innovative methods of torture (“tant de tourments nouveaux”) that the judges approve for use expose the inhumanity of France’s feigned upholders of justice (“voix inhumaine”). The literary device anadiplosis, or the repetition of part of a clause at the beginning of a successive clause, highlights the plural possessive pronoun “votre” that designates the judges’ lack of humanity. Turning to the verb-adverb pair carried over from the enjambment at line 557, the reader’s focus turns to notions of “peine”. Bourg first mentions “souffre peine,” with

“peine” denoting the judge’s absence of feeling in condemning Reformers to death. At the end of this same line, Bourg repeats “peine” with “sentence de peine,” which designates the pain of the martyr. All suffering, Bourg concludes, stems from the abominable hand of justice (“exécrable main”).

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The final portion of Bourg’s poeticized monologue denotes political ties as the motivating factor for the judges in question, and not matters of faith. For the poet who has shown himself as fully committed to conveying the martyr’s conviction as valid and his condemnation unjust, these closing remarks are worth noting:

La crainte vous domine, ô ! Juges criminels, Criminels êtes-vous, puisque vous êtes tels. Vous dites que la loi du Prince publiée Vous a lié les mains : l’âme n’est pas liée ; Le front du juge droit, son sévère sourci Dût-il souffrir ces mots : le Roi le veut ainsi ? (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.567-72)

Fear dominates you, oh ! Criminal judges, Criminal are you, because you are such. You say that the published order of the Prince Has bound your hands: the soul is not bound; The forehead of the upstanding judge, his severe brow Did he have to say these words: the King wants it so?

Aubigné’s use of apostrophe in an emotionally charged address is surely meant to create feelings of anticipation and excitement before he presents a more precise picture of the circumstances of Bourg’s condemnation (“ô !”). Indeed, rather than discrediting the judges for their ignorance, or even addressing the theological points of contention that one would expect to be the underlying motivation for imprisonment, Aubigné unravels Bourg’s contemporary political conflicts between Reformed-leaning members of the nobility and the Catholic King. Using figurative language to highlight this part of Bourg’s address as significant, Aubigné presents an image of judges’ hands that the law has tied together and rendered useless (“liés les mains”), which he places in opposition to the soul, and by way of the same verb ‘lier’, insists that it is not tied to anything (“n’est pas liée”). Hence, Aubigné critiques the judges for an inefficacy that they had brought upon themselves by thinking that laws were more binding, or powerful, than the soul. Aubigné also repeats the second- person plural pronoun “vous” five times in only four lines, including an instance of

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anaphora in which the “vous” and “êtes” of the first clause are reversed in the second, thereby amplifying the accusatory, violent tone of Bourg’s reproach.

In Bourg’s address to the judges who tried him and ordered his execution,

Aubigné’s poetization of direct speech intensifies the martyr’s required display of conviction, as well as the accusations of unjust motivations that render his counterargument to his own condemnation all the more powerful. Aubigné, who ultimately controls Bourg’s discourse, differs from Reformed martyrologist Crespin in his use of violent, polemical language and figures of style, as well as in his attention to how the martyr verbally resists

Catholic authority, denounces the persecution of Reformers, and, most importantly, demonstrates his faith-based motives and commitment to the Reform. Having delivered his speech and shown his conviction at Place de Grève in Paris, just before Christmas in 1559,

Anne du Bourg was strangled and burned.

* * *

Constancy

When the Reformed martyrologist communicates the martyr’s conviction, it almost always entails a conflict between the steadfast beliefs of the martyr and the Catholic authorities who condemned him or her to death. A closely-related concept that is also typical of the Reformed martyrology — Crespin having prescribed it as one of the martyr’s required traits — is constancy. While conviction demonstrates an ability to argue for a faith-based cause, constancy is a firmness of mind that demonstrates the martyr’s unwavering faith. From the Latin ‘constantia’, meaning “steadiness, firmness, and perseverance,” in ancien français the term came to mean a “persévérance dans l’exécution d’un dessein” (perseverance in executing an intention) and a “fermeté d’âme” (firmness of

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soul) (“Constantia”; “Constance”). Contrary to conviction, the martyr does not need to pronounce a single word in order to effectively communicate his or her constancy.

The martyrologist often celebrates the martyr’s constancy in reference to his or her imprisonment and torture, which also provides the context for conveying it to readers. For

Crespin, the fact that condemned Reformers held true to their beliefs, especially through extreme pain and suffering, provided proof of constancy, even when they were unable to speak, exerting “an incontestable authority over the will” (Davies 56). For Crespin’s early modern reader, such signs of constancy would have accentuated the martyr’s subjectivity.

They would have understood, as Crespin had, the willingness of the individual to subject himself or herself to violence as the ultimate display of subjectivity.40 The martyrological trait of constancy was thus a potentially persuasive means of garnering additional support for the Reform or moving readers to sympathize with their cause, among other emotive possibilities.

In Aubigné’s epic martyrology and appropriation of Crespin’s martyrological accounts, constancy figures as an ideal theme for the poet to exercise his langue de flamme, thereby enhancing reader engagement. To be precise, because signs of constancy are largely non-verbal, Aubigné inevitably possesses a significant degree of authorial freedom in conveying the martyr’s strength of will. And unlike the descriptive language of the

40 Some scholars have argued the opposite. Elaine Scarry, for example, maintains that the pain of torture, rather than allowing the martyr to engage in non-verbal communication, “destroys a person’s self and world,” thus rendering subjectivity impossible (85). And while it is true that torture severely restricts sentient beings from experiencing and acting in the world just as they had done before the onset of pain, accepting and willingly enduring pain for the Reformed cause and faith speaks volumes. A choice is made in accepting and enduring pain, ergo subjectivity is confirmed.

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martyrologist, Aubigné’s poetic voice allows him to intensify the reader’s understanding of constancy by creating an intimate portrait of the martyr’s mental toughness and resilience.

The lengthy martyrological account of three family members, Phillipe de Gastine,

Richard de Gastine, and Nicolas Croquet, offers an illustrative example of Aubigné’s treatment of constancy. At the account’s outset Aubigné appears to conjure these martyrs from the dead, a tactic that is fundamentally epic and poetic, and tells readers that he aims to create a looking glass through which they may view the martyrs’ constancy:

Vous, Gastine et Croquet, sortez de vos tombeaux Ici je planterai vos chefs luisants et beaux ; Au milieu de vous deux je logerai l’enfance De votre commun fils, beau miroir de constance. (Tragiques IV.719-22)

You, Gastine and Croquet, come out from your graves Here I will plant your glistening and beautiful leaders; Between the two of you I will place the childhood Of your common son, beautiful mirror of constancy.

Aubigné directly addresses the martyrs, calling the adults by name and asking them to rise up from their graves to engage with the readers of “Les Feux” (“sortez de vos tombeaux”).

He also makes his narrative presence known, embracing the first person singular ‘je’ to reassert his authority as poet, which is to say his complete control over the martyrs’ accounts and the reader’s access to their experiences. He also confirms his intention to provide readers with an authentic, mirror-like portrait of constancy — or, as he poetically describes it, he is like the gardener who arranges (“je planterai”) glistening and beautiful leaders (“chefs luisants et beaux”) so that the readers of “Les Feux” may better perceive the luminous reflections of their constancy (“mirouer de constance”).

Aubigné chooses the youngest of the three martyrs, Richard, to give his seventeenth-century readers their first point for reflection on constancy in this intimate and

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striking tableau. Given Gastine’s youth,41 his ability to achieve the status of martyr would likely have peaked the reader’s interest. But before evoking these later trials that Gastine endured, Aubigné addresses his imprisonment, comparing it to a kind of schooling or mental training:

Dans l’obscure prison, par les claires raisons Il vainquit l’obstiné, redressa le débile, Assuré de sa mort il prêcha l’Evangile. (Tragiques IV.724-26)

In the obscure prison, by way of clear reasoning He vanquished the obstinate, corrected the weak, Sure of his death he prayed in Reformed manner.

In the obscurity of prison (“l’obscure prison”), Aubigné tells readers, the young Gastine gained access to obscurity’s antithesis, the lights of reason (“les claires raisons”). As

Aubigné’s antithetical and metaphorical light-shadow image suggests, the future martyr learned by doing, by enduring. Similarly, Aubigné denotes Gastine’s demonstrated perseverance in overcoming an obstinate force (“vainquit l’obstiné”), and that he found self-assurance in death (“Assuré de sa mort”), as well as its antithesis, life, in Reformed theology (“il prêcha l’Evangile”). For Aubigné, then, to suffer the pains of imprisonment is to learn the word of God and, importantly, develop the mental toughness characteristic of the Reformed martyr.

In addition to the connection that Aubigné establishes between imprisonment and

Gastine’s mental training on his path toward martyrdom, he also signals a shift in the

41 According to Jean-Raymond Fanlo in his critical edition of Les Tragiques, Richard de Gastine may have been young, but it appears that he was a married man at the time of his imprisonment, and therefore not a child in the sense that Aubigné’s account leads readers to believe (538). It is only a hypothesis, but Aubigné may have portrayed him as younger than he actually was for the same reason he may have chosen to emphasize Jane Grey’s gender — that is, to underscore the extent to which these martyrs are divinely inspired, meaning the incredible, almost unbelievable powers that their faith grants them.

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meaning of imprisonment from punishment to freedom. This change in perspective, as

Aubigné implies, is only possible through sheer willpower and is therefore proof of constancy:

La coutume rend douce une captivité, Nous trouvons le chemin bref à la liberté : L’amère mort rendra toute amertume éteinte ; Pour une heure de mort avoir vingt ans de crainte ! (Tragiques IV.775-78)

Custom renders soft a period of captivity, We find the road to freedom short: Bitter death will render all bitterness obsolete; For one hour dying one has twenty years of fear!

Here Aubigné integrates the notion of time with pain to render Gastine’s imprisonment an admirable experience. The terms “coutume” and “captivité” communicate a prolonged period of time, which Aubigné then juxtaposes with the image of a short path to freedom that the martyr finds in death (“le chemin bref… à la liberté”). Aubigné suggests that the pain of a bitter death is desirable in that it is relatively short-lived (“L’amère mort”), and that death allows the martyr to put a definitive end to suffering (“rendra… éteinte”). Indeed, a mere hour of pain extinguishes twenty years of fear (“une heure de mort… vingt ans de crainte”), should the martyr prove capable of finding freedom and not fear in pain.

Having presented readers with a vivid tableau of Gastine’s imprisonment, near the middle of this same account, Aubigné turns to notions of constancy while enduring the pains of torture: “S’ils vous ôtent vos yeux, vos esprits verront Dieu ; / Votre langue s’en va : le cœur parle en son lieu” (If they take out your eyes, your spirits will see God; / Your tongue removed, the heart speaks in its place) (Tragiques IV.847-48). Much like the way that Aubigné described the martyr’s ability to assign new and positive meaning to the otherwise grim experience of being imprisoned, here he explains that the constancy of

Reformed martyrs was such that the prospect of having their eyes and tongues removed was

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welcomed, as they believed that it granted them more effective communicative capacities.

The removal of the eyes, Aubigné specifies, would allow the spirit to see God (“vos esprits verront Dieu”), just as the removal of tongues would allow the heart to speak in the absence of words (“le cœur parle en son lieu”). Aubigné further vivifies these already graphic descriptions by way of consonance, a rhetorical device often used in epic poetry to create an alluring rhythm or tone. The repetition of the consonant “v” in line 847, which carries over to line 848, has a hastening effect that Aubigné may have intended to enliven the seventeenth-century reader’s mental image of martyrs’ abilities to see and speak even after their organs of speech and hearing had been removed. By conveying the martyr’s constancy in this way — through his langue de flamme and the poetic devices that Crespin does not use — Aubigné shows evidence of wanting his seventeenth-century readers to be awed by the constancy of Reformed martyrs and the divinely-inspired powers it grants them.

After a series of tableaux in which Aubigné celebrates the three martyrs for their firmness of mind and unwavering adherence to the Reformed faith, he concludes his account on the Gastine family in a moving scene that centers on the mentality of martyrs just before death. In this scene, Aubigné creates a dialogue between the young Gastine and his father in which the son, in an instance of role reversal that is commonplace in Les

Tragiques, offers a lesson in moral strength to the older Gastine. The father begins this dialogue by expressing a deep sense of sadness and distress at the prospect of not having taught his son to die:

C’est donc en pleurs amers que j’irai au tombeau, Mon fils, mon cher espoir, mais plus cruel bourreau De ton père affligé :… … Regretterai-je donc le soin de te nourrir ? N’as-tu pu bien vivant apprendre à bien mourir ? (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.927-29; IV.931-32)

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It is thus with aggrieved tears that I go to the grave, My son, my only hope, but crueler executioner Of your afflicted father… … Will I thus regret having nourished you? Were you not able to learn to die while alive?

The older Gastine is understandably conflicted with regard to his duties as martyr and as father. On the one hand, he questions whether or not his own resolution to die a martyr

(“j’irai au tombeau”) also makes him his son’s executioner (“mais plus cruel bourreau”).

On the other hand, he questions whether or not he has fulfilled his duty as father and taught his son the skills he needed in life to properly accept death if called upon by God to die for the Reformed cause and faith. Aubigné then juxtaposes the older Gastine’s anxieties, which he also enumerates to create anticipation, with the son’s concise but powerful response:

“L’enfant rompt ces propos : ‘… mon esprit est un fourneau de feux :… Aller faire mourir la mort avec ma mort !’” (The child interrupts these words:… my spirit is a furnace of fire:… Go forward and kill death with my death”) (Tragiques IV.933; 940; 944). The young Gastine’s succinct reply, which clearly foregrounds the son’s constancy, but also his maturity that seems to exceed that of his father, makes the older Gastine’s lengthy and drawn out woes appear childish. Moreover, Aubigné has the young Gastine liken his spirit to fire and suggests that it is more powerful than death, thus further inciting feelings of astonishment over the Reformed martyr’s willpower and faith. Aubigné confirms that the son’s lesson in constancy was successful, and then tells his readers that they walked confidently and willingly toward death. Philippe de Gastine, Richard de Gastine, and

Nicolas Corquet were hung at Place de Grève in Paris in 1569 for having exercised the

Reformed faith inside their home.

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Joy

In addition to his accounts of Reformed martyrdom that showcase the inspiration that comes from the martyr’s willingness to sacrifice, the argumentative function of conviction, and the agency that a display of constancy grants the martyr, Aubigné also gives sustained attention to the martyrological motif of joy in his epic martyrology. In the

Reformed martyrological tradition, the martyrologist depicted the martyr’s inner joy while contemplating the prospect of martyrdom, as well as his or her outward joyous demeanor in torture and death. In so doing, the martyrologist sought to create an appealing image of what the martyr experienced, both to promote the faith — as faith was what inspired joy

— and to celebrate the martyrs’ victories of eternal life with God (Monta 162). Reformed martyrologist Crespin, in particular, was relatively conservative in conveying outward displays of elation, typically modeling joy as an inner peace and a calm contentment at the time of execution. There are some accounts in his Histoire des martyrs, however, that make the martyr’s elated behavior and mentality the climax of the narrative, where scenes of joy often outweigh the tableaux of pain and torment. Crespin portrayed the martyr’s joy as exceeding the martyr’s pain to confirm the martyr’s spiritual triumph over persecution.

The epic martyrology was well suited for this endeavor of making a meaningful impact on Aubigné’s seventeenth-century audience. To be sure, Aubigné had the poetic know-how to create the kinds of colorful and moving portraits of acts of martyrdom that could have potentially led readers to interpret them as joyous events to be admired and remembered.42 In “Les Feux,” Aubigné, like Crespin, also aimed to convey the Reformed

42 Aubigné’s illustrative, poetic writing is closer to that of English martyrologist John Foxe than to Crespin’s style in presenting the martyr’s joy. However, since we do not have enough evidence to claim with any degree certainty that Aubigné read Foxe, I do not think

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martyr’s joy. But largely through figures of resemblance and emphasis, among other poetic devices, a seventeenth-century reader would have found Aubigné’s accounts to be more dynamic and engaging than the Histoire des martyrs, what with its restrained style.

Aubigné’s accounts are colorful and energetic, revealing life-like images in hyperbolized scenes that he intended to grab and hold the attention of his readers.

The martyrological account of Marie from Flanders offers a singular first example, as Aubigné himself states at its outset, wherein the poet’s highly illustrative and hyperbolic langue de flamme draws a lifelike portrait of the Reformed martyr’s joy:

Je veux tirer à part la constant Marie, Qui voyant en mépris le tombeau de sa vie Et la terre et le coffre et les barres de fer Où elle allait le corps et non l’âme étouffer (Tragiques IV.529-32)

I want to turn my attention to the constant Marie, Who seeing with contempt the tomb that was her life And the ground and the coffin and the iron bars Where she went to suffocate her body and not her soul

Aubigné makes his narrative presence known by employing the first-person singular ‘je’, an implicit means of signaling the singularity of Marie’s martyrdom, likewise stating in more explicit terms that her case stands out from other martyrological accounts (“tirer à part”). As the reader soon learns, Marie is to be buried alive and not burned.43 Aubigné

that we can draw any significant conclusions by comparing their works. Katherine Maynard offers perhaps the best insight into the many stylistic similarities between Aubigné and Foxe. I agree with Maynard in that it “would be irresponsible” to claim that Foxe was a source of inspiration for Aubigné, and that the similarities between the two martyrologists “aesthetic choices” speak more to “a developing iconography” and “a sensibility for tales with illustrative potential” than our poet’s deliberate engagement with Foxe’s martyrology (“Writing” 42). 43 Here Aubigné’s approach clashes with the Augustinian adage that discourages followers from focusing on the martyr’s poena. It could be argued, however, that focusing on the punishment, pain, and death of the martyr contributes to the account’s capacity to persuade the reader, and, by extension, the Reformed cause.

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diminishes the horror of Marie’s punishment with a set of positive associations — an audience could take “le tombeau de sa vie” to mean her lived life as the tomb, in which case death is a divine gift. Alternately, they could take this to mean her death in the tomb as the beginning of eternal life. In like manner, Aubigné also creates a positive association between the earth and her tomb by placing “la terre” at the fore of a set of forms of confinement. While the earth, the coffin, and the iron bars of a prison cell represent the binding forces that aim to confine guilty victims, Aubigné previews for his audience

Marie’s victory and her triumphant soul (“non l’âme étouffer”).

For Aubigné, although it may be impossible to suffocate the martyr’s soul, he does not gloss over the unpleasant fact that Marie’s body was indeed buried while she was still alive. Marie died a horrible death, and our Reformed poet-martyrologist does not hide this from his audience. From the martyr’s death, however, comes a rebirth:

C’est, ce dit-elle, ainsi que le beau grain d’élite Et s’enterre, et se sème afin qu’il ressuscite. Si la moitié de moi pourrit devant mes yeux, Je dirai que cela va le premier aux cieux (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.533-36)

It is, she said, in this way that the fine, elite seed In order to come back to life buried and sowed itself. If half of me decayed before my eyes, I would say that that part would be the first to ascend

As Crespin would have done, Aubigné signals the transfer of Marie’s decaying body (“moy pourrit”) from earth to heaven (“le premier aux cieux”). As access to heaven is a reward worth celebrating, Aubigné ends his account with a lexicon indicative of satisfaction:

La belle impatience et le désir du reste, C’est de hâter l’effet de la terre céleste. Terre, tu es légère et plus douce que miel, Sainte terre, tu es le droit chemin du ciel. (Tragiques IV.537-40)

Beautiful impatience and the desire for what follows, Hasten the advent of the celestial land.

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Earth, you are light and softer than honey, Saintly earth, you are the direct path toward heaven.

To convey Marie’s eagerness to fulfill her role as martyr, Aubigné describes her impatience as beautiful (“belle impatience”) and her anticipation of reward (“le désir du reste”) as a kind of reward in and of itself (“hâter l’effet”). Hence, the ground in which Marie finds herself is celestial (“terre céleste”). Aubigné seems intent on further shaping the reader’s associations between the pleasantness that the earth provides and martyrdom when he repeats the synonyms “légère” and “douce.” For Aubigné, Marie’s grave is soft and sweet, like honey (“miel”). Such positive, joyous imagery would encourage the seventeenth- century reader to see the Reformed martyr as an accomplished and contented heroine in achieving martyrdom. In 1545, Marie was buried alive in the northern portion of present- day Belgium.

As was typical of Reformed martyrological writing, Aubigné makes Marie’s spiritual victory the culminating point in his account of her act of martyrdom. Reformed martyrologist Crespin, Aubigné’s source, usually began an account with known biographical information, followed by the martyr’s experience of judicial torment and execution. While Aubigné often adheres to this structure, there are several accounts in “Les

Feux” in which he presents the martyr as victorious at the outset, and others that omit altogether the biographical information and the details of the martyr’s trial or execution.

This differs significantly from the approach of a martyrologist like Crespin, who made a point to separate the stages of a martyr’s account and include as many details as he could.

Aubigné’s martyrological writing is not that methodical or comprehensive.

In the nine-line account of the English martyr Thomas Haux, for example, Aubigné asserts the martyr’s victory before providing the reader with any details: “Tu as ici ton rang,

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ô invincible Haux !” (Here you achieve your earned status, oh invincible Haux) (Tragiques

IV.127). When Aubigné introduces Haux, he does so with an interjection rather than a first name (“ô”), thus drawing attention to the adjective ‘invincible’ used to modify the surname

Haux. Aubigné then positions the martyr’s body in a way that signals his triumph over his punishment: “Qui pour avoir promis de tenir les bras hauts / Dans le milieu du feu,…”

(Who for having promised to hold his arms high / In the middle of the flames) (Tragiques

IV.128-29). Arms raised (“bras hauts”), the flames have little impact on the martyr’s will.44

Aubigné encourages the reader to view Haux’s feat in awe, moving from head to toe, the opposite direction in which the martyr would burn, as he enumerates the body parts that the fire reaches: “Sa face était brûlée, et les cordes des bras / En cendres et charbons étaient chutes en bas” (His face was burned, and the ropes around his arms / In ash and coal fell to the ground) (Tragiques IV.131-32). Aubigné returns to the head, where the fire leaves behind proof of the martyr’s victory over suffering: “Quand Haux, en octroyant aux frères leur requête, / Des os qui furent bras fit couronne à sa tête” (When Haux, in granting his brothers their request, / The bones of his arms made a crown atop his head) (Tragiques

IV.133-34). Thomas Haux received the martyr’s crown (“couronne”) in 1555.

The martyr’s crown is a common topos in Reformed martyrological accounts, as it signals triumph and explains the joy in suffering that martyrs express. According to John

Knott, the joy of martyrdom is ultimately about a particular reward:

Christian martyrology typically celebrates the peace and joy of martyrs, who are often represented as displaying imperturbable faith and as welcoming whatever pain the torturer or executioner can inflict in the confidence that they will soon be united with God. (722)

44 Thomas promised friends and family that he would give them a sign if God had freed him from pain.

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The anticipated union between the martyr and God following an act of martyrdom, as Knott suggests, is grounds for celebration. Indeed, Reformers like Aubigné view their faith as a means of fostering an intimate union with God. More exactly, the martyrologist often depicts the union as a marriage. This is the case, for example, in Aubigné’s account of

Philippes de Luns, “la demoiselle de Gravon” (Histoire universelle I.234-35).

Gravon, as Aubigné tells us, knew what behavior was expected of her, but harbored doubts and fear at the thought of suffering:

Cette-ci, en lisant avec fréquents soupirs L’incroyable constance et l’effort des Martyrs, Doutait la vérité en mesurant la crainte (Tragiques IV.479-81)

This one here, when reading with frequent gasps The incredible constancy and effort of the martyrs, Doubted the truth in measuring fear

Gravon read martyrological accounts (“en lisant”), but she was not immediately inspired to action by their constancy, however incredible it may have been (“L’incroyable constance”).

Faith, however, ultimately extinguishes her fears: “L’esprit la visita, la crainte fut éteinte”

(The spirit visited her, and fear was extinguished) (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.482). With a renewed sense of confidence, Gravon rejects her fragility by rejecting her own tears in an address to another female martyr: “‘Ma sœur, vois-tu ces pleurs, vois-tu ces pleurs ma sœur

? / Ces pleurs sont toute l’eau qui me restait au cœur ” (My sister do you see these tears, do you see these tears my sister? / These tears are all the water that is left in my heart)

(Aubigné, Tragiques IV.487-88). Indeed, Aubigné’s use of epanalepsis, or the repetition of

“ma sœur,” as well as conduplicatio, or the repetition of “vois-tu ces pleurs” at opposite ends of adjacent clauses, draws the reader’s attention to Gravon’s gender and her tears

(“pleurs”). Using “Heureuse Gravon” as an example, Aubigné challenges the utility of

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grief, suggesting instead that women celebrate their union with God (Tragiques IV.469). In this sense, martyrdom is a marriage ceremony:

Ce cœur ayant jeté son humide faiblesse, Tout feu, saute de joie et vole d’allégresse. La brave se para au dernier de ses jours, Disant : « Je veux jouir de mes saintes amours ; Ces joyaux sont bien peu, l’âme a bien autre gage De l’époux qui lui donne un si haut mariage. (Tragiques IV.489-94)

This heart having disposed of its weakness, All fire, leaps with joy and flutters with enthusiasm. The brave young woman dons on the last of her days, Saying: “I want to revel in my saintly loves; These jewels are trivial, the soul has a very different token From the spouse that gives her such a great marriage.

As Gravon is no longer held in a state of weakness by her tears (“son humide foiblesse”), the flames of her faith give rise to joy and enthusiasm (“saute de joye et volle d’allegresse”). Her preoccupations as a brave martyr (“La brave”) are reveling in the joys of divine love (“jouir de mes sainctes amours”). Gravon’s account ends in marriage

(“l’espoux qui luy donne un si haut mariage”). In 1553, “la demoiselle de Graveron” was burned in Paris for Reformed leanings.

* * *

Gravon, a Reformed victor and celebrated martyr, alongside Anne du Bourg, Marie of Flanders, the Gastine family, Jane Grey, and Thomas Haux, appear in “Les Feux” as admirable and valiant heroes with decidedly epic qualities. Aubigné’s langue de flamme, or his poetic voice, is what ultimately allows him to potentially shape his reader’s perception of these Reformed martyrs, and is also what separates the epic martyrology from the martyrology. The accounts of martyrdom in “Les Feux” reveal significant divergences from the Reformed martyrology that Crespin introduced to his sixteenth-century French-reading public, and that served as Aubigné’s template for his own martyrological writing. Crespin’s

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systematic approach to the structure and tone of the martyrology, and the descriptive language that characterize its accounts, are vastly different from the rhetorical energy and violent tone of Aubigné’s condensed yet poetic accounts in “Les Feux.”

And while the characteristic features of Crespin’s martyrology — that is, the themes of sacrifice and reward, conviction, constancy, and joy — have proven useful points of comparison for an analysis of Aubigné’s distinctive and intentionally stylistic rewriting of the Histoire des martyrs, there are equally powerful ways in which the poet deviates from his model. Notably, these deviations seem to capitalize on the sensory and visual aspects of martyrdom that Crespin underemphasized — likely deliberately, given the Calvinist aesthetic to which he adhered — and that would have been well suited to give Aubigné the intense emotional responses from his seventeenth-century readers that he so desperately wanted. It is to these aspects of Aubigné’s epic martyrology that I will now turn.

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IV. The Power of Pain

The martyrs of the Reform were subjected to painful forms of execution, yet

Reformed martyrologists present their experiences of pain as joyful and devoid of negative physical sensations, which coincide with their superhuman qualities and strengths. Such depictions were not unique to the Reformed martyrology, as Catholics, too, intended for reader’s to understand the martyr’s willing subjection to pain as a sacrifice in the name of the one true faith, its Sovereign, and His followers. However, Reformers refuted the

Catholic belief that the pain or bloodshed that an act of martyrdom entailed possessed expiatory powers, thereby rejecting the close association between the martyr and Christ

(Stylianou 541). Instead, the patient endurance of pain was understood by early modern

Reformers as proof of God’s approval of the beliefs and faith that the martyr embodied, and had the profound effect of promoting the Reform and furthering its spread in France, specifically in the sixteenth century.

But Aubigné published Les Tragiques and the epic’s book of martyrs, “Les Feux,” in the seventeenth century, long after martyrological accounts were at their most influential, and even longer after the acts of Reformed martyrdom had taken place. And while

Aubigné’s conception of the pain and bloodshed of Reformed martyrs would not have differed much from that of the sixteenth-century Reformer, the same cannot be said for his aims in reviving the influential mental images of the martyr in instances that presupposed the experience of bodily harm. Since hopes of a prominent Reformed presence in France had effectively ended with the Wars of Religion, Aubigné could not possibly have expected, as Reformed martyrologist Crespin had, for his attention to the martyr’s endurance of the pains of torture and death to be able to provoke religious conversions.

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Notions of pain in “Les Feux”, as Aubigné’s accounts of martyrdom suggest, appear to have been driven by his desire to rekindle and intensify feelings of awe and esteem among his seventeenth-century readership for the Reformed martyrs who had shaped their culture and identity. Like the langue de flamme that Aubigné used to these same ends in his rewriting of traditional martyrological features, one could argue that he also sought to engage the reader by evoking images of pain and recreating the sensory experience of martyrdom for his seventeenth-century reader. However, a crucial difference between these aspects of martyrdom is that Crespin does not foreground pain in the Histoire des martyrs, whereas Aubigné accentuates it. In essence, Aubigné seems to have appropriated an aspect of Reformed martyrdom that his predecessor had underemphasized in order, as the following pages demonstrate, to better move an audience that was more attuned to the violent and image-centric baroque aesthetic than they were to the simplicity and sobriety of

Calvinist-inspired works such as Crespin’s martyrology.

Perhaps the most prominent way in which Aubigné reveals his aim of enhancing reader engagement in “Les Feux” is through his treatment of the martyr’s experienced or imagined response to pain as a spectacle. This notion of spectacle includes the martyr’s personal experience of pain, a vantage point that is entirely of Aubigné’s own creation in

“Les Feux,” and pain as a public performance, which harnesses the immediacy and intensity that the reader might associate with an actual act of martyrdom. And finally, in addition to making a spectacle of the martyr’s pain, Aubigné’s accounts of Reformed martyrdom underscore the lack of pain that some Reformed martyrs allegedly demonstrated during torture and execution. Aubigné’s deliberate mise en texte of these passive recipients of what should have been pain and suffering serves to incite feelings of awe and esteem in the reader. For Aubigné, then, pain was an untapped source power and influence that he

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sought to explore in “Les Feux,” namely through notions of spectacle and the martyrs’ heroic sense of resilience.

* * *

Spectacle

In the sixteenth century, a Reformer’s execution was usually a public event, which attracted supporters and sympathizers of the Reform, bystanders, and, of course, Catholics who viewed the condemned as heretics deserving of death. These large crowds came in part to witness a spectacle of pain, either to admire the martyr’s patient endurance of it or in anticipation of outward signs of affliction that were considered to be proof of guilt in the eyes of God. But readers of Crespin’s martyrology who might expect to find spectacle-like descriptions of the martyr’s experience would instead find a straightforward and unadorned retelling of it. In “Les Feux,” however, Aubigné creates spectacles of pain, effectively painting readers an imaginative yet moving portrait of the martyr’s most critical moments.

Among such moments, it is especially noteworthy that Aubigné extends the spectacle to the martyr’s private experience of pain, which a large crowd would not otherwise see, and thus makes his book of martyrs stand out in comparison with the traditional martyrology.

There are numerous martyrological accounts in “Les Feux” in which Aubigné invites his readers into the private spaces of Reformed persecution. In the account of

Thomas Bilnée, for example, Aubigné does not address the martyr’s public burning.

Aubigné focuses instead on the martyr’s self-inflicted torture from the privacy of his prison cell:

Le ferme doigt de Dieu tint celui de Bilnée, Qui à sa pénultième et craintive journée Voulut prouver au soir s’il était assez fort Pour endurer le feu instrument de la mort. (Tragiques IV.281-84)

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The firm finger of God holds that of Bilnée, Who on his penultimate and formidable day Wanted to prove at night if he was strong enough To endure fire, the instrument of his death

Bilnée, in preparation for his martyrdom (“craintive journée”), wants to test his tolerance of pain (“voulut prouver”). More specifically, he wants to know if he can tolerate fire

(“endurer le feu”). Aubigné then adds the prison guard as a witness to Bilnée’s pain: “Le geôlier sur le soir en visitant le treuve / Faisant de la chandelle et du doigt son épreuve” (At night when the prison guard arrived he found him / Proving himself by way of the candle and his finger) (Tragiques IV.285-86). The reader can easily discern how Bilnée uses the candle.

Bit by bit, Aubigné reveals Bilnée’s intimate experience of pain, starting with the slow burn of the small flame: “Ce feu lent et petit, d’indicible douleur…” (This slow and small flame, of unspeakable pain) (Tragiques IV.287). The pain was so great that Bilnée was not able, initially, to burn his finger: “A la première fois lui affaiblit le cœur” (The first time it weakened his heart) (Tragiques IV.288). Following Bilnée’s momentary hesitation,

Aubigné creates a feeling of rapid acceleration that coincides with the martyr’s victory over pain: “Mais après il souffrit brûler à la chandelle / La peau, la chair, les nerfs, les os et la moelle” (But after he tolerated the candle burning / His skin, flesh, nerves, bones and marrow) (Tragiques IV.289-90). Bilnée’s toleration of pain would have exceeded the reader’s expectations, given his initial hesitancy and the slow build-up to the account’s climax, as he burns his entire hand down to the bone (“les os et la moelle”).

In addition to providing the reader with access to the martyr’s private experience of pain, Aubigné also treats pain as a public spectacle. The martyrdom of Florent Venot provides a case in point. At the outset of the account, Aubigné describes the unusual

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circumstances of Venot’s punishment, insisting on the transformative and in all likelihood painful effects it had on the martyr’s body:

Venot, quatre ans lié, fut enfin six semaines En deux vaisseaux pointus, continuelles gênes ; Ses deux pieds contremont avaient ployé leurs os ; En si rude posture il trouva du repos (Tragiques IV.357-60)

Venot, four years tied up, was for six weeks In two pointed vessels, perpetual discomforts; His two feet facing upward had bent their bones; In such a rude posture he found rest

After four years of imprisonment in Paris (“quatre ans lié”), presumably at the Grand

Châtelet, Venot was placed in a contraption known as the ‘chausse d’hypocras’. This sinister method of torture was commonplace at the Grand Châtelet: “… dans la ‘chausse d’hypocras’ les prisonniers sont descendus à l’aide d’une poulie ; ils ont les pieds dans l’eau en permanence et ne peuvent se tenir ni debout, ni couchés” (In the ‘chausse d’hypocras’ the prisoners are lowered by a pulley; their feet are permanently in water and they cannot stand up nor lie down) (Lambert). Aubigné focuses on the martyr’s suffering, first denoting the duration of torture (“six semaines”), then using a noun formed from the verb ‘gêner’ (“gênes”), with the adjective ‘continual’ (“continuelles”) to emphasize the extent to which Venot endured pain. The punishment must have been harsh (“rude”), as it physically altered the martyr’s posture, likewise bending the bones of his feet (“ployé leurs os”).

Having highlighted the horrors of Venot’s martyrdom, Aubigné turns to the public gaze. More specifically, Aubigné denotes the martyr’s capacity to persuade an audience through the public display of suffering — a powerful form of persuasion that did not escape the persecuting side:

On voulait dérober au public et aux vues

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Une si claire mort, mais Dieu trouva les grues Et les témoins d’Irus. Il demandait à Dieu Qu’au bout de tant de maux il pût au beau milieu Des peuples l’annoncer, en montrant ses merveilles Aux regards aveuglés et aux sourdes oreilles (Tragiques IV.361-66)

They wanted to shield from the public and sight Such a luminous death, but God found the entourage And witnesses of Irus. He asked God if At the peak of such pains he could in the middle Of the people announce it, by showing his marvels To their blind stares and deaf ears

Venot’s persecutors wanted to shield the public from the martyr’s pain and suffering

(“dérober au public et au vues”). As Aubigné explains, the pain that Venot endures sheds light on, or publicizes, the cause for which he was martyred (“Une si claire mort”).

Subsequently evoking Arnaeus, or Irus (“les témoins d’Irus”), the inhospitable beggar nearly killed by Odysseus, Aubigné creates a parallel between the spectacle that was their fight and Henri II’s royal entry, where crowds gathered round to view Venot’s suffering.

Moreover, in lines 364 and 365 Aubigné paraphrases Psalms 96:3,45 combining the celestial status and glory of the martyr with the theatrical elements of martyrdom. This passage highlights yet again the crowd (“beau milieu / Des peuples”) and the public announcement that the martyr sends to onlookers (“l’annocer en montrant”). The martyr’s feats (“ses merveilles”), however, are lost on the crowd, as Aubigné’s oxymoronic “regards aveuglés” and “sourdes oreilles” make clear.

* * *

Passive Action

45 “Racontez parmi les nations sa gloire, / Parmi tous les peuples ses merveilles !” (NEG). “Declare his glory among the nations, / his marvelous works among all the peoples” (NRSV).

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In the many accounts in which Aubigné makes a spectacle of the martyr’s pain, the martyr’s body is the source of communication — in reacting to pain, the body speaks.

Equally effective communicative situations occur in martyrological accounts that depict the martyr as a passive or willing recipient of pain. When a martyr appears to not experience pain during torture or execution, the reader may interpret the martyr’s behavior in different ways. Most notably, for Aubigné’s seventeenth-century readers, the passive acceptance of physical harm might increase their feelings of esteem for the Reformed martyr. As George

Heyman confirms in The Power of Sacrifice, sympathetic readers would find it honorable if a martyr passively endured unjust punishment (199). Likewise, Christine Peters notes in

Patterns of Piety that Reformers viewed the “passive recipient” of punishment as a “vessel of grace” (273).

Aubigné often depicts the martyrs of “Les Feux” in situations that the reader would assume to be extremely painful, as he does not shy away from violent and graphic imagery when retelling a martyrological account. In fact, he vivifies his martyrological writing by creating violent images that are a rarity in his source text, Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs.

In the 28-line account of a Reformed martyr named Gardiner, for example, it is precisely the horrific nature of the act of martyrdom, contrasted with the martyr’s silence in spite of obvious pain, that would have awed Aubigné’s reader. As Aubigné prepares to detail

Gardiner’s punishments, he notes that the martyr does not speak or react: “Il vainquit, en souffrant les peines les plus dures.… Le fer contre son cœur de ferme diamant” (He conquered, in suffering the most trying pains.… Iron against his heart of hard diamond)

(Tragiques IV.301; 304). Gardiner undoubtedly suffers, but he willingly accepts torture and shows no outward signs of pain. Aubigné then specifies the means by which Gardiner’s persecutors try to extract a confession or repentance:

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Il avala trois fois la serviette sanglante, Les yeux qui le voyaient souffraient peine évidente ; Il but plus qu’en humain les inhumanités, Et les supplices lents finement inventés. (Tragiques IV.305-08)

He swallowed three times the bloody towel, The eyes that were watching suffered obvious pain; He drank more than could a man the inhumane acts, And the slow torture methods cleverly invented.

Here Aubigné notes that those who witnessed this form of towel torture clearly suffered at the sight (“souffraient peine évidente”), but Gardiner, exhibiting the typical surreal strengths of the martyr (“plus qu’en humain”), does not give any indication that he is in pain.

Given the martyr’s constancy, Gardiner’s persecutors lead him to the scaffold. In preparing him for death by fire, rather than reacting to pain, the martyr moves gracefully and in silence:

On le traîne au supplice, on coupe sa main dextre, Il la porte à la bouche avec sa main senestre, La baise ; l’autre poing lui est coupé soudain, Il met la bouche à bas, et baise l’autre main (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.309-12)

They drug him to the execution site, they cut off his right hand, He put it to his mouth with his left hand, He kissed it; his other fist was suddenly cut off, He lowered his mouth, and kissed his other hand

Although Gardiner loses both hands, he responds to bodily pain by kissing them each goodbye (“La baise”). In a similarly passive and thus impressive reaction to torment,

Gardiner gives the reader one last, graphic display of constancy: “On brûle ses deux pieds : tant qu’il eut le sentir / On cherche sans trouver en lui le repentir :” (They burned his two feet, and though he could feel it / They sought without obtaining his repentance) (Aubigné,

Tragiques IV.315-16). Here the reader would likely be in awe over the martyr’s calm

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acceptance of pain and the absence of any emotionally charged reaction to having both hands and feet forcibly, and likely painfully, removed from his body.

A martyrological account that is as equally impactful as Aubigné’s poetic rewriting of the martyrdom of Gardiner is his dramatic 90-line mise en texte of the violence endured by a nine-year-old, unnamed female Reformer: “Du berceau, du tombeau, je relève une fille, / De qui je ne dirai le nom ni la famille” (From the cradle, from the tomb, I bring up a girl, / Whose family name I will not say) (Tragiques IV.997-98). We know from the

Histoire universelle that Aubigné could provide her name, but here he deliberately withholds this information from the reader (“je ne dirai”). By withholding her name and other relevant autobiographical details, Aubigné seems to have wanted to direct his seventeenth-century reader’s attention to the most singular details of her martyrdom. And just as Aubigné had done in rewriting the martyrological account of Gardiner, here he focuses on the torments she endured while also ensuring that the martyr does not show signs of pain, but rather a kind of superhuman strength vis-à-vis her persecutors.

The martyrological account begins with two sisters who endure torture at the hands of their aunt and uncle for several weeks: “Par trente jours entiers ces filles, déchirées / De verges et fers chauds, demeurent assurées” (For thirty full days these girls, torn apart / By metal rods and hot iron, remained constant) (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.1013-14). In response to the constancy of these two girls (“assurées”), the aunt and uncle leave the sisters outside to die: “En plus noire minuit ils les jettent dehors…” (In the dark of night they threw them outside) (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.1019). The older sister flees, but the younger sister, whose fever renders her immobile, evokes the pity of sympathetic townspeople, who take her to a hospital: “Le jour étant levé, le peuple ému… On porte à l’hôpital cette âme évanouie…”

(The day having risen, the people moved… They brought to the hospital this exasperated

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soul) (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.1025; IV.1029). The reader, of course, would not have been exempt from this feeling of pity and sympathy toward the young girl who courageously and passively, as Aubigné’s writing suggests, accepts the punishments she receives for the sake of her Reformed beliefs.

The fever that had threatened the martyr’s life soon subsides, at which point new persecutors resume the efforts of the aunt and uncle to dissuade her from her adherence to her religious beliefs:

Les gardes d’hôpital, qui un temps par prêcheurs, Par propos importuns d’impitieux séducteurs, Par menaces après, par piquantes injures S’essayèrent plonger cette âme en leurs ordures. (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.1047-50)

The hospital guards, who once by preaching, By importune words from impetuous seducers, By menaces after, by sharp insults Tried to drown this soul in their obscenities.

The repetition of “par” adds emphasis to the variety of methods employed by her persecutors, which increase in violence. Verbal violence soon turns physical, and the young girl is once again the victim of torture: “Et comme ses tourments changeaient de leur manière, / D’elle-même elle avait quelque propre prière” (And as their torments changed as they saw fit, / She had her own befitting prayer) (Aubigné, Tragiques IV.1053-54). As the methods of torture changed, so did her coping mechanisms. At no point, however, does the young girl show signs of pain, which would undoubtedly amaze and impress Aubigné’s seventeenth-century reader, especially given the victim’s age and gender. Indeed, regardless of the form of persecution or the degree of violence, Aubigné’s young female martyr displays an incredible degree constancy and tolerance for pain.

* * *

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The feats of the unnamed female martyr, Thomas Bilnée, and Florent Venot, as well as countless others throughout “Les Feux,” reveal Aubigné’s intention to move readers and further the persuasive impact of Reformed martyrological accounts in the seventeenth century. Aubigné’s attention to body language in his book of martyrs, namely with regard to the pains of martyrdom, provide evidence in support of this claim. Aubigné’s accounts in which the martyr’s body speaks appear to have been intentionally dramatized, especially in comparison with Crespin’s martyrological writing, with the martyr’s experience of pain creating veritable spectacles for the readers of “Les Feux.” These spectacles concern both the public and private spheres, and in some cases portray martyrs’ acts as being void of pain in order to convey the impressive and heroic strength that faith had granted them. The common thread running through all of these accounts, and my reading of them, is the potential power of pain vis-à-vis the seventeenth-century reader of “Les Feux” — a power that coincides with this chapter’s argument that in writing an epic martyrology, Aubigné sought to rekindle the admiration and enthusiasm for the Reformed Church’s martyrs, long after their lives and deaths exerted influence over a sixteenth-century readership in war-torn

France.

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V. Conclusion

French poet Théodore Agrippa d’Aubigné’s book of martyrs, “Les Feux,” is the only early modern lyric rendition of martyrological accounts, and was therefore crucial to include in the present study, which traces French writings on martyrdom and religious violence in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. I proposed a new term for categorizing

“Les Feux,” ‘epic martyrology’, since Aubigné’s martyrological writing draws from the genres of the epic and the martyrology. The singularity and hybridity of “Les Feux” served a distinct purpose vis-à-vis Aubigné’s seventeenth-century French readership, which is to say, moving the reader toward a more positive and sympathetic understanding of the history of the Reformed Church and its martyrs. The langue de flamme that Aubigné adopts in his rewriting of Jean Crespin’s martyrological accounts instills “Les Feux,” as I have shown, with an emotional power and expressiveness that surpasses the persuasive potential of the traditional Reformed martyrology. But given the change in France’s social and political climate from the late sixteenth century to the early seventeenth century, Aubigné’s treatment of accounts of Reformed martyrdom would have been understandably different from Crespin’s martyrological writing — different in the sense of more energetic, engaged and violent, as the poet wrote for a defeated Reformed readership and a cruel and ever- threatening victor. The role of martyrdom and religious violence for French writers had indeed changed.

Thus far, this dissertation has told a story of continuity with regard to martyrdom and religious violence in French texts, a tangible connection being the chapters on

Crespin’s martyrology and Aubigné’s poetic rewriting of his predecessor’s martyrological accounts. However, this narrative thread, like all narrative threads that persist over

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centuries, shifts in ways that complicate any one way of telling or understanding it.

Aubigné’s book of martyrs, published as part of Les Tragiques in 1616, exemplifies such a shift. After the Wars of Religion Aubigné was not, unlike Crespin, writing for a rapidly growing Reformed readership, and the movement’s fight for attaining more than a minority status had been lost at the turn of the century, over a decade before he published his epic that recounts its defeat. So by circulating Les Tragiques, including his book of martyrs, in a decidedly Catholic kingdom, what exactly did Aubigné expect to change or do? What kind of impact did sixteenth-century France’s violent history have on the Catholic majority?

One possible answer to the question of how textual representations of martyrdom and religious violence in sixteenth-century France may have affected members of the religious majority in the seventeenth century arises when we turn to their writings.

Seventeenth-century Catholics wrote prolifically on the violent events surrounding France’s religious wars, representing, staging, and analyzing them, “sometimes for reasons of political or religious propaganda, and in other cases to stimulate reflection or even straightforward doubt on everything fixed and stable” (Biet 20). My thought, then, is that

Aubigné’s epic was part of a shift in the conversation about what to do with the religious other, or how to move forward and manage the tensions and ongoing conflict between

French Catholics and Reformers — a hypothesis that becomes increasingly more plausible when considered alongside Catholic works that deliberately engage with the sixteenth century’s history of martyrdom and religious violence.

In the fourth and final chapter of my dissertation, I explore this new direction in the narrative thread by examining French tragedian Pierre Corneille’s Polyeucte martyr — a martyr drama that I argue invited seventeenth-century audiences to reflect on France’s religious wars and the violence to which the religious other was still subjected. Corneille

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brings martyrdom to the stage to advance the conversation on managing religious difference in France, ultimately contributing to a trend in political discourse on religious toleration. And while it would be impossible to prove whether or not Aubigné had something to do with writers’ interests in religious toleration in the seventeenth century, his emotional appeals in “Les Feux” may well have left their mark on Catholic readers.

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Chapter Four

The Politics of Tolerance in Pierre Corneille’s Polyeucte martyr, 1643

“Les Titus, les Trajans, les Antonins, les Décius, n’étaient pas des barbares : peut-on imaginer qu’ils auraient privé les seuls Chrétiens d’une liberté dont jouissait toute la terre ?… Il faut bien que la persécution ait eu d’autres causes, et que les haines particulières soutenues par la raison d’état, aient répandu le sang des Chrétiens.”1

The emperors Titus, Trajan, Antonieus, Decius, these were no barbarians. Are we to imagine that they would deprive the Christians alone of a liberty enjoyed by the whole empire?… No, it is clear that their persecution issued from other causes, and that precise and especial hatred, supported by political motivation, were responsible for spilling the blood of Christians.2

— Voltaire, French writer and philosopher

I. Introduction

The lively interest in religious martyrs among the French reading public reached a high point in the sixteenth century, especially in the decades surrounding France’s Wars of

Religion. Whether a Reformed martyrology or Catholic hagiography, readerships were inspired and moved by the lives and deaths of the steadfast believers they encountered in its pages. Furthermore, those who authored such works, as this dissertation’s first chapter makes clear, recognized the power of martyrdom vis-à-vis their readers and thus had much

1 This quote was taken from the ninth chapter in Voltaire’s Traité sur la tolerance, “Des martyrs,” which treats the subject of early Christian martyrdom in the context of an Enlightenment treatise that argued for religious tolerance, but also denounced religious fanaticism (63-64). Voltaire first uses the example of Saint Polyeucte of Melitene, a martyr whom Corneille’s Polyeucte had surely brought to the spotlight, to prompt reflection among his eighteenth-century readership on what he sees as a causal relationship between religious zeal and religious persecution. And so while Voltaire was a firm advocate for the co-existence of various faiths in a given society, he nevertheless considered Polyeucte’s Christian zeal to be dangerous to civil order and good governance. 2 The translation of Voltaire’s quote is from Simon Harvey’s English edition, Treatise on Tolerance (36).

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to gain, both politically and socially. In other words, martyrdom was a veritable platform, so to speak, from which an author could exercise some level of influence.

Although the vogue of martyrological writing was not as prominent at the turn of the century, after France’s period of religious warfare formally ended, artistic representations and reinterpretations of the acts of martyrs were far from outmoded. In the early and mid-seventeenth century, French tragedians made martyrs the heroes of their plays, one of the most successful examples being Pierre Corneille’s Polyeucte martyr, which was first performed in Paris in 1642 and published the following year. Corneille bases his tragedy on the martyrdom of Saint Polyeucte of Melitene, a lesser known martyr whose life and death can be summarized quite succinctly. In fact, Corneille includes in

Polyeucte’s printed editions a summary of his historical source, a letter written by

Byzantine author Siméon Métaphraste in the ninth century, which was then recorded by

Laurentius Surius in his six-volume collection of saints’ lives, De probaits sanctorum historiis. A notable feature of this source, as Corneille himself admits, is the lack of detail regarding Polyeucte’s martyrdom. He further notes in Polyeucte’s prefatory material that such a broad template grants him the freedom to add “des inventions et des embellissements de théâtre” (the inventions and embellishments of theater) (43). Likewise, his source would have offered him a certain degree of freedom of artistic expression, meaning that as a playwright Corneille could dramatize and stage the representation of

Polyeucte’s martyrological account in numerous ways, without violating the rule of vraisemblance. There is, however, a particular interpretive angle that I consider to stand out among his approaches to staging martyrdom in Polyeucte.

In this chapter, I would like to suggest that Corneille’s Polyeucte could be better understood when viewed in light of the French Wars of Religion. More exactly, I read

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Polyeucte as a deliberate engagement with questions of religious persecution in sixteenth- century France, an era marked by decades of religious violence and political conflict, as well as the ongoing consequences of the Edict of Nantes that formally ended the wars. My contention is that the power of Corneille’s Polyeucte lies in its ability to offer spectators the space to explore possibilities of religious tolerance in France. I further argue that Corneille stages distinct models of tolerance for his characters to navigate and his audiences to reflect upon. In this way, Corneille highlights the limits of tolerance as well as the potential for political and social order that his seemingly preferred model promotes.

I divide the present chapter into two sections. The first section, “Staging the French

Wars of Religion,” examines specific moments in Polyeucte that reveal clear parallels with

France’s tumultuous past, such as the religious dissenters’ violent acts against idolatry at a public ceremony. I then turn in the second section, “Corneille’s Message of Religious

Tolerance,” to the ways in which Polyeucte invites spectators to contemplate models of religious tolerance and the potential for an orderly society that a well-devised approach might offer a kingdom long divided by partisan violence. In so doing, I show how

Corneille’s Polyeucte conveys a form of religious tolerance that closely resembles what philosopher and political theorist Rainer Forst calls the ‘respect conception’ of tolerance.3

According to the respect conception, members of opposing groups with incompatible beliefs and cultural practices respect “the person of the other” for the sake of political order and social stability within a legal state (Toleration 30).

Moreover, as I suggest later in the chapter, the respect conception of tolerance that

Corneille puts forth is a response to the ‘permission conception’ of which the Edict of

3 I discuss conceptions of tolerance in greater detail at the outset of the chapter’s second section.

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Nantes is an apt example. Toleration according to the permission conception means that the dominant group legally authorizes the minority group some degree of permission “to live in accordance with its convictions,” provided that said minority “does not question the predominance” of the dominant group (Toleration 27). The problem with this conception, as my reading of Polyeucte makes clear, is that it does not foster attitudes of tolerance — as opposed to a policy of tolerance that is purely diplomatic in nature — that Corneille seems to find necessary to maintain political and social stability. Indeed, Polyeucte illustrates a specific idea of religious tolerance that is not only in dialogue with a formal (and failing) policy from the turn of the century, but also presents an alternate means of curbing the violent conflicts that continued to emanate from the irreconcilable views of France’s

Catholics and Reformers.4

The persistent conflict with regard to religion in France in the first half of the seventeenth century provides ample justification for Corneille treating the subject of toleration in Polyeucte, while the contextual framework of the French Wars of Religion and the era’s well-known cults of martyrdom offers highly relevant material on which to base his message of tolerance. And by no means was Corneille alone in this endeavor. As historian Maryanne Cline Horowitz notes, between 1620 and 1640 many French authors who were in the circle of Cardinal Richelieu broached issues of tolerance in their

4 In her book Peace and Authority, Penny Roberts asserts that the most contentious issue following the Edict of Nantes, specifically with regard to its enforcement in seventeenth- century France, was “the siting of Reformed worship” (146). If and where Reformers could worship generated fierce debate within individual communities and between members of confessional groups, but importantly, the provision of sites also “introduced a destabilising element that highlighted the flaws in the broad statements of intent contained in royal policy” (Roberts 146). This often proved disruptive for community cohesion and the recognition of the authorities, both royal and local, that had to resolve such disputes (Roberts 147).

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philosophical and political writings (93). Citing prominent figures like François de La

Mothe Le Vayer, Horowitz specifies that these authors did in fact “support a tolerant climate… among individuals of differing religious sensibilities,” considering tolerance to be a potential “benefit” to “the welfare of the royal family and the state” (79).

There are numerous viable explanations for the rise and shifts in political discourses of tolerance around the time that Corneille authored Polyeucte, perhaps the most pertinent being Cardinal Richelieu’s increasingly repressive measures against France’s Reformers.

Although Richelieu openly defended tolerance in the early 1620s, aside from a very brief period of anti-Huguenot policy that preceded his promotion to cardinal, he began taking hostile action against Reformers in 1627 by laying siege to the Reformed city of La

Rochelle (Stankiewicz 146).5 In his Mémoires Richelieu states in no uncertain terms the primary objectives of the siege: “Le but que nous devions avoir étoit de prendre la Rochelle et ruiner le parti huguenot en France” (The goal that we had was to take La Rochelle and ruin the Huguenot party in France) (110). The Paix d’Alès treatise, also known as the “Édit

5 When Corneille authored and staged Polyeucte in the early 1640s, his treatment of the themes of martyrdom and religious violence would have been informed by his ties to “the imposing figure of Richelieu” (Harris 89). Aside from their well-known entanglements, both advantageous and risky, from Richelieu enlisting Corneille as one of his revered “Cinq Auteurs” to polemic surrounding the Querelle du Cid, the larger stage of French politics and the hardening stances of the Cardinal and the Catholic crown provide a backdrop to Corneille’s Polyeucte. Indeed, around the time that Corneille wrote his debut play Mélite in 1625, Richelieu had recently been appointed Cardinal and Chief Minister of France, and his political stance and priorities were evident to budding and established artists and writers. Richelieu was nationalistic and aimed to extend the power of the Catholic crown, in part by crushing the political power that French Huguenots held. Richelieu achieved his goal of dismantling the Huguenot party after the capture of their stronghold in La Rochelle in 1628, a victory that came after a fourteen-month siege and at the expense of nearly 20,000 men, women, and children who perished from famine, disease, and armed conflict. The defeat at La Rochelle endured by Huguenots and French Reformers more generally was in many ways their last failed stand against Catholic authority, the consequences of which would culminate with the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, and whose roots are firmly planted in the French Wars of Religion.

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de grâce” (Edict of Grace) from the end of the siege at La Rochelle and other, less prominent strongholds, did in fact seal the demise of Reformers as a political party in

France.6

The repressive measures against French Reformers that coincided with projects to strengthen France through a powerful monarchy were, of course, decisive steps toward the

Edict of Nantes’ revocation in 1685. And though this revocation bears next to no trace of the century’s earlier arguments in favor of new, more accepting policies on toleration, it does reveal the sincere desire of the French state to take firm action against the enduring threat that religious difference posed. Corneille, who wrote a time when numerous theories on tolerance and potential responses to religious divide were still under consideration, contributes to this critical discussion by way of Polyeucte, which was published in 1643, precisely in the midst of such fervent interest in the politics of tolerance.

6 Conceived by Richelieu, the treatise essentially allowed the French monarchy to dismantle Reformed fortifications and dissolve the Huguenot army.

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II. Staging the French Wars of Religion

Any reader or spectator intimately familiar with the French Wars of Religion, especially a seventeenth-century audience, would be inclined to make connections between

Corneille’s Polyeucte and the political and religious conflicts of late sixteenth-century

France. The theme of martyrdom, for one, calls to mind the failed persecutory measures of the Valois kings, namely François I and Henri II, when responding to France’s Reformed presence, as well as the destabilizing influence that the martyrs’ actions had on both their immediate audience and the larger community. A second, related theme is that of religious pluralism and the threat that it poses to governing powers and their authority within the state. Finally, the characters themselves and their actions at key moments in the play evoke some of the most consequential events of religious warfare between France’s Catholics and

Protestants. In what follows, I address each of these aspects in arguing that Corneille intended for Polyeucte to be experienced and read through the lens of French Wars of

Religion.

* * *

At the beginning of the seventeenth century, the acts, histories, and textual representations of martyrdom that had been so influential during the Wars of Religion were still on the minds (and bookshelves) of the French upper classes.7 Post-Edict of Nantes, as the previous chapter demonstrates, the religiously zealous were especially inclined to draw inspiration from martyrological accounts for devotional, pedagogical, and polemical

7 By ‘upper classes’ I mean the ruling class, the aristocracy, and the nobility — but in the context of religious discourse, I refer specifically to those who engaged culturally, intellectually, and politically with the contemporary and ongoing polemics between French Catholics and Reformers.

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purposes. In addition, playwrights and the French theater-going public showed keen interest in martyrological accounts, albeit largely from early Christianity. The aptly named martyr drama or ‘tragédie chrétienne’ that “exploded on the Parisian stage in the 1640s,”8 as

Christopher Semk emphatically notes, brought martyrs to the stage and thus gave them a new place of prominence vis-à-vis French audiences (124). Although this relatively short- lived tragic genre offers scholars a rich means of exploring the relationship between the church and the stage,9 a closer look at Polyeucte and Corneille’s treatment of the theme of martyrdom also reveals a connection to the religious conflicts of the preceding century.

The plot of Polyeucte centers on the problem of otherness in terms of the hero’s religion — that is, Christianity, to which he has only just converted at the play’s outset — and his sense of resolve to die for the sake of its longevity and his own salvation. And while Corneille conceived in part this plot as a historical representation of the death of

Saint Polyeucte of Melitene, the stakes of the religious divide between pagans and

Christians within the context of the play — many of which are his own invention — bear a strong resemblance to those between Catholics and Reformers in France’s more recent past.

For example, the way that Félix initially responds to the religious offense that Néarque and

8 Emphasis mine. 9 For example, in her article on the conversion of Félix, Nina Ekstein highlights the relationship between the church and the stage in the seventeenth century, noting that it gave rise to “much discussion and dissent,” citing in particular the Querelle de la moralité du théâtre and the surprising popularity, albeit short-lived, of staging religious subjects in the 1640s (1). In addition, Michael Meere argues that the staging of martyrdom serves to “manifest the Catholic Church’s politicization of martyrdom and conversion,” which he later likens to manipulative processes put in place to “control the majority,” as in exercise power over onlookers (15; 16). These examples are not exhaustive, but do serve to show a vivid interest among scholars in the political nature of the relationship between the church and the stage that likewise forms the basis of the present chapter and my consideration of the politics of tolerance in Corneille’s Polyeucte.

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Polyeucte commit at the temple echoes François I’s well-known tendencies to waver between religious tolerance and resolute action against heresy as dissenters became increasingly vocal during his reign. With regard to Polyeucte, Félix intends to spare his life:

Quelque indigne qu’il soit de ce doux nom de gendre, Mon âme lui conserve un sentiment plus tendre, La grandeur de son crime et de mon déplaisir N’a pas éteint l’amour qui me l’a fait choisir. (Corneille, Polyeucte III.3.869-872)

… Howe’er unworthy Of the fond name of son-in-law he is, My heart hath still a tender feeling towards him. The greatness of his crime and my displeasure, Hath not destroyed the love which made me choose him. (Corneille, Chief Plays 246-47)10

Not unlike François I’s fondness for certain evangelical figures whom he protected,11 here

Félix makes a clear exception to his otherwise firm decision to punish the blasphemous actions of Christians. Indeed, although Félix admits that what Polyeucte had done was criminal and deeply disappointing, he nevertheless finds their personal bond cause for leniency. Néarque, however, is subjected to Félix’s seemingly unbridled wrath, much like the infamous period of Reformed persecution that followed the Affaire des Placards: “Une telle insolence avoir osé paraître ! / En public ! à ma vue ! il en mourra, le traître” (To dare so foul an outrage! Publicly! Before my eyes! ‘Twil cost his life — the traitor!) (Corneille,

Polyeucte III.3.865-866; Chief Plays 246). Not only had the dissenters in question

10 All French-to-English translations of Corneille’s Polyeucte are from Lacy Lockert’s The Chief Plays of Corneille. In-text citations reference only the page number from her translation, as she does not include verse numbers. 11 For many years François I supported the likes of humanist-minded Reformers, providing pensions and protection to printers and writers such as Guillaume Budé, Robert Estienne, Lefèvre d’Etaples, Clément Marot, and François Rabelais (Frame 838).

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committed a serious crime, but as Félix makes clear, the crime was committed both in public and under his watch, making it all the more serious and worthy of punishment.

Another way in which Polyeucte calls to mind the French Wars of Religion, but more directly the vogue of martyrdom, is the degree of influence of Corneille’s martyrs,

Polyeucte and Néarque, over their immediate audience. Much of the persuasive power of martyrdom in the late sixteenth century, as this dissertation’s first and third chapters on martyrological accounts denote, can be attributed to the martyr’s resoluteness in attitude and actions. This aspect of the theme of martyrdom is especially evident in scenes prior to

Polyeucte’s execution in which our hero exhibits a remarkable sense of constancy, remaining steadfast in his eagerness to die for his beliefs.

For example, Polyeucte, who is physically absent for the entirety of the third act, is the character around which much of the action revolves in the fourth act, including a series of visits and exchanges meant to temper our hero’s convictions. Having learned of

Pauline’s imminent arrival in the first scene, Polyeucte’s monologue gives audiences an intimate portrait of his resolute mindset as the soon-to-be-martyr, in much the same way as

Crespin had done in his later martyrological editions, which include anecdotes that grant readers access to the martyr’s psychology. As Polyeucte prepares for Pauline’s visit, he says aloud,

Je consens, ou plutôt j’aspire à ma ruine, Monde, pour moi tu n’as plus rien, Je porte en un cœur tout chrétien Une flamme toute divine, Et je ne regarde Pauline Que comme un obstacle à mon bien. (Corneille, Polyeucte IV.2.1139-44)

I care no whit — nay, rather I to my fate aspire. World, thou no more art aught to me; My heart, now Christian utterly, Burns only with a sacred fire;

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And as an obstacle to higher Things, and naught else, Pauline I see. (Corneille, Chief Plays 255)

Here Polyeucte unveils his feelings only to spectators, rather than to other characters in the context of an argument, thus conveying his current state of mind in a way that is genuine and unmotivated. More specifically, Polyeucte reveals the typical superhuman mindset that a seventeenth-century audience would expect the martyr figure to have. Indeed, not only does Polyeucte seem to sincerely aspire to be martyred for his faith, but he also renounces in no uncertain terms his earthly attachments in favor of what awaits him in heaven, including his wife Pauline.

Another example of the prototypical constancy that Corneille instills in his tragic hero appears in the highly anticipated scene in which Pauline engages Polyeucte in conversation in an attempt to persuade him that his duty to his family — especially to her

— and the state should outweigh his convictions as a newly converted Christian. She states this plainly:

Vous n’avez pas la vie ainsi qu’un héritage, Le jour qui vous la donne en même temps l’engage, Vous la devez au prince, au public, à l’État. (Corneille, Polyeucte IV.3.1203-05)

Thy life is thine only in sacred trust. The day which gave it to thee at the same time Bound thee with obligations: to thy sovereign Thou owest it, to the people, to the realm. (Corneille, Chief Plays 256)

Pauline bases her persuasive efforts in this instance on the premise that Polyeucte was born indebted to the people around him, citing in particular the state and its subjects, which she relates to a previous reference to his carelessness that she sees as the source of his recent decisions and current predicament. After enumerating for Polyeucte the qualities that have earned him glory and respect vis-à-vis the aforementioned parties to whom he is indebted,

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our hero shows no sign of pride or desire to maintain such a high level of esteem. Instead, his focus rests entirely on the glory of martyrdom:

Je considère plus, je sais mes avantages, Et l’espoir que sur eux forment les grands courages. … J’ai de l’ambition, mais plus noble, et plus belle, Cette grandeur périt, j’en veux une immortelle, Un bonheur assuré, sans mesure, et sans fin, Au-dessus de l’envie, au-dessus du destin. (Corneille, Polyeucte IV.3.1183-84; IV.3.1191-94)

I recall more. These my advantages I know, and know what hopes on such foundations Ambitious spirits build;… I have ambition, but ‘tis nobler, fairer. Those honors perish; I seek immortal honors, A bliss assured, eternal, infinite, Above the reach of envy and of fate. (Corneille, Chief Plays 256)

Polyeucte tells Pauline that he is well aware of his own virtues and self-worth, but that these admirable qualities are far less remarkable in comparison with those that he has developed in pursuing martyrdom and that he will attain after death. Indeed, Polyeucte employs enumeration and hyperbole to amplify in his and Pauline’s minds this sense of

“grandeur” inherent to the act of martyrdom, noting that it guarantees immortality and immeasurable yet endless happiness that is beyond the limits of both envy and destiny.

Hence Polyeucte is fully enveloped in the martyr-mindset, demonstrating a resolute, unshakable attitude of superior purpose.

Similarly, in the last scene before his martyrdom, Polyeucte conveys his martyr- mindset in telling Félix, who feigns an interest in converting to Christianity, that he desires rather than fears persecution and suffering:

Non non, persécutez, Et soyez l’instrument de nos félicités, Celle d’un vrai chrétien n’est que dans les souffrances,

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Les plus cruels tourments lui sont des récompenses (Corneille, Polyeucte V.2.1533- 36)

No, no; persecute them, And be the instrument of their happiness. True Christians find it only in their suffering. The crueilest torments are to them rewards. (Corneille, Chief Plays 266)

Here Polyeucte insists that Félix follow through with his order to execute him in order that he may attain reward in the afterlife. Furthermore, Corneille uses antitheses in such a way that emphasizes the singularity of the martyr’s outlook, juxtaposing negative terms with the positive connotations that Polyeucte has reassigned to them. Lastly, in somewhat of a final word on his constancy and sincerity, especially when compared to a character like Félix who seems to view religious conviction as a means to political ends, Polyeucte says of his co-religionists, “Un chrétien ne craint rien, ne dissimule rien, / Aux yeux de tout le monde il est toujours chrétien” (A Christian feareth naught and feigneth naught. / In all men’s sight he is a Christian always) (Corneille, Polyeucte V.2.1549-50; Chief Plays 267). His attitude as a martyr, then, is unshakable, steadfast.

Corneille not only depicts Polyeucte’s resolve in ways that call to mind an early modern martyrology, but he also has more or less objective and reliable characters like

Sévère confirm this psychological portrait — and if we recall Crespin’s use of Catholic authorities in his martyrology to render his accounts more credible, the connection between the late sixteenth-century martyr and Polyeucte is all the more evident. For example, when speaking to Pauline after a brief exchange with Polyeucte, Sévère says of the latter, “Sa resolution a si peu de pareilles” (In my amazement at his mad resolve / It is so nearly without parallel), after which he enumerates the earthly sacrifices that Polyeucte has made, like his marriage to Pauline, the value of which Sévère hyperbolizes to add further emphasis to our hero’s sense of resolve (Corneille, Polyeucte IV.5.1315; Chief Plays 259-

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260). Sévère also addresses the martyr’s superhuman nature, saying to Félix in the play’s final scene:

Qui ne serait touché d’un si tendre spectacle ? De pareils changements ne vont point sans miracle, Sans doute vos chrétiens qu’on persécute en vain Ont quelque chose en eux qui surpasse l’humain (Corneille, Polyeucte V.6.1787-90)

Who would behold unmoved a scene so touching? A change like this must be miraculous. Surely your Christians, whom we persecute In vain, have something in them more than human. (Corneille, Chief Plays 273-74)

Sévère makes obvious to the audience the incredible and hardly believable strength of the martyr in his final moments, as the act of martyrdom ultimately led to Pauline’s and Félix’s conversion, which he refers to here as a kind of miraculous, loving spectacle. Moreover, he states plainly that persecuted Christians, meaning martyrs, have qualities that surpass the norm.

* * *

In addition to the theme of martyrdom and the several aforementioned ways in which it calls to mind the martyr figure of late sixteenth-century France, Corneille’s treatment of the theme of religious pluralism and the threat it poses to the governing body likewise appears to have been at least in part drawn from post-Reformation political histories. Because although religious pluralism was a pressing issue in seventeenth-century

France, and well into the eighteenth century, it is generally agreed upon that France, beginning in the sixteenth-century, was the largest political entity to attempt to institutionalize some level of religious pluralism.12 These momentous political endeavors,

12 This is the main premise of The Adventure of Religious Pluralism in Early Modern France, a collection of essays edited by Keith Cameron, Mark Greengrass, and Penny Roberts.

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of course, are closely bound to the French Wars of Religion, an era that saw unprecedented conflict between religious sects at all levels of society, particularly among the king’s inner circle. For sixteenth-century Catholic writers who engaged in these conversations, religious pluralism was a sickness, a deadly and highly contagious plague that, like “a gangrenous limb,” must be “amputated for fear of infecting the rest of the body” (Racaut 81).13 And as

Catholic propaganda expert Luc Racaut rightly adds in reference to this well-known analogy, “If disease was caused by disharmony in the body, civil war was caused by disharmony in the body politic that only the King could cure” (82). Notions of religious pluralism were thus woven into the very fabric of French society toward the turn of the century and throughout the next, with polemicists and writers like Corneille showing particular interest in its impact on political stability and the King’s authority.

In choosing to base his tragedy on Saint Polyeucte of Melitene, Corneille had at his disposal a context ripe for addressing the consequences of religious pluralism. Indeed, in third-century Roman Armenia in which Polyeucte takes place, Christianity had long been an established religion, but underwent periods of harsh persecution in the middle of the century, followed by policies of religious toleration with the ascension of Diocletius Trdat

III to the throne (Stopka 24-25). In other words, Corneille’s chosen locale, like sixteenth- century France, had undergone rather extreme policy changes — not to mention changes in the ruling order — with regard to the persistent presence of a religious minority, from persecution to toleration. The tragedy’s historical framework alone, then, would have

13 The Cardinal Hozier wrote this in Des sects et hérésies de nostre temps (1561), as quoted by Luc Racaut in his essay, “Persecution or Pluralism? Propaganda and Opinion-Forming during the French Wars of Religion.”

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encouraged an understanding of religious pluralism in Polyeucte through the lens of

Reformation France and the movement’s aftermath.

With the exception of the first scene of Act 1, when Néarque and Polyeucte have a heated exchange about Christian devotion and duty, Corneille’s characters are not initially concerned with religious matters. Instead, they unveil aspects of the play’s amorous intrigue, such as Sévère’s highly anticipated return from war and his hopes of pursuing his love for Pauline, who had only recently married Polyeucte. Félix, in particular, misreads the order of a pagan sacrificial ceremony — the reason for the newly decorated Sévère’s arrival

— as a sign of passion-driven conflict to come:

O Ciel ! en quel état ma fortune est réduite ! … Ah, sans doute, ma fille, il vient pour t’épouser. L’ordre d’un sacrifice est pour lui peu de chose, C’est un prétexte faux, dont l’amour est la cause. (Corneille, Polyeucte I.4.317; I.4.320-22)

Ah heaven! to what straits am I reduced! … Ah, daughter, beyond doubt he comes to wed thee. The sacrifice is unimportant to him; ‘Tis a false pretext given to serve his love. (Corneille, Chief Plays 230)

Here Félix appears to be a puzzling and somewhat worrisome character, namely in that he is easily agitated by premonitions and rushes to conclusions before the facts are made known to him. And since he represents thus far the most authoritative figure, his exasperated cries and lack of reflection are all the more troubling.

Such poor foresight was of course a major source of the harsh critique to which polemicists subjected François I, as well as Henri II and Catherine de Medicis. More exactly, they were said to have misread signs of Reformed expansion and not taken firm

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enough action against heretical movements.14 Regarding firmness of action, Félix makes what could be called a cowardly, lax decision in saying to Pauline at the end of this same scene,

Jusqu’au-devant des murs je vais les recevoir, Rappelle cependant tes forces étonnées, Et songe qu’en tes mains tu tiens nos destinées. (Corneille, Polyeucte I.4.360-62)

I have to go outside the walls to greet him. Rally thou, meanwhile, thy stunned faculties, Remembering that our fate lies in thy hands. (Corneille, Chief Plays 231)

In a sense, Félix holds Pauline responsible for maintaining order, literally telling her that their future is in her hands, rather than making any kind of attempt to intervene in a situation that he ultimately created. And as governor of their province, spectators would surely expect him to take these matters into his own hands.

Despite the fact that Corneille initially has his characters incorrectly attribute the source of conflict to the impossible love between Pauline and Sévère, religious pluralism soon becomes the focal point of the play, and Christianity the veritable reason for

Polyeucte’s strange behavior and his wife’s worry in Acts 1 and 2. This shift in focus is most evident in the third scene of Act 3, after spectators learn of Polyeucte’s conversion from Stratonice. Félix’s aforecited outburst at the scene’s outset — “Une telle insolence avoir osé paraître ! / En public ! A ma vue !…” (To dare so foul an outrage! Publicly! /

Before mine eyes!…) — signals a disruption of political harmony of which the presence of

14 In his biography on François I, Francis I, R.J. Knecht explains that before the infamous Affaire des Placards in 1534, which marks a distinct hardening in terms of the king’s policies vis-à-vis religious dissenters, the threat that Reformers posed to the monarchy “had so far escaped its notice” (390). The same lack of political foresight was cause for irritation and the source of criticism among hard-lined Catholics during Henri II’s reign and Catherine de Medicis’s regency (Burger 262).

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the minority religion is a direct cause (Corneille, Polyeucte III.3.865-66; Chief Plays 246).

To be exact, Polyeucte and Néarque had both decided to make visible their Christian faiths by destroying pagan idols at the temple, deeply offending Félix and creating feelings of anger and fear given Christianity’s imminent threat to his authority.

Later in the same scene Corneille expands upon this idea of religious pluralism as a threat to the state. In making an argument to save Polyeucte from persecution, Pauline evokes her father’s power when she reminds him of his proximity to the highest authority figure: “Au nom de l’empereur dont vous tenez la place” (In the name of the Emperor, whence thou holdest office) (Corneille, Polyeucte III.3.918; Chief Plays 248). Although

Pauline references his power so that he might spare her husband, Félix responds in a way that reveals his concern over what is obviously now a competing religious denomination:

J’ai son pouvoir en main, mais s’il me l’a commis, C’est pour le déployer contre ses ennemis. … Tous les chrétiens sont rebelles. … Je regarde sa faute, et ne vois plus son rang. Quand le crime d’Etat se mêle au sacrilège, Le sang ni l’amitié n’ont plus de privilège. (Corneille, Polyeucte III.3.919-20; III.3.921; III.3.924-26)

I wield his power, but if he consigned it To me, ‘twas to employ it ‘gainst his foes. … All Christians are (foes). … I see his fault, not his relationship. When crimes of State are joined with sacrilege, Blood ties and friendship count with me no longer. (Corneille, Chief Plays 248)

In these lines Félix proclaims for the first time in the play his authority, which stands in contrast with his aforementioned evasion of responsibility in the first act. Félix then makes spectators well aware of the threat of the religious minority with the vast generalization that

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all Christians, regardless of their social status, esteem, or his personal connection to them, are rebellious.

* * *

The theme of martyrdom and religious pluralism provide ample evidence of

Corneille’s deliberate engagement with political and religious conflicts surrounding the

French Wars of Religion. Additionally, an equally convincing way in which he makes such connections is through the characters and their actions in Polyeucte’s pivotal scenes. More specifically, Corneille’s psychological portraits of certain characters, like the zealous religious dissenter Néarque, can be seen as representations of quintessential partisan figures that had long been the source of heated polemics. Similarly, scenes that dramatically change the tragedy’s course of action, like the smashing of the idols, evoke the histories of rebellious acts of Huguenot warfare.

One of Polyeucte’s most distinct features is that Corneille gives audiences access to his characters’ psychology. This turn to the psychological is largely symptomatic of changes in theatrical tastes and dramatic theory in the seventeenth century, as numerous scholars have suggested.15 And while the psychology of Corneille’s tragic hero, in particular, has been the subject of a rich body of research, this area of inquiry is rarely put in dialogue with religious violence in sixteenth-century France and the deep-seated psychological forces that often pushed coreligionists to violent acts.16 Historian Vasily

15 J.S. Street broaches this subject in his work on early classical theater and what he calls a “growing interest in a drama of emotion” in which “action is psychological” (161; 168). In her book Compassion’s Edge, Katherine Ibbett explains that dramatic theory in the 1630s considered emotional and psychological connections between characters on stage to allow for similar connections between characters and the audience, which ultimately inspire feelings of kinship and a deeper understanding of those around us (83; 89-90). 16 Natalie Zemon Davis develops this idea in Society and Culture in Early Modern France.

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Rudich describes this psychological force as a kind of “resentment” stemming from “a conflict of one’s personal ideals and the political realities of the time” (1). Rudich further specifies that “individuals (who) engaged in religious dissent,” in particular, “exhibit no ability to adjust their beliefs to reality, political or otherwise” (2). Within the context of early modern France, of course, this notion of religious dissent was commonplace among

Reformers, and even more so among those who thought of themselves as martyrs.

Corneille, who authored Polyeucte at a time when absolutist power represented a potentially effective means of dismantling religious dissent, would have seen the mentality of the martyr — and religious dissenter, more generally — as an ideal framework from which to present spectators with a potential response to religious dissent and violence.

Corneille delves most directly into the psychology of religious dissent and violence via Polyeucte’s two Christian characters, Néarque and Polyeucte. Although both are

Christian and religious dissenters in the context of Roman Armenia, these characters do not possess the same outlook. Corneille seems to have prescribed very different outlooks, at least in the opening act, for the future martyrs in ways that would allow the spectator to delineate the limits of religious dissent. For example, Corneille’s reader would readily see in Néarque the dangerously zealous religious dissenter who, perhaps like the strict

Calvinist, had renounced all earthly ties.

Indeed, in the first scene of Act 1, Néarque is entirely unable to grasp Polyeucte’s emotional dilemma with regard to his wife Pauline, likewise revealing an inability to speak in terms that are not purely religious. After Néarque’s outburst that commences the play —

“Quoi ? vous vous arrêtez aux songes d’une femme !” (What! do thy wife’s dreams stay thee?) — Polyeucte provides his Christian friend with a lengthy explanation as to why

Pauline’s tears move him, and why he would like to only slightly defer his baptism

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(Corneille, Polyeucte I.1.1; Chief Plays 221). In response, Néarque neglects to even acknowledge any aspect of Polyeucte’s line of reasoning, speaking instead only in religious terms:

Avez-vous cependant une pleine assurance D’avoir assez de vie ou de persévérance, Et Dieu qui tient votre âme et vos jours dans sa main, Promet-il à vos vœux de le pouvoir demain ? Il est toujours tout juste, et tout bon, mais sa grâce Ne descend pas toujours avec même efficace. (Corneille, Polyeucte I.1.25-30)

But canst thou know with certainty that thou Wilt live till then or feel the same as now? Hath God, who holdeth in his hand thy soul, Thy life-days, promised thee as high a mood Tomorrow? He is ever just and good, But not always with the same efficacy (Corneille, Chief Plays 221)

Néarque introduces his counterargument to Polyeucte’s appeal to emotion with an adverb expressing opposition (“cependant”), followed by a line of reasoning that is largely composed of biblical ideas and vocabulary. In evoking “persévérance,” Néarque refers to the well-known Christian virtue granted by God to those in need of strength (Ribet 297).

He then, through the use of metaphor, suggests that God, an omnipresent power, may not always act in his favor. Lastly, Néarque points out that divine grace, like God’s willingness to provide Christians with strength, is also ephemeral and Polyeucte should therefore let himself experience it to the fullest degree. But other than a religious line of argumentation, at no point in this reply does Néarque address the “soupirs d’une amante” (loved one’s sighs) that Polyeucte said are the source of “ce qui trouble aujourd’hui” (what she prevents today) (Corneille, Polyeucte I.1.22; I.1.24; Chief Plays 221). For Néarque, everything is a religious matter and should be approached as such.

What makes the mentality of Néarque so dangerous, of course, is the fact that he is incapable of experiencing or understanding reality outside of his own worldview, which

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corresponds to the most characteristic trait of the religious dissenter as explained above.

And since he cannot possibly adapt or concede to the norms of those around him, Corneille presents spectators with what may well be the only solution, which is to say Néarque’s death. Eliminating individual religious dissenters, in hopes of eliminating religious dissention altogether, was of course common practice before the outset of the Wars of

Religion, during the well-known period of intense persecution under François I. Corneille, however, praises neither the dissenter nor the equally rigid response to religious dissention, but rather grants spectators access to Néarque’s psychology and his punishment as elements that further destabilize the social dynamic within the context of the play.

Polyeucte’s psychological portrait, when compared with that of the overly zealous

Néarque, reveals far more emotional complexity and, importantly, a willingness to accommodate other beliefs while remaining steadfast in his own. As previously mentioned, at the tragedy’s outset Polyeucte is deeply concerned with the implications of his newfound

Christian convictions on his wife Pauline. In later scenes, however, particularly after his baptism in Act 4, Polyeucte appears rigid in demeanor and unshakable in terms of his faith, but quickly returns to somewhat of a middle ground by attempting to ameliorate Pauline’s future situation, after his death.

To be sure, when compared to Act 2, scene 6, where Polyeucte reveals his plans to disrupt the sacrificial ceremony, uttering hateful remarks with regard to pagan gods, his discussion with Pauline and Sévère as he prepares for his own martyrdom shows a remarkable degree of respect for these pagan characters:

Vous traitez mal, Pauline, un si rare mérite, A ma seule prière il rend cette visite. Je vous ai fait, Seigneur, une incivilité, Que vous pardonnerez à ma captivité. Possesseur d’un trésor dont je n’étais pas digne Souffrez avant ma mort que je vous le résigne,

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Et laisse la vertu la plus rare à nos yeux Qu’une femme jamais pût recevoir des cieux, Aux mains du plus vaillant, et du plus honnête homme, Qu’ait adoré la terre, et qu’ai vu naître Rome. (Corneille, Polyeucte IV.4.1295- 1304)

Thou treatest ill a nature such as his. Only at my request he visits me. I have not shown thee, sir, fit courtesies. This thou wilt pardon as due but to my chains. I have a treasure which I did not deserve. Let me, before I die, give it to thee And leave the rarest virtues that were ever Bestowed by heaven upon a mortal woman To the most honorable and valiant man, Adored by all, that Rome hath yet seen. (Corneille, Chief Plays 259)

Here Polyeucte adopts a tone that is at once apologetic and laudatory, and, importantly, entirely void of anti-pagan remarks that had previously colored his speech in front of

Néarque, Pauline, and all who attended the sacrifice, including Félix and Sévère. First correcting Pauline, who assumed that Sévère’s arrival was ill-intentioned,17 Polyeucte then asks for the latter’s forgiveness, likewise addressing him as “Seigneur” and thus conveying a sense of esteem. Polyeucte also likens his wife to a treasure that he was never worthy of possessing, and so he deems it appropriate that Sévère, whom he suggests is in fact more worthy of her than himself, take her as his own wife. In praising both Pauline and Sévère,

Polyeucte uses several superlatives and terms evoking nobleness of character, like “vertu,”

“vaillant,” and “honnête,” that hyperbolize their qualities and the high opinion that our hero has of them. Again, it is notable that Polyeucte does not mention his or their religion, but

17 Mais quel dessein en ce lieu vous amène, Aurait-on cru qu’un cœur se généreux Pût venir jusqu’ici braver un malheureux ? (Corneille, Polyeucte IV.4.1292-1294)

But what brings thee here, Severus? Could it have been believed that one so noble Would come to mock the unfortunate? (Corneille, Chief Plays 259)

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rather demonstrates a level of admiration and respect for these pagan characters that suggests a significant development in his attitude toward religious difference.

Polyeucte’s acceptance and even admiration for characters whom he and Néarque had, in earlier scenes, deemed religious enemies, would have made him stand out as a martyr in the eyes of seventeenth-century spectators. Indeed, the prototypical martyr figure that had long captured the attention of early modern audiences, having been the subject of an unprecedented number of martyrologies in the sixteenth century, embodied a kind of conviction that did not tolerate in any way the beliefs of their persecutors, usually meaning the religious majority. But Corneille complicates this familiar scenario by presenting us with a newly converted character who does not fit the prototype. Instead, Corneille shows us Polyeucte’s psychological development as he prepares for martyrdom, with the end result being a martyr who is strikingly respectful of others who hold opposing views, yet this martyr is no less steadfast in his own convictions. Corneille thus achieves a remarkable sense of balance in creating a new type of martyr, first by engaging the martyr figure of

France’s recent past, and then challenging its more problematic aspects, such as the rejection of all earthly concerns.

In addition to character development in Polyeucte, similarly prevalent connections between Corneille’s tragedy and the French Wars of Religion can be made upon closer consideration of key scenes and moments that the seventeenth-century spectator would have readily associated with the religious conflicts of the preceding century. The most pivotal moment in the play — which is to say, the destruction of pagan idols at the temple

— serves as an ideal example. Although the spectator does not see this important action take place, Corneille chooses to have Stratonice give a detailed synopsis of it, at the direct request of Pauline: “Apprends-moi… ce qu’ils ont fait au temple” (But tell me what those

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two did in the temple) (Polyeucte III.2.821; Chief Plays 245). Pauline’s confidante, whose reply spans 40 lines in a famous hypotyposis, calls to mind first and foremost the well- known wave of Huguenot attacks on Catholic places and objects of worship during the wars. To be exact, the manner in which Stratonice addresses both the subject of blasphemy and the actions carried out by Polyeucte and Néarque resemble accounts of the Huguenot party’s sacrilegious acts in the late sixteenth-century, namely in her inflated sense of horror and disbelief.

Stratonice begins by emphasizing the nature of the actions in question and the feelings it inspired:

C’est une impiété qui n’eut jamais d’exemple, Je ne puis y penser sans frémir à l’instant, Et crains de faire un crime en vous la racontant. (Corneille, Polyeucte III.2.822-24)

A sacrilege that hath no parallel. I cannot think of it without a shudder And fear I sin in telling thee about it. (Corneille, Chief Plays 245)

Stratonice creates a significant level of anticipation by hyperbolizing a scene that spectators did not witness, albeit because of the necessity of respecting the unity of place, but was of serious consequence. Not only is Stratonice unable to liken Polyeucte’s actions to anything else, but she also employs a lexicon of intense horror and reprobation, thereby foreshadowing the plot changes that this pivotal moment will bring about. Having established the gravity of the situation and thoroughly piqued the spectator’s interest,

Stratonice recounts what happened at the sacrifice:

Apprenez en deux mots leur brutale insolence. Le prêtre avait à peine obtenu du silence, Et devers l’orient assuré son aspect, Qu’ils ont fait éclater leur manque de respect. A chaque occasion de la cérémonie, A l’envie l’un et l’autre étalait sa manie, Des mystères sacrés hautement se moquait,

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Et traitait de mépris les dieux qu’on invoquait. (Corneille, Polyeucte III.2.825-32)

Hear briefly of their violence and daring. The priest had scarce secured a general silence And towards the east had turned his face, when they Exhibited their lack of all respect. At every moment of the ceremony They both alike displayed at will their folly And loudly mocked the sacred mysteries, Treating with scorn the gods who were invoked. (Corneille, Chief Plays 245)

Rather than expose the unfolding of events matter-of-factly, Stratonice engages in narrative discourse using language that is decidedly dramatic and scornful. In recounting the two

Christians’ blasphemous declarations at the outset of the ceremony, for example, she uses verbs and adverbs like “éclater,” “étaler,” and “hautement” that express the audaciousness of their remarks. Similarly, Stratonice juxtaposes notions of sanctity with what she sees as mania and disrespect.

After evoking Polyeucte’s and Néarque’s blasphemous words, Stratonice turns to their actions:

Se jetant à ces mots sur le vin, et l’encens, Après avoir mis les saints vases par terre Sans crainte de Félix, sans crainte du tonnerre, D’une fureur pareille ils courent à l’autel. Cieux, a-t-on vu jamais, a-t-on rien vu de tel ? Du plus puissant des dieux nous voyons la statue Par une main impie à leurs pieds abattue, Les mystères troublés, le temple profané, La fuite et les clameurs d’un peuple mutiné, Qui craint d’être accablé sous le courroux céleste (Corneille, Polyeucte III.2.852- 61)

Seizing, at these words, on the wine and incense, They flung the sacred vessels on the floor, And without fear of Felix or Jove’s thunder They rushed with equal frenzy to the alter. Yet heavens, have any like the things e’er been witnessed! The statue of the mightiest of the gods We then saw overthrown by impious hands, The mysteries interrupted, and the temple

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Profained, amid the uproar and the flight Of the people, out of all control, who feared Lest they should be o’erwhelmed by heaven’s wrath. (Corneille, Chief Plays 246)

Here Stratonice explicitly states that the two Christians carried out their acts of blasphemy in precisely the same manner as they had done verbally, denoting their “fureur pareille” as they stormed the temple. Her language likewise conveys the violence of their actions by way of figures of repetition as they relate to notions of fear and incredulity regarding what she had witnessed.18 This violence is also evident in her choice of words, which bring to life the physicality and noise associated with the destruction of the temple and the public’s shock.

As mentioned above, Stratonice’s approach to the subject of blasphemy and the violent actions of Polyeucte and Néarque during the pagan ceremony would, for the seventeenth century audience, call to mind the well-known accounts of Huguenot violence during the French Wars of Religion. The religious zeal that horrifies Stratonice as she describes the warlike mania that drives Polyeucte and Néarque to commit iconoclastic violence was stereotypical of Huguenots in battle. Historian David J.B. Trim confirms this stereotype in retelling an anecdote from the battle of Coutras in 1587 in which a group of

Catholic soldiers laughed upon hearing their enemies singing psalms, saying that they were right to repent before meeting certain death. In an unexpected turn of events, as Trim further explains, the greatly outnumbered Huguenots became “so caught up in religious fervor” that they destroyed the opposing army, and that this tale of their divinely inspired rage would remain firmly anchored in Catholic collective memory (“Soldiering” 20). There is also, of course, the more widely recognized association that seventeenth century

18 To be exact, line 854 is an example of anaphora, while line 856 is an example of epistrophe.

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spectators would be inclined to make between the destruction of the pagan temple in the context of the play and the “Huguenot assault on idolatry” that coincided with religious violence and popular disorder before the turn of the century (Spicer 122).

Although the destruction of the pagan temple is arguably the most pivotal event within Polyeucte, and a tangible reminder for Corneille’s seventeenth-century audience of the French Wars of Religion, there are other scenes that also bring the recent past to the stage. Namely, for Corneille’s public, the conversion of Pauline and Félix to Christianity in the final scenes of Polyeucte would surely have been reminiscent of the often contentious phenomenon of religious conversion, whether by choice or by force, that coincided with the

French Reformation and was an ongoing polemic throughout the seventeenth century. And although there were many reasons for an individual to convert in the early modern period

— for the sake of governance as was the case with Henri IV,19 or perhaps for legal purposes, which was often the case with parlementaires and others who held public office

— the consequences of conversions were momentous.

One such reason was martyrdom, which proved to be especially problematic in that the individual’s decision to convert was seemingly outside the realm of authority and reason. Historian Brad S. Gregory confirms this point, further denoting the emotional appeal of the martyr’s death in exerting an influence over future converts:

The resistance to conversion finds its limit in martyrdom. Nothing bespeaks more dramatically the refusal to adopt different religious beliefs, practices, and values than the willingness to die for those that one currently embraces. (“Point” 66)

19 Regarding the conversion of Henri IV, Mark Greengrass makes the important distinction between the process of conversion as outlined by the Catholic Church and what often appeared to be insincere conversions that were politically motivated and, moreover, said to undermine the social order, according to a League critique of the king (France 76).

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Indeed, as Gregory suggests and Corneille shows us in Polyeucte, martyrs are persuasive in that they hold their convictions above all else, which in turn leads the martyr’s audience to question his or her own. Such is the case with Pauline and Félix, albeit under slightly different circumstances.

At the outset of Act 5, Félix has yet to carry out his order to execute Polyeucte as punishment for his blasphemous words and actions at the temple, wanting to “tenter pourtant encore une autre voie” (try another tack) (Corneille, Polyeucte V.1.1487; Chief

Plays 265). Félix, who has already seen the religious zeal that martyrdom is capable of inspiring when Néarque’s execution left Polyeucte eager to follow in his coreligionists footsteps, is willing to go to great lengths to avoid yet another persecutory measure. Albin, who discusses potential consequences should Félix remain “rigoureux” (harsh) in his decision to execute an unrepentant Polyeucte, warns the Armenian governor, “Mais voyez que sa mort mettra ce peuple en rage” (Think of how Polyeucte’s death will fill the people /

With rage) (Corneille, Polyeucte V.1.1491; V.1.1504; Chief Plays 265). Félix, however, does not feel that execution could possibly be more consequential than not fulfilling his duty: “J’aurai fait mon devoir, quoi qu’il puisse arriver” (I shall have done my duty, come what may) (Corneille, Polyeucte V.1.1509; Chief Plays 265). Even still, it is evident in this final decision pronounced by Félix that he doubts to some extent the aftermath of

Polyeucte’s death.

In Act 5, scene 5, Pauline interrupts the above-examined conversation between

Félix and Albin to deliver a lengthy, 27-line address to her father that reveals the profound changes to her person that Polyeucte’s martyrdom has inspired. Corneille first makes audiences aware of these changes by instilling Pauline with a voice unlike the one we had come to know from previous scenes, which is to say a character whose discourse conveys a

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deep sense of reason, concern for devoir, and loyalty to the father figure, the state, and

Roman Armenia’s established belief system. Pauline’s address begins thus:

Père barbare, achève, achève ton ouvrage, Cette seconde hostie est digne de ta rage, Joins ta fille à ton gendre, ose, que tardes-tu ? Tu vois le même crime ou la même vertu, Ta barbarie en elle a les mêmes matières. (Corneille, Polyeucte V.5.1719-23)

Complete, complete thy work, barbarian father! Here is another victim for thy rage. Unite thy daughter with thy son-in-law Again. Nay, shrink not, why dost thou delay? Thou seest the selfsame crime, or selfsame virtue, In me that was in him. Thy cruelty Hath new occasion for its exercise. (Corneille, Chief Plays 272)

Here Pauline’s voice is notably authoritative, namely in that she employs the imperative four times — and in the first instance she repeats “achève” to further emphasize her newfound authority — in demanding that her father Félix carry on with his barbaric acts of persecution by killing her as well. Moreover, Pauline uses the informal, second-person singular pronoun when speaking to her father, whereas previously she spoke more formally, thereby denoting a shift in the power dynamics between these two characters. Lastly, it is worth noting that Pauline suggests, both angrily and insultingly, that her father is unable to distinguish between crime and virtue, so blinded he is by his own cruelty.

Pauline then establishes a connection between the aforementioned cruelty, and perhaps injustice, of religious persecution and the inspiration it gives the onlooker, in this case herself:

Mon époux en mourant m’a laissé ses lumières, Son sang dont tes bourreaux viennent me couvrir M’a dessillé les yeux, et me les vient d’ouvrir. (Corneille, Polyeucte V.5.1724-26)

In death my husband left his light to me. His blood, in which thy executioners bathed me, Hath now unsealed mine eyes and opened them. (Corneille, Chief Plays 272)

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Indeed, as Pauline makes clear, Polyeucte’s punishment that Félix had the executioners carry out on his behalf physically impacted her by covering her in her husband’s blood.

Importantly, she also experienced a kind of metaphysical effect, which she describes by way of a metaphor of light that opened her eyes to some unknown truth that she has yet to announce. Pauline elaborates on this notion of her husband’s blood inspiring change within her, and eventually announces it by name:

Je vois, je sais, je crois, je suis désabusée, De ce bienheureux sang tu me vois baptisée, Je suis chrétienne enfin, n’est-ce point assez dit ? (Corneille, Polyecute V.5.1727- 29)

I see, I know, and I believe; I am Released from error. With that blessed blood Thou seest me baptized. I am Christian, In short. Have I not said enough? (Corneille, Chief Plays 272)

Pauline, who here repeats the first person pronoun three times, and also enumerates verbs denoting religious belief and vision to reinforce her sense of conviction, confirms for spectators that Polyeucte’s martyrdom has made her Christian. She vivifies this declaration not only via the instance of repetition just highlighted, but also by likening Polyeucte’s bloodshed to her baptism. In this way, Pauline doubly shocks the spectator, both in what she reveals and the image we associate with this news of her conversion to Christianity.

After revealing the many ways in which our martyr Polyeucte had inspired her,

Pauline evokes the play’s two martyrs directly:

Polyeucte m’appelle à cet heureux trépas. Je vois Néarque et lui qui me tendent les bras. Mène, mène-moi voir tes dieux que je déteste, Ils n’en ont brisé qu’un, je briserai le reste, On m’y verra braver tout… (Corneille, Polyecute V.5.1733-37)

Polyeucte calls me to this happy fate. I see him and Nearchus stretching out

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Their arms to me. Lead, lead me to your gods, Whom I abhor. They broke but one of them; I will break all the rest.… (Corneille, Chief Plays 272)

This passage is significant in that Pauline explicitly states that each martyr’s influence was such that it pulled her in toward the faith for which they died. Regarding Polyeucte, Pauline expresses this idea with the verb “appeler,” whereas in reference to Néarque she conveys a more physical notion of influence with the verb phrase “tenir les bras.” Moreover, Pauline suggests that they have even inspired her in her desire to commit violent acts of blasphemy.

These numerous juxtapositions of physical, visible changes with martyrdom’s less tangible but equally powerful means of influence, as expressed by Pauline, culminate with her mention of divine grace. Indeed, this spiritual kind of influence that she says she now experiences at the end of the scene mirrors the literal baptism in the martyr’s blood introduced at the beginning of the scene:

Ce n’est point ma douleur que par là je fais voir, C’est la grâce qui parle, et non le désespoir. Le faut-il dire encore, Félix ? je suis chrétienne, Affermis par ma mort ta fortune, et la mienne, Le coup à l’un et l’autre en sera précieux, Puisqu’il t’assure en terre, en m’élevant aux cieux. (Corneille, Polyeucte V.5.1741- 46)

‘Tis not my grief which I exhibit thus. ‘Tis Grace which speaks in me, and not despair. Must I repeat it, Felix? I am a Christian. Make certain, by my death, thy destiny And mine. The deed will be invaluable To both of us, because it will ensure Thy fortunes here and life me up to heaven. (Corneille, Chief Plays 272)

Pauline makes the very important point that emotions like anger and sadness are not responsible for her change in tone as she tells her father of her conversion, but rather the divine grace that she is convinced these two acts of martyrdom have granted her access to.

In this way, Pauline reinforces for spectators the sincerity of her conversion while also

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highlighting the dynamic and powerful ways in which the martyr exerts influence over his or her public.

In addition to Pauline’s conversion, which succinctly unveils martyrdom’s multifaceted means of influence, Félix’s conversion occurs under entirely different circumstances. To be sure, Pauline converts to Christianity after both witnessing the act of martyrdom and subsequently experiencing divine grace. Félix, however, converts unexpectedly in comparison with his daughter, announcing to Pauline and Sévère, who enters the stage in scene 6,

Je m’y trouve forcé par un secret appas, Je cède à des transports que je ne connais pas, Et par un mouvement que je ne puis entendre De ma fureur je passe au zèle de mon gendre. (Corneille, Polyeucte V.6.1769-72)

I find myself constrained mysteriously; I yield to feelings quite outside my ken; And by a change I cannot understand From my late anger turn to Polyeucte’s faith. (Corneille, Chief Plays 273)

What should strike the audience about Félix’s conversion is not so much the suddenness of the decision, but rather the fact that he cannot seem to articulate what has inspired this change. In fact, it is worth noting that in this passage nearly every verb that he uses conveys a sense of either force or incomprehension, rendering, it could be argued, his conversion suspect. In other words, Félix’s shift from anger toward Polyeucte and Christians more generally to his above-mentioned zeal, in this case meaning his newfound Christian zeal, may have other motives to which Corneille seeks to draw our attention.

For example, upon closer examination of Sévère’s initial address to Felix upon entering the stage at the outset of this final scene in Polyeucte, Sévère appears poised and ready to deliver the governor harsh punishment for having killed his son-in-law:

Père dénaturé, malheureux politique,

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Esclave ambitieux d’une peur chimérique, Polyeucte est donc mort, et par vos cruautés Vous pensez conserver vos tristes dignités ! La faveur pour lui je vous avais offerte Au lieu de le sauver précipité sa perte, J’ai prié, menacé, mais sans vous émouvoir, Et vous m’avez cru fourbe ou de peu de pouvoir. Eh bien, à vos dépens vous verrez que Sévère Ne se vante jamais que de ce qu’il peut faire, Et par votre ruine il vous fera juger (Corneille, Polyeucte V.6.1747-57)

Unnatural father, miserable intriguer, Ambitious slave of unsubstantial fears! Polyeucte is dead, and by they cruelty Thou thinkest to preserve thy wretched honors! The favor that I offered thee for him, Instead of saving him, hath sealed his doom! I begged, I threatened, but I could not move thee. Thou thoughtest me treacherous or of little power. Well, thou wilt to thy cost learn that Severus Makes no vain boast of that which he can do, And in thy downfall thou shalt judge… (Corneille, Chief Plays 272-73)

Sévère is unmistakably outraged, calling Félix an inhumane and deplorably ambitious father and political figure, and further suggests that his blind desire to maintain his honor kept him from hearing the pleas, and even threats, of the young Roman officer and courtier.

Following these sharp rebukes, Sévère asserts his intentions to punish Félix, as the use of the future tense with regard to the latter’s ruin clearly indicates. Moreover, given that thus far in the play a major motivating factor in Félix’s decision-making is his fear of punishment, whether from the emperor himself or from the recently promoted Sévère, spectators cannot help but assume that any action on the part of Félix following such threats would amount to his avoidance of unwanted consequences.

Hence, it is likely that Félix’s response, which is to say the announcement of his conversion, is a means of self-preservation in the face of his own downfall. In this way,

Corneille seems to put forth a critique of those who convert due to political, economic, and

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social pressures. This practice, of course, has its most apparent roots in post-Reformation

France and would remain a point of contention in France long after the Edict of Nantes’ revocation. Furthermore, this idea that Félix embodies the dangers of forced or self- motivated religious conversion is all the more believable when we take into account fluctuations in his demeanor throughout the tragedy. Indeed, Félix proves to be a character who is far from a model authority figure and patriarch, having as early as the first act renounced, quite cowardly, the responsibility of addressing Sévère’s return by begging his daughter Pauline to do so for him:

Il nous perdra, ma fille. Ah, regret qui me tue, … Ménage en ma faveur l’amour qui le possède, Et d’où provient mon mal, fais sortir le remède. (Corneille, Polyeucte I.4.329; I.4.337-38)

He will destroy us, child. It drives me mad … Use in my aid the love For thee that fills him, and from the source From which my ills proceed, effect their cure. (Corneille, Chief Plays 230)

In a manner not unlike that seen with his above-mentioned conversion, here the pretext for

Félix’s decision is fear. To escape his own ruin, Félix convinces Pauline that it is her duty to calm what he assumes will be an angry Sévère upon finding out that the woman who is supposedly his reason for returning to Roman Armenia is in fact married to a man whom

Félix had chosen for her. Put plainly, not only does Félix evade responsibility for a situation that he created, but he also misreads the circumstances of said situation, thereby showing a poor sense of leadership and poor judgement.

A second instance in which Félix shows poor judgment, therefore further tarnishing his image as an authority figure, occurs in Act 3, scene 3, when he stubbornly chooses to execute Néarque in order to diminish Polyeucte’s zeal, despite warnings that this

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punishment will have the opposite effect. In fact, toward the end of a lengthy dispute with

Pauline over Christian conviction, Félix seems to agree with her that his chosen punishment, for a Christian, is something to be desired rather than feared. However, in an obvious display of stubbornness, Félix concludes the conversation thus: “Eh bien donc

Polyeucte aura ce qu’il désire. / N’en parlons plus” (Very well, then! Polyeucte shall have his wish. / Speak we no more of it) (Corneille, Polyeucte III.3.954-55; Chief Plays 249).

Spectators soon learn that Félix’s judgement was again faulty.

By no means are these examples that call into question Félix’s demeanor exhaustive, but they serve to show that, from the audience’s perspective, the authority figure and patriarch in Polyeucte is perhaps the least reliable character. And so when Félix decides to suddenly convert to Christianity, it is perfectly reasonable, and perhaps even expected of the observant spectator, to doubt his sincerity. Because even though he clearly evokes notions of divine grace in describing this process of conversion, he also places much of the onus on Pauline in terms of staking his claim to Christian beliefs. To be more exact, it seems that at the end of his initial announcement to Sévère and Pauline that

Polyeucte’s death has made him Christian — “J’en ai fait un martyr, sa mort me fait chrétien” (I made of him a martyr; / His death has made of me a Christian) — Félix seeks to appeal to Sévère’s pity by way of his daughter (Corneille, Polyeucte V.6.1777; Chief

Plays 273). Turning toward Pauline, Félix asks for her hand and then, standing together, tests Sévère’s aforementioned promise to punish him:

Donne la main, Pauline. Apportez des liens, Immolez à vos dieux ces deux nouveaux chrétiens, Je le suis, elle l’est, suivez votre colère. (Corneille, Polyeucte V.6.1781-83)

Give me thy hand, Pauline. Bring chains, Severus: Immolate to the gods these two new Christians. I am one; she is one: glut now thy wrath. (Corneille, Chief Plays 273)

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Although it is a subtle tactic, Félix uses Pauline as a kind of shield to protect himself against Sévère’s anger. Indeed, Félix both physically and associatively links himself to his daughter, thereby encouraging Sévère to liken his crime to hers and punish them equally and together. Félix’s strategy, this time, proves to be successful, as Sévère’s response makes clear:

Qui ne serait touché d’un si tendre spectacle ? De pareils changements ne vont point sans miracle, … Si vous êtes chrétien, ne craignez plus ma haine (Corneille, Polyeucte V.6.1787-88; V.6.1800)

Who would behold unmoved to a scene so touching? A change like this must be miraculous. … If ye are Christians, dread My hate no longer, Felix; I love Christians (Corneille, Chief Plays 273)

Sévère, who denotes the striking similarity in their conversions, does not question their motives, but rather sees the father-daughter bond that Félix made a point to show him and is moved by it — so much so that he renounces his decision to persecute Christians.

In addition to this reading of Félix’s conversion as a critique of religious conversion for personal gain, which stands in contrast to Pauline’s conversion that was a result of the powerful influence of the act of martyrdom vis-à-vis the martyr’s audience, there is another possible interpretation that merits consideration. Still within the interpretive vein of the contentious early modern practice of religious conversion, an important question to ask is what it means for Félix to convert to Christianity, the religion of dissenters in the context of the play. The seventeenth-century spectator, knowing that Christianity eventually prevailed over the pagan religion that had previously dominated the Roman Empire, would not have seen Félix’s conversion as a crime, so-to-speak. Rather, the fact that Félix converts to the

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religion that would dominate, like Henri IV had done to assume the crown and ease the civil unrest that his Protestant leanings caused,20 his conversion to the “other” religious sect is not politically problematic. In fact, one could argue that Félix’s conversion is a display of his political foresight, which he clearly lacked at the play’s outset but had since developed with the help of Pauline and other characters. In other words, Corneille may have meant for

Félix to reveal the positive, constructive potential of religious conversion if the motive is political and social stability.

Although it is perhaps more convincing that the seventeenth-century spectator would have viewed Félix’s conversion with a skeptical or even critical eye, the religious conversions of Pauline and her father result in a sense of stability, with Sévère notably pronouncing a policy of toleration that would ensure some level of protection for those of the minority religion. This notion of toleration so crucial to what I see as Polyeucte’s most important message, which will be examined in greater detail in the pages that follow, is the result of numerous scenes and themes of conflict surrounding the martyr, his act of martyrdom, and the seemingly incompatible convictions of the tragedy’s characters.

20 By “leanings” I am suggesting that Henri IV did not possess a strong sense of conviction to either Protestantism or Catholicism, having converted several times before his final conversion to Catholicism. It is also relevant to note that Henri IV’s conversion was and is widely considered to be the most momentous conversion of the early modern period, namely in that his decision to formally adhere his allegiance to the Catholic Church helped to redirect France’s social and political future. As historian Michael Wolfe explains, The conversion of Henri IV in 1593 marks a crucial stage in the development of the French monarchy… In retrospect, it provided the key to ending thirty years of war and rebuilding the crown’s shattered authority. Thereafter, Navarre’s successors gradually refashioned the monarchy and the society it governed in a process we now call the growth of absolutism. (1). It would be too presumptuous to say that Corneille was making some kind of comparison between Henri IV and Félix, if he had in fact converted for the sake of his authority and social stability, but such well-known examples highlighting the impact of religious conversion surely informed his mise en scène of this practice.

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How Corneille presents these conflicts to his audience, as we have seen, calls to mind and was undoubtedly inspired to no insignificant degree by France’s tumultuous past

— a past that gave rise to the French Wars of Religion, the infamous Edict of Nantes, and decades of continued partisan dispute, well into Corneille’s own time. To say, then, that

Corneille did not find the late sixteenth century to be an ideal template, ripe with well- known historical events and figures as it was, from which to build his tragedy would be to ignore the growing concern among his contemporaries for moving forward from the persistence of religious violence in France that had roots firmly planted in the recent past.

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III. Corneille’s Message of Religious Tolerance

In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, France witnessed sustained periods of violence largely motivated by religious conflict. Importantly, however, such conflict also gave rise to discussions of political compromise and religious toleration. The most obvious evidence of this is the drafting of edicts, from the Edict of Pacification signed at Amboise in 1563 to end the first of France’s eight religious wars, to the Edict of Nantes, the alleged peace agreement that formally ended the Wars of Religion in 1598. But as religious strife in

France persisted well into Corneille’s time, so too did theories and policies of toleration.

Toleration, from the Latin ‘tolerare’, had numerous meanings in seventeenth- century France. In their compelling work on religious toleration in early modern political discourse, historians John Christian Laursen and Maria José Villaverde explain that the term “came to range from meaning suffering, putting up with, patiently bearing, (and) permitting something that one does not approve” (2). Given the clear sense of opposition inherent to notions of toleration, it is no wonder that the theory and practice of religious toleration was under seemingly constant revision. After all, why should anyone put up with or patiently bear something of which they do not approve? Moreover, religious toleration as described here seems to only allow for temporary models, thus demanding modifications in an attempt to find more stable, long-term solutions to differing and incompatible views.

Toleration as a political issue, in particular, according to Alan Levine in his research on the origins of toleration, emerged no earlier than the sixteenth century (6).21 So when

21 I should note that Levine does indeed discuss well-known writings on toleration that predate the sixteenth century, namely those of Augustine, but he convincingly argues that up until the period in question, “no important philosopher had argued for toleration as a political principle” (6).

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Corneille and his contemporaries wrote, toleration was still a relatively new area of political inquiry. Maryanne Cline Horowitz elaborates on this idea in an essay that examines discourse on tolerance in the first half of the seventeenth century, focusing on French writers such as Gabriel Naudé, Marie de Gournay, and François de La Mothe Le Vayer.

More exactly, Horowitz argues that this succession of writers understood the politics of tolerance as a means of cultivating “moral character and civic responsibility,” as well as benefiting “the welfare of the royal family and the state” (78; 79). These objectives, of course, are closely aligned with the aims of tragedians like Corneille, based on the moral precepts of French neoclassical tragedy — that is, theatrical works took on the important societal function of teaching their royal and noble viewers.

To be precise, what audiences can learn from Corneille, as Katherine Ibbett has rightly shown, are lessons of “political mastery,” which come from “learning to judge the right time to act” (Style 103). To instill his plays with such lessons, Ibbett explains that

Corneille stages what she calls “pedagogies of power,” meaning that his characters learn, and in turn teach the spectator, “different ways to act, ways understood to be more politically interesting in the sense of suggesting an interest to their user” (Style 103). An example of this would be the relationship between Néarque and Polyeucte, where Néarque clearly embodies the hasty, passion-driven decision maker, while Polyeucte teaches him to see the value in patience and the more careful planning of political actions.

The political lessons we have to learn from Polyeucte are numerous, as Corneille quite clearly engages in the politics of his day in authoring this particular tragedy.

Returning to the nascent views on religious toleration in circulation in the years surrounding Corneille’s theatrical production, it would not be outside the realm of possibility to say that Polyeucte puts forth a model of toleration. And, like the

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aforementioned French writers who directly stoked the flames of this area of political inquiry, Corneille also seems to do so for the betterment of the monarchy and the state. In other words, by staging his views on religious toleration, Corneille offers his spectators a potential means of strengthening the king’s power and easing civil discord within the state.

The model that Corneille puts forth in Polyeucte is a representative example of what

Rainer Forst, in his well-known work on the history of the concept of toleration, Toleration in Conflict, calls the ‘respect conception’ of tolerance. Of the four conceptions of tolerance that Forst describes — the permission conception, the coexistence conception, the respect conception, and the esteem conception — the one in question “proceeds from a morally grounded form of mutual respect on the part of the individuals or groups who exercise toleration” (Toleration 29). This does not imply that a tolerating party accepts the beliefs of the opposing group and its members, but rather they “respect” in the sense of recognize the other as “entitled members of a political community under the rule of law” (Forst,

Toleration 29). In other words, the dominant group grants the minority group a certain degree of political and social recognition, while both groups recognize each other’s collective norms to be generally admissible. Lastly, the respect conception understood here also takes on what Forst calls a ‘formal quality’,22 meaning that the practice of toleration

“assumes a strict separation between the private and public domains” (Toleration 30). This separation requires points of contention between groups to remain largely in the private domain, as they “must not lead to conflicts within the public political sphere” (Forst,

22 Forst distinguishes between the respect conception’s two forms, which he names ‘formal equality’ and ‘qualitative equality’. For the purposes of this chapter, the specificities of these two different forms will not be crucial to our consideration of Corneille’s message of religious tolerance in Polyeucte.

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Toleration 30). In short, tolerating parties exercise mutual respect for the sake of political and social stability.

Before examining illustrations of the respect conception of tolerance in Polyeucte, it is worth briefly noting the competing conception of tolerance — which is to say, the permission conception — that was firmly and formally established in France at the end of the sixteenth century and to which seventeenth-century political discourse on tolerance responds. Forst considers the Edict of Nantes to be one of the first and most distinctive examples of a mise en pratique of the permission conception in early modern Europe. In a published debate between himself and scholar Wendy Brown, Forst sheds light on the reasons for the permission model’s failure that later theories and practices of toleration take into account in an attempt to find a more viable solution to religious difference. Of particular consequence, Forst notes, is the mark of superiority that the permission conception allows the dominant group, with post-Edict of Nantes Catholics giving

“permission to the Huguenot minority to hold a certain space” in society, but as he further specifies, this space was “always second class” (Brown and Forst 25). The repressive effects of this form of toleration produced “stigmatized identities” that eventually, inevitably led the minority to demand more recognition vis-à-vis the dominant group

(Brown and Forst 26). And where there is a struggle for power, there is civil strife and political unrest.

Corneille’s Polyeucte interrogates notions of religious tolerance and their political implications in several ways. At the most basic level, even the tragedy’s historical context requires the spectator to think about possible means of responding to religious difference and the persistence of minority religions, namely Protestantism, in France. Indeed, according to some historians Armenia was a “unique case” in the spread of and resistance

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to Christianity in that, despite the struggle between Persian and Roman control over its provinces, there was a sense of unity among Armenians due to the fact that both sides shared a church, the Armenian Church, and a language codified by its own alphabet

(Tejirian and Simon, 15). That Corneille situates his characters and plot in such a context suggests that France, too, was a unique case in terms of religious divide and the strong potential for unity among its dominant and minority religions.

Corneille explores this potential by first interrogating the political stakes of religious toleration or a lack thereof. Spectators come to understand, for example, the desire to be martyred and the heightened sense of religious zeal that the promise of persecution inspires in Polyeucte’s Christian characters as pretexts for toleration. Importantly, Corneille also questions the effectiveness of the limits of tolerance via secondary characters like

Stratonice, as well as Félix, the authority figure who initially responds to the blasphemous acts of Polyeucte and Néarque. Here the limits of toleration are grounded in the level of recognition that characters of opposing religions are willing to grant one another. Finally, audiences gain complete access to the model of religious toleration that Corneille proposes, and that closely resembles the respect conception of tolerance, in the play’s final scenes, namely through Sévère’s response to the conversion of Pauline and Félix. In the pages that follow, each of these aspects will be considered in greater detail to ultimately show

Corneille’s political engagement in the urgent question of religious toleration in seventeenth-century France.

* * *

In exploring the politics of religious tolerance, Corneille is sure to consider and present his audience with reasons for adopting a policy of toleration. When considered alongside Polyeucte’s theme of martyrdom, the need for toleration of the minority religion

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becomes evident when the fervent desire to die for one’s faith, and to inspire others to follow suit, develops from prescribed persecutory measures. As early as Act 1, scene 1,

Néarque embodies this type of religious zeal, revealing the dangers of the constancy of those who are subjected to persecution:

Polyeucte, aujourd’hui qu’on nous hait en tous lieux, Qu’on croit servir l’Etat quand on nous persécute, Qu’aux plus âpres tourments un chrétien est en butte,… (Corneille, Polyeucte I.1.80-82)

Polyeucte, we are hated everywhere, And men believe they do the realm a service In persecuting us, and any Christian Is the subject to the cruelest tortures. (Corneille, Chief Plays 223)

While constancy is a motivating factor and a kind of consolation for minority religions, here Corneille suggests that it is also problematic for the state. More exactly, he highlights in this passage the minority perspective of intolerance, which sees notions of hatred, persecution, and torment not as undesirables, but rather sought after rewards. That Néarque is teaching Polyeucte to revel in the dominant group’s hatred of his religion and actively pursue persecution is Corneille’s way of showing spectators the ineffectiveness of harsh persecutory measures and their strong potential for political instability that, as we see later in the play, toleration may curtail.

Pauline gives the spectator a more direct reproach of the practice of religious intolerance in emphasizing the resilient mentality of the minority group when faced with persecution. In the third scene of Act 3, for example, when Pauline discusses with her father his plans for responding to the blasphemous actions of Néarque and Polyeucte, she questions his judgement when he pronounces his belief that the execution and torment of

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one religious dissenter will dissuade the other:23 “Vous pouvez espérer qu’il change de courage?” (Canst thou expect that he will thus lose courage?) (Corneille, Polyeucte

III.3.889; Chief Plays 247). Pauline, who disagrees with Félix’s contention that persecution is a powerful and effective means of regaining political stability in the midst of religious divide, cites religious conviction as a counterargument and insurmountable obstacle to the practice of intolerance:

Je sais quelle est l’humeur, et l’esprit d’un chrétien, Dans l’obstination jusqu’au bout il demeure, Vouloir son repentir, c’est ordonner qu’il meure. (Corneille, Polyeucte III.3.904- 906)

… I know The temper and the spirit of these Christians. They remain obstinate to the very end. To insist that he repent, dooms him to die. (Corneille, Chief Plays 247)

Although Pauline is also of the opinion that her husband’s Christianity is a kind of criminal obstinacy, she reiterates that this obstinacy with regard to matters of faith does not diminish, but rather augments, when confronted with the promise of death. In this way,

Pauline echoes some of the arguments of Enlightenment philosophers in defense of religious tolerance, and that can be said to lie at the root of the ideas of Corneille and his contemporaries, namely that changes in one’s faith can never be forced.24

23 L’exemple touche plus que ne fait la menace, Cette indiscrète ardeur tourne bientôt en glace, Et nous verrons bientôt son cœur inquiété Me demander pardon de tant d’impiété. (Corneille, Polyeucte III.3.885-888)

Such sights can move one more than any threat. Polyeucte’s rash zeal will soon be chilled, and we Shall see him beg of me with heart appalled A pardon for his great impiety. (Corneille, Chief Plays 247) 24 Pre-Enlightenment philosopher Pierre Bayle, for example, advocated tolerance in his well-known Dictionnaire historique et critique, having personally experienced intolerance as well as the loss of a family member who died in prison after unsuccessful attempts at

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Polyeucte and Néarque do not, in fact, ever show signs of changing their beliefs, even when Polyeucte expresses concern for the inevitably negative impacts it will have on his wife, or when Néarque questions his fellow Christian’s religious zeal in wanting to destroy the idols at the pagan ceremony. These moments, though they seem to convey something close to doubt or hesitancy, may be better understood as evidence of these characters’ abilities to negotiate the boundaries of religious difference. That is, both

Polyeucte and Néarque are aware of the implications of their otherness, and fully understand the general attitude of refusal of the religious minority that governs, at least at present, the Roman province in which they live.

Stratonice is the first character that audiences encounter who expresses such refusal to grant recognition to the religious minority, which is a key element in the permission conception of tolerance that Corneille seems to critique. In Act 3, scene 2, in particular,

Stratonice no longer conveys an attitude of admiration and praise of Polyeucte’s character as she had earlier in the play when consoling the worried Pauline. Instead, once she knows that Polyeucte and Néarque have both converted to Christianity, Stratonice struggles at first to articulate her thoughts — “Ah! Pauline.… Les chrétiens… Je ne puis” (Oh, Pauline!…

The Christians… Nay, I cannot) — thereby revealing a kind of incredulity toward

Polyeucte’s newfound faith (Corneille, Polyeucte III.2.768; III.2.771; Chief Plays 244). She then compares her thoughts on Polyeucte’s past character with her current opinion of him:

Ce courage si grand, cette âme si divine, N’est plus digne du jour, ni digne de Pauline Ce n’est plus cet époux si charmant à vos yeux, C’est l’ennemi commun de l’Etat et des dieux, Un méchant, un infâme, un rebelle, un perfide, forced conversion. Perhaps more famously, John Locke argues that conversion “cannot be had through force” in his early Two Tracts and many of his correspondences (qtd. in Johnson 98).

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Un traître, un scélérat, un lâche, un parricide, Une peste exécrable à tous les gens de bien, Un sacrilège impie, en un mot un chrétien. (Corneille, Polyeucte III.2.777-784)

This heart so great, this nature so divine, No more is worthy of life, nor of Pauline. He is no more that husband thou didst love. He is alike the realm’s foe and the god’s foe, A wicked, infamous, disloyal, faithless Scoundrel, a traitor, dastard, monstrous villain, A thing abominate to all good people, An impious blasphemer — in short, a Christian. (Corneille, Chief Plays 244)

Here Stratonice emphasizes Polyeucte’s lack of worth in her eyes, which stands in contrast to his courage and greatness when they were of the same religion. Moreover, Stratonice pronounces him an enemy of the state because of his faith, thereafter enumerating accusatory terms and insults that suggest that the religious minority is criminal and plague- like.

Stratonice’s views on religious difference offer little room for recognition of the minority religion. She likewise embodies the “repressive and disciplining” attitudes inherent to the permission conception of tolerance that shaped France’s absolutist years

(Forst, “Two Stories” 54). In response, Pauline calls into question these views when she evokes aspects of her ties to Polyeucte that extend beyond religion, and in this way serves to further Corneille’s critique of the severity of this model of tolerance: “Il est ce que tu dis, s’il embrasse leur foi, / Mais il est mon époux, et tu parles à moi” (He is all that thou sayest, if he hath / Embraced their faith. But he is still my husband, / and ‘Tis to me thou speakest)

(Polyeucte III.2.787-88; Chief Plays 244). Pauline, unlike Stratonice, does not recoil at the mention of Polyeucte’s adherence to the religion of the dissenters in the context of Roman

Armenia. Rather, she acknowledges plainly his Christianity and, importantly, his role as

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husband. Moreover, Pauline’s hints that this marital bond is more critical than his religious beliefs.

Stratonice, however, remains steadfast in her opinion that Polyeucte’s faith is of utmost consequence, so much so that Pauline should hate him and find his loyalty suspect:

“Il vous donne à present sujet de le hair, / Qui trahit tous nos dieux aurait pu vous trahir”

(He gives thee now good grounds for hating him. / One who is unto all our gods a traitor /

Could well have been unfaithful unto thee) (Corneille, Polyeucte III.2.791-92; Chief Plays

244). Pauline’s response and line of reasoning yet again constitute a counter-argument and evidence of her more accommodating views on religious difference:

Je l’aimerais encore quand il m’aurait trahie, Et si de tant d’amour tu peux être ébahie, Apprends que mon devoir ne dépend point du sien, … Quelque chrétien qu’il soit je n’en ai point d’horreur, Je chéris sa personne, et je hais son erreur. (Corneille, Polyeucte III.2.793-95; III.2.799-800)

I would have loved him still, though faithless to me, And if thou art astonished at such love, Know that my duty does not in the least Depend on him.… … A Christian though he be, I shrink not from him. I cherish him the while I hate his error. (Corneille, Chief Plays 244-245)

Pauline here announces that there is nothing, not even religious dissention, that can diminish her love for her husband, while also imploring Stratonice to separate faith from duty. Hence for Pauline, it is possible to cherish religious others despite their errors, and to ensure social stability by understanding duty as existing outside of and above religious conviction.

The sharp divide between Stratonice’s disdain for Polyeucte based solely on his conversion to the religion of the minority and Pauline’s willingness to negotiate the

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boundaries of religious difference speak to the aforementioned move away from the permission conception of tolerance in the seventeenth century. Indeed, Stratonice clearly conveys the “second class” attitude toward Christians that Forst argues this conception encourages members of the religious majority to adopt, whereas Pauline invites spectators to contemplate the recognition of the religious other (Brown and Forst 25). And although

Pauline does demonstrate it explicitly, she is perhaps Corneille’s first porte-parole for a conception of religious tolerance that includes a level of recognition of opposing views for the sake of political and social order.

In addition to Stratonice and Pauline, Félix contributes to the question of tolerance following the sacrificial ceremony. More specifically, Félix brings to the discussion notions of private and public spheres, at first showing his firm rejection of the religious other because of the discord the public display of Christian zeal incited: “Une telle insolence avoir osé paraître ! / En public ! à ma vue ! il en mourra, le traître” (To dare so foul an outrage! Publicly! / Before mine eyes! ‘Twill cost his life — the traitor!) (Corneille,

Polyeucte III.3.865-66; Chief Plays 246). Here Félix expresses his outrage over Polyeucte’s religious zeal by emphasizing ‘public’ and ‘vue’, with both terms conveying notions of visibility. In this way, Félix articulates the “formal quality” of the respect conception of tolerance, which finds that limiting religious practice to the private domain is necessary to avoid political and social conflict (Forst, Toleration 30). Indeed, Félix’s suggested remedy to this climate of discord is the execution of the dissenter, which further highlights his disapproval of the public acts of those of the minority religion.

Although Félix’s initial reaction to religious dissent is the desire to persecute, his views appear more complex and flexible when we learn that this outburst at the scene’s outset was largely provoked by the blasphemous acts of Néarque rather than Polyeucte:

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Je parle de Néarque et non de votre époux. Quelque indigne qu’il soit de ce doux nom de gendre, Mon âme lui conserve un sentiment plus tendre, La grandeur de son crime et de mon déplaisir N’a pas éteint l’amour qui me l’a fait choisir. (Corneille, Polyeucte III.3.868-872)

I spoke Of Nearchus, not thy husband. Howe’er unworthy Of the fond name of son-in-law he is, My heart hath still a tender feeling towards him. The greatness of his crime and my displeasure, Hath not destroyed the love which made me choose him. (Corneille, Chief Plays 246-47)

Like Pauline, then, Félix firmly rejects Polyeucte’s Christian beliefs, especially the public manifestation of them, yet at the same time suggests a willingness to tolerate for reasons beyond religion. Even though Félix admits that Polyeucte, given the severity of his crime, may no longer be worthy of his place within their family, he cannot help but make an exception for his son-in-law, whom he cares for deeply and whose positive attributes keep

Félix from wanting to punish him. For Félix, then, maintaining the family unit seems to be of greater consequence than matters of faith.

However, in this same scene Félix delineates the boundaries of his willingness to tolerate Polyeucte’s Christian convictions. More exactly, he announces to spectators that his stance is very temporary, as he intends to persuade Polyeucte to return to the pagan faith by persecuting Néarque. And although Pauline, as previously mentioned, presents convincing arguments as to why such a solution is not viable, Félix appears resolute in his plan to force the conversion of Polyeucte, citing obedience and lawfulness as justification:

“Je l’abandonne aux lois qu’il faut que je respecte” (I leave him to the laws I must respect)

(Corneille, Polyeucte III.3.910; Chief Plays 248). Similarly, Félix also expresses concern for exercising his authority in a fair and just manner:

Je vous en fais trop voir, Pauline, à consentir

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Qu’il évite la mort par un prompt repentir, Je devais même peine à des crimes semblables Et mettant différence entre ces deux coupables, J’ai trahi la justice à l’amour paternel, Je me suis fait pour lui moi-même criminel (Corneille, Polyeucte III.3.895-900)

I show thee too much of it, in consenting To let him escape death by prompt repentance. I ought to give like crimes like punishment. In treating differently this guilty pair I betray justice, through paternal love, And make myself a criminal for his sake. (Corneille, Chief Plays 247)

According to Félix, then, given the preferential treatment that he is willing to show

Polyeucte, it is only right that he demand repentance of the religious dissenter. Importantly, here Félix further suggests that he himself has committed a crime in showing some level of tolerance for Polyeucte’s Christianity, denoting the potential loss of authority to which it could subject him.

A major problem with Félix’s take on tolerance, as his conversation with Pauline reveals, is that it reduces religious conviction to a simple matter of choice. Félix, in fact, even likens the theological concept of divine grace to something that is governed entirely by human volition, at one point saying in reference to Polyeucte, “Sa grâce est en sa main, c’est à lui d’y rêver” (His fate is in his own hands. Let him look to’t) (Corneille, Polyeucte

III.3.907; Chief Plays 247). After Pauline evokes Polyeucte’s blindness — “Mais il est aveuglé” (But he is blind) — which the seventeenth-century spectator would likely have interpreted as his blind trust in God and the Christian faith and not his obstinacy, Félix yet again assumes that faith is a conscious decision: “Mais il se plait à l’être. / Qui chérit son erreur ne la veut pas connaître” (By hiw own will. / Who to his error clings would fain not know it / For what it is) (Corneille, Polyeucte III.3.912; III.3.913-14; Chief Plays 248). In other words, Félix views religious dissent as a deliberate attack on his authority that can

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and must be corrected, whereas Pauline sees it as an invisible and highly personal matter that is not necessarily motivated by the desire to challenge her father or the emperor.

By the end of the scene, Félix’s understanding of tolerance reverses in that he abandons his initial position of leniency in preference of strict and swift correction:

Je regarde sa faute, et ne vois plus son rang. Quand le crime d’Etat se mêle au sacrilege, Le sang ni l’amitié n’ont plus de privilège. (Corneille, Polyeucte III.3.924-26)

I see his fault, not his relationship. When crimes of State are joined with sacrilège, Blood ties and friendship count with me no longer. (Corneille, Chief Plays 248)

Félix’s whimsical policy change does not cast him in a good light. Rather than seeing beyond religious difference, Félix comes to the conclusion that Polyeucte’s faith is an insurmountable obstacle that threatens the very order and stability of the state. Thus for

Félix, an openness to recognizing the religious other’s belief system as valid is no longer possible, even if he initially presents ideas akin to those articulated by Pauline and that coincide with the respect conception of tolerance. The fact that Félix retracts, so to speak, his support of this conception, encourages the spectator to contemplate each of the two very different positions that he presents. It would seem, then, that toward the end of the scene,

Corneille figures Félix as an embodiment of the extreme rigidity of the permission conception of tolerance, as the total rejection of the minority religion also means rejecting the family ties that are equally crucial to a unified political and social body.

Félix, who had fluctuated between conceptions of religious tolerance immediately following Néarque’s and Polyeucte’s public and violent expression of their Christian beliefs, ultimately decides to adopt the rigid approach in that he will tolerate Polyeucte’s

Christianity so long as it does not manifest itself publicly, and also under the condition that he formally renounce his new faith. Importantly, however, Félix never expresses concern

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for the sincerity of this conversion, but rather suggests, as does Pauline, that he do so for the sake of public order, as the greater public bore witness to the Christians’ blasphemous acts and hence defiance of authority. In the end, Félix remains obstinate, despite Pauline’s arguments and pleas for an alternate, more understanding policy on religious dissent, inevitably following through with his threat to execute his son-in-law to make Polyeucte a

Christian martyr.

* * *

In Act 5, scene 5 of Corneille’s Polyeucte, spectators encounter a veritable coup de théâtre that mirrors their learning of the hero’s baptism and adherence to the faith of the religious minority in the context of Roman Armenia. Having been spared the violence of

Polyeucte’s martyrdom, the audience is no less shocked to hear from Pauline, who returns from her husband’s execution covered in his blood, that she, too, is a Christian convert:

Son sang dont tes bourreaux viennent de me couvrir M’a dessillé les yeux, et me les vient d’ouvrir. … Ce n’est point ma douleur que par là je fais voir, C’est la grâce qui parle, et non le désespoir. Le faut-il dire encor, Félix ? je suis chrétienne (Corneille, Polyeucte V.5.1725-26; V.5.1741-43)

His blood, in which thy executioners bathed me, Hath now unsealed mine eyes and opened them. … ‘Tis not my grief which I exhibit thus. ‘Tis Grace which speaks in me, and not despair. Must I repeat it, Felix? I am a Christian. (Corneille, Chief Plays 272)

Polyeucte’s death left Pauline blood-soaked in what also appears to be her baptism. Perhaps so as not to let us assume that the intensity of the circumstances provoked such a change,

Pauline insists that the emotions that coincide with the loss of a loved one have little to do with her conversion, specifying instead that divine grace guides her in her faith. Sévère,

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who enters the stage at the end of scene, is the ultimate authority in the eyes of Corneille’s spectator, and will guide us in our interpretation of this religious conversion.

In the tragedy’s next and final scene, Félix also converts. As noted in the present chapter’s first section, this conversion differs from Pauline’s in several ways, namely in that it follows his daughter’s pitiful monologue upon witnessing Polyeucte’s death, as well as Sévère’s harsh reproach of Felix’s decision to execute his son-in-law. Nevertheless, the fact that Félix converts is as equally unexpected as Pauline’s conversion. Sévère’s immediate and complete change in tone, of course, confirms this point. And so instead of criticizing Félix for being “dénaturé” (unnatural) and a “malheureux politique” (miserable intriguer), among other, similar insults, Sévère is moved by what he has just seen develop between Pauline and her father: “Qui ne serait touché d’un si tendre spectacle?” (Who would behold unmoved a scene so touching?) (Corneille, Polyeucte V.6.1747; V.6.1787;

Chief Plays 272-273). In other words, the spectacle that Corneille would like us to contemplate at the end of the tragedy is one of acceptance and recognition, especially in relation to religious difference, for the sake of unity within the family and the state.

Sévère’s reaction to the conversion of Pauline and Félix makes the play’s message of religious tolerance amply clear. After commenting on the miraculous nature of “de pareils changements” (a change like this), Sévère further expresses awe as he contemplates the religious minority to which Pauline and Félix now belong:

Ils mènent une vie avec tant d’innocence, Que le ciel leur en doit quelque reconnaissance. Se relever plus forts, plus ils sont abattus N’est pas aussi l’effet des communes vertus. (Corneille, Polyeucte V.6.1788; V.6.1791-94)

They (Christians) lead a life so pure that heaven owes them Some recomense. To rise again with strength The greater as they are the more downtrodden

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Is no result of ordinary virtue. (Corneille, Chief Plays 273; 274)

Here Sévère highlights an element critical to the respect conception of tolerance: recognition. For Sévère, the religious minority deserves “reconnaissance,” given the

“innocence” that guides their lives. Moreover, Sévère points to the collective sense of virtue that a group resilient enough to rise up in the face of persecution must surely possess.

Sévère then reveals his personal opinion of Christians:

Je les aimai toujours, quoi qu’on m’en ait pu dire, Je n’en vois point mourir que mon cœur n’en soupire, Et peut-être qu’un jour je les connaîtrai mieux. (Corneille, Polyeucte V.6.1795-97)

Whate’er was said of them, I always loved them And in my heart grieved when I saw them die. Perhaps I yet, someday, shall know them better. (Corneille, Chief Plays 274)

Importantly, Sévère first articulates that his views are entirely his own, meaning that he judges others without bias or influence from other individuals or groups who may be invested in suppressing the religious minority. He then expresses a kind of compassion for those who have been persecuted. Lastly, it is noteworthy that Sévère does not express love for Christianity, but rather for Christians, which coincides with our definition of religious toleration as the rejection of a belief system while still accepting, to a certain degree and under certain conditions, those who prescribe to the faith in question. In fact, Sévère not only suggests that he is willing to accept Christians, but he also reveals a willingness to understand them, thereby introducing yet another aspect of the respect conception of tolerance.

Following his general opinion of Christians, Sévère states plainly and directly that he intends to tolerate the religious minority:

J’approuve cependant que chacun ait ses dieux, Qu’il les serve à sa mode, et sans peur de la peine. Si vous êtes chrétien, ne craignez plus ma haine,

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Je les aime, Félix, et de leur protecteur Je n’en veux pas sur vous faire un persécuteur. (Corneille, Polyeucte V.6.1798- 1802)

Meanwhile, I would that all should have their gods And serve them in their own way, without fear Of punishment. If ye are Christians, dread My hate no longer, Felix; I love Christians And will not, after being their protector, Become at thy expense their persecutor. (Corneille, Chief Plays 274)

Indeed, even if he does not fully understand the religious other, is seemingly impermeable to the sight of religious conversion, and has no intentions of adopting a different faith as have Pauline and Félix, Sévère nevertheless approves their decision to subscribe to the religion of their choosing. Sévère also tells us that, as a kind of protector and authority figure, he loves Christians and does not wish to persecute them.

Sévère then makes a more explicit turn to the question of the state’s role in exercising tolerance:

Gardez votre pouvoir, reprenez-en la marque, Servez bien votre dieu, servez notre monarque, Je perdrai mon crédit envers sa majesté, Ou vous verrez finir cette sévérité, Par cette injuste haine il se fait trop d’outrage. (Corneille, Polyeucte V.6.1803-07)

Keep thine authority; resume its tokens. Serve well thy God; serve well our emperor. I shall lose all my favor with his Highness Or ye shall see his cruel commands revoked. This unjust hate of his too sorely wrongs him. (Corneille, Chief Plays 274)

Turning to Félix, Sévère reassures him that his authority as governor of Roman Armenia, even if he is now Christian, will not suffer because of his religious conversion. In other words, Sévère suggests that individual faith and political power really are separable, and, furthermore, that the latter surpasses the former when maintaining good state governance is the highest priority. Indeed, in the following line Sévère juxtaposes commands to serve

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God and the monarch, meaning that they are separate, but both important prerequisites for political and social order and stability. To emphasize this idea, Sévère goes so far as to say that he is willing to subject his own authority and his credibility vis-à-vis Emperor Decius for the sake of putting an end to unjust hatred and the persecutory measures that had provoked so much chaos and conflict.

Sévère embodies the general attitude that the respect conception of tolerance inspires. That is, his closing remarks in Polyeucte both argue for and demonstrate a policy of religious toleration that openly recognizes the minority religion, granting its members political authority and representation within the state. Moreover, this attitude toward the religious other that is inherent to the respect conception of tolerance, and unlike that which the permission conception fosters, includes a very human and compassionate component.

More exactly, it requires individuals to acknowledge the religious other’s choice in a belief system, even if they do not agree with it, as personally and not politically motivated, thereby encouraging more emotional and psychological connections to be established between groups. Corneille demonstrates this by way of Sévère’s emotional response to recent converts Pauline and Félix. Sévère also reveals a profound effort to understand the religious other, offering spectators in Polyeucte’s final scene the idea that toleration is possible when religious groups find common ground based on their shared desire to maintain social and political order.

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IV. Conclusion

Polyeucte martyr greatly appealed to spectators in Paris when it was first performed in 1642, and today is widely considered to be one of Corneille’s best and most successful tragedies. Like much of the tragic canon, Polyeucte provides audiences, whether a twenty- first century reader or a seventeenth-century spectator, a means of investigating our world.

Its characters and their actions project the pressing issues of a declining Roman empire that, in turn, the reading or viewing public, contemporary or early modern, can think and talk about, respond to, or even ignore.25 And while Polyeucte reveals many serious conflicts and their ensuing lessons, like the need for prudence in the political realm, there remains a prevalent concern that Corneille seems to have embedded within his tragedy and that is — and was — too often overlooked, or dare I say ignored: religious tolerance.

In the present chapter, I chose to focus on aspects of Polyeucte that demonstrate

Corneille’s deliberate engagement with the violent conflicts between Catholics and

Reformers that reached a culminating point in late sixteenth-century France, after nearly four decades of warfare, and demanded a firm and lasting policy change geared toward the coexistence of these two fiercely divided religious groups. The Edict of Nantes that Henri

IV signed in 1598 effectively ended the Wars of Religion, but partisan conflict persisted at

25 This idea of readers and viewers deliberately ignoring what they see before them is not my own. In her introduction to The Style of the State in French Theater, Katherine Ibbett makes an important point about critical approaches to neoclassical theater, but can readily apply to the critical gaze of seventeenth-century audiences, by way of the frontispiece to Jean-François Nicéron’s La perspective curieuse (1). The engraving depicts statuary figures around a colonnade, some examining minute details rather than the larger, more evident objects that surround them. So although Corneille deliberately, as I have argued, presented his seventeenth-century audiences with a model of religious tolerance, they could have just as deliberately looked away, in a different direction, to contemplate a different aspect of Polyeucte.

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all levels of society. For a playwright like Corneille, who was in the advantageous position of being able to influence the French theater-going public and at least some members of

France’s upper and ruling classes, the need to think seriously about revising the failed decree of religious tolerance from the previous century was long overdue — as he was, I have argued, a contributing voice to this critical discussion by way of Polyeucte.

My reading of Polyeucte proposed an understanding of Corneille’s underlying intentions vis-à-vis his contemporaries, specifically with regard to the politics of religious tolerance. I further defined this framework by outlining the models of religious tolerance that exist or have existed, as defined by the historical work of twenty-first century political theorists the likes of Rainer Forst. Among these models, the Edict of Nantes stands out for its well-articulated aims, albeit by controversial means,26 of tolerating Reformers and granting them a degree of recognition. Like Forst, I referred to the Edict of Nantes as an example of the ‘permission conception’ of tolerance. But this edict’s more consequential and rigid goal of ‘one faith, one king, one law’ proved problematic in its overly diplomatic nature,27 merely permitting Reformers to exist in a Catholic kingdom, and asserting that they accept their position as subordinate to the religious majority. As Corneille makes clear in Polyeucte through his references to the French Wars of Religion and their lasting impact

26 A major point of contention that sparked some of the seventeenth century’s most violent partisan disputes was the provision of worship sites for Reformers. In fact, N.M. Sutherland considers it to be the leading cause of their downfall in the decades preceding Louis XIV’s Edict of Fontainebleau in 1685, also known as the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, which did precisely what its name suggests (48). 27 Mack P. Holt discusses the problem of rigidity with regard to the Edict of Nantes, likewise suggesting, as I have, that it could not possibly have been envisioned as a “permanent” solution to religious toleration between Catholics and Reformers in France (173).

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on France’s political landscape, this mise en pratique of the permission conception did little to foster tolerant attitudes among French subjects, Catholic and Reformed alike.

Corneille had a better idea and model of religious tolerance in mind when he wrote

Polyeucte. As I have demonstrated through attention to the many parallels between key scenes in Polyeucte and France’s tumultuous past, as well as the discourse of tolerance that his characters develop over the course five acts, Corneille’s tragedy reflects the ‘respect conception’ of tolerance — a model that, importantly, entails more accommodating and respectful attitudes toward the religious other than the decidedly unsustainable permission conception. For Corneille, what made the respect conception worthy of consideration among seventeenth-century audiences, as the final scene of Polyeucte makes clear, was its potential for increasing the political and social order that the rising absolutist regime so desperately sought, and that religious intolerance so severely hindered.

245 Conclusion

Mon cœur avait été saisi par la grandeur de la révolution religieuse, attendri des martyrs, que j’ai dû prendre à leur touchant berceau, suivre dans leurs actes héroïques, conduire, assister au bûcher. Les livres ne signifient plus rien. Chacun de ces saints fut un livre où l’humanité lira éternellement.1

My heart had been captured by the grandeur of the religious revolution, moved by its martyrs whom I was compelled to lift from their place of repose, follow in their heroic acts, lead, witness at the stake. Books no longer mean anything. Each of these saintly persons was a book from which all of humanity will read in perpetuity.2

— Jules Michelet, nineteenth-century French historian

This dissertation began with the idea of persistence. I was initially drawn to the persistence of Reformers for maintaining their beliefs and a presence in France, despite the persecutory measures of the crown and the losses and struggles that they endured during and after the French Wars of Religion. This persistence in mind and action, which I had sensed in countless works of art and historical and polemic texts from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, seemed to me too strong to ignore and too intriguing not to pursue.

The impetus to take up the topics of martyrdom and religious violence came from my interest in a major narrative turn in the story of the French Reform, as told by its writers, when their beliefs and devotional practices became incontestable truths that were worth dying for — that is, during the intensive periods of Reformed persecution in the early and mid-sixteenth century, when Reformers viewed the executions of their own as acts of martyrdom. For Reformers, martyrdom was “the ultimate act of

1 In the preface to his infamous volume on the French Wars of Religion in Histoire de France, nineteenth-century historian Jules Michelet vividly describes his fascination with the martyr figure and the many men and women who were embroiled in the religious violence of the late sixteenth century (7). He underscores, in particular, his interest in the longevity and depth of martyrdom’s influence on French culture, over three centuries after the rise of the Reform movement and Catholic-Reformed violence in France. 2 Emphasis mine.

246 witnessing” that served to confirm the truth of their faith and was a veritable weapon of resistance against the Catholic enemy (Dillon 3). And while French courts never fully resumed formal persecutory measures after the 1560s,3 thereby slowing the making of

Reformed martyrs, the Wars of Religion saw the martyr’s platform move from the scaffold to cities and provincial towns throughout France, where religious violence — including armed conflict, massacres, and popular uprisings — served to confirm the convictions of Reformers and fuel them in their armed and spiritual battles. Hence, the continuity between martyrdom and religious violence that early modern French writings evince, and that explain in part my observation on the persistence of Reformers, formed the subject of my dissertation.

The four writers I chose to further clarify this sense of continuity — Jean

Crespin (1520-1572), Jean de Léry (1536-1613), Agrippa d’Aubigné (1552-1630), and

Pierre Corneille (1606-1684) — produced well-known and widely-circulated works that intentionally, as my chapters have suggested, addressed the martyrs and religious violence of the French Reform. The intentions of each writer varied in approach and execution, but all sought to incite their contemporary French-speaking audiences to think earnestly about the experiences of the Reformed religious minority. Their respective works, I have argued, were meant to guide audiences toward particular perceptions of Reformers who suffered martyrdom and religious violence at different phases in the history of the French Reform — perceptions that shifted alongside the changing sociopolitical dynamics of France’s Catholic-Reformed conflicts, and that

3 In his study of court records in Judging the French Reformation, William Monter asserts that during the French Wars of Religion, “French courts never resumed heresy trials on any significant scale,” likewise dating the “final surge of heresy persecution” to about 1557 to 1559 (2; 164).

247 ranged from praiseworthy and heroic to sympathetic and deserving of renewed policies of religious toleration.

In Chapter One, I examined Jean Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs, the Reformed martyrology that he compiled, edited, and first published in the French vernacular in

1554, several years after fleeing religious persecution in France to take refuge in

Geneva. He would go on to expand his project and produce multiple editions of the martyrology until his death from plague in 1572, after which point historian Simon

Goulart oversaw the production of additional martyrological works. Crespin’s martyrology was a veritable enterprise born from his desire to firmly establish himself as a printer and stand out among Reformers in Geneva’s competitive printing and book industries. Crespin succeeded in this enterprise, as his Histoire des martyrs would become one of the most influential and in-demand works among Reformers in France in the late sixteenth century. In some cases his martyrology circulated clandestinely, while in others it was read aloud at sermons, essentially providing consolation, instruction, and inspiration through its accounts of Reformed martyrdom to the French religious minority who lived under the threat of persecution. Crespin, as my reading has shown, created a Reformed cult of martyrdom with the production of the Histoire des martyrs, instilling printed accounts of martyrdom with cultural and symbolic value for the

French-speaking Reformers who comprised his readership, while also granting him the authority and prestige that details surrounding his early life and career suggest he sought to achieve. Crespin’s martyrology thus memorialized the Reformed victims of religious persecution from the movement’s not-so-distant past, creating heroic and shining symbols of their faith and cause — the value of which, for sixteenth-century readers, would carry over and live on in the writings of French Reformers who experienced first- hand religious violence in the years surrounding the Wars of Religion.

248 Following this thread of martyrological writing and histories of religious violence as a means of shaping sixteenth-century readers’ perceptions of Reformers, I turned in Chapter Two to French explorer and Reformed minister Jean de Léry’s

Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage, published respectively in 1574 and

1578.4 Léry, who read Crespin and knew him from his training for the ministry with

Calvin in Geneva, was also deeply invested in telling affirmative and potentially inspiring versions of pivotal events in Reformed history, which were likewise prompted by the persecution of French Reformers. Léry’s writings were based on his personal experience of the events described, as he asserts in both the Histoire mémorable and

Histoire d’un voyage, thereby creating effects of verisimilitude and immediate eyewitness reportage. His stipulated aim in each work was to explain to readers accurately and plainly what had happened during the Siege of Sancerre and over the course of his travels to and from Brazil. Both events amounted to failures,5 yet as I have argued,

Léry’s telling of them was meant to encourage his sixteenth-century reader to adopt an alternate perspective — that is, his accounts highlight the resilience and resourcefulness of Reformers in the face of adverse circumstances, effectively aiming to bolster their projected image and sense of self. The circumstances that served to contextualize these positive articulations of Reformed identity in the Histoire mémorable and Histoire d’un voyage were markedly food-centric. Léry paid particular attention to instances of famine, food preparations, and food rituals to give martyr-like personas to the besieged

Sancerrois and the members of his Reformed expedition. For Léry, to be a Reformer

4 1578 was indeed the year that Léry first published the Histoire d’un voyage, though the edition that I and most scholars use was published two years later, in 1580, which did not differ significantly from the original. 5 Sancerre’s besiegement ended in a Catholic victory by famine in 1573. Fort Coligny was seized by the Portuguese in 1560, though its demise began several years earlier, as its founder Villegagnon’s departure in 1558 suggests.

249 was to patiently endure the quotidian strife and agonizing pains, like suffering from hunger or being consumed by the cannibalistic enemy, that were the violent reality of

Reformed life in France. Hence, the martyr mentality was not unique to martyrdom, and could be articulated and celebrated through the everyday hardships of French

Reformers.

Much like Léry, who developed an intimate portrait of religious strife to shape his contemporary readership’s perception of Reformers during pivotal moments in their history, Reformed poet and soldier Agrippa d’Aubigné depicted with vibrant immediacy the past sufferings of their church and movement in the epic Les Tragiques. However, unlike Léry, who told of personally witnessed events and published his accounts in the midst of the French Wars of Religion, Aubigné did not publish his epic until 1616, long after the wars had ended. And in the case of Les Tragiques’ fourth book, “Les Feux,”

Aubigné rewrote the accounts of martyrdom from Crespin’s Histoire des martyrs, thereby reviving the stories of Reformers from a bygone era. Aubigné wrote for a seventeenth-century readership for whom Catholic-Reformed conflict persisted, but that lived in a decisively Catholic kingdom, Reformers having been defeated and more or less forced into submission following France’s decades-long religious wars. In my reading of “Les Feux” in Chapter Three, my contention was that Aubigné sought to enhance the emotional and persuasive impacts that Crespin’s martyrological accounts did indeed have on sixteenth-century Reformers, an endeavor that required a renewed and more engaged style for seventeenth-century readers. By setting accounts of

Reformed martyrdom to verse in “Les Feux,” essentially combining the epic and the traditional martyrology, Aubigné created a new subgenre and style that I have called the

‘epic martyrology’. The poetic, highly illustrative, and often violent language of

Aubigné’s epic martyrology embellished the sober Calvinist aesthetic of the Histoire

250 des martyrs to captivate seventeenth-century readers and potentially rekindle the awe and zeal that accounts of Reformed martyrdom had once inspired in Reformers. In rewriting his source text as an epic martyrology, Aubigné rewrote the history of the

French Reform’s demise so that it would live on in the minds of seventeenth-century

Reformers as a heroic stand against the enemies of the true faith.

Representations of martyrs and religious violence continued to resonate with

French audiences in the early and mid-seventeenth century. The popularity and success of the martyr drama, in Paris and provincial cities alike, formed an important chapter in the history of martyrdom’s influence on early modern perceptions of the religious other who endured suffering and death for his or her faith (Semk 9). Some martyr dramas, like some martyrologies, were used for devotional purposes, while others reflected the sociopolitical aims of neoclassical tragedians to “buttress the authority of the monarch,” with the devotional context serving to draw attention to the perennial issue of religious conflict and tensions in France (Frisch, Forgetting 163). Such was the case with Pierre

Corneille’s Polyeucte martyr, composed in 1642 and published in 1643, that I made my focus in Chapter Four. My reading demonstrated many strong parallels between

Polyeucte and the French Wars of Religion through Corneille’s staging of themes, characters, and discourses that he intended to call to mind the dangers of martyrdom, religious pluralism, and Christian zeal — dangers that would have still been on the minds, and possibly in the memories, of the seventeenth-century audience for whom

Polyeucte was written, and that had so decisively fractured French society and the king’s authority in the late sixteenth century. But Corneille went beyond recall, illustrating the personal and political conflicts of the religious minority and majority from the previous century to incite reflection on the policy of religious toleration that concluded the Wars of Religion in 1598, the Edict of Nantes. Corneille’s characters

251 explored the effectiveness and limits of religious tolerance throughout Polyeucte, but ultimately chose a stance that would afford the state a greater degree of social and political stability than what a problematic and outdated policy like the Edict of Nantes had or could, namely by granting more recognition to the religious minority and fostering attitudes of respect for the religious other. Corneille, who wrote in the interest of the Catholic crown, proposed via Polyeucte a model of tolerance that he and many of his contemporaries seemed to have thought France needed,6 and whose origins were laid during the early years of the French Reform and the decades of religious violence and armed conflict between Catholics and Reformers. Renewed attention to tolerance was, for Corneille, an answer to the problem of the persistent religious minority, who still posed an imminent threat to the stability of France’s crown and subjects.

* * *

The four chapters in this dissertation do not and were not meant to offer a comprehensive view of martyrological writing in the French vernacular in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Instead, my concern was with lines of continuity across pivotal episodes and moments of change in the history of religious conflict in France and the writers who engaged with them through their works. Covering a period of about a century, I have considered the persecution of Reformers during the Reform movement’s spread in France in the martyrology, battles for Reformed land and legitimacy during the French Wars of Religion in the memoir and travelogue, Reformed

6 In Chapter Four I discuss in greater detail the emergence of toleration as a political issue in the sixteenth century and its development in the seventeenth century (Levine 6). In seventeenth-century France, in particular, writers and contemporaries of Corneille such as Gabriel Naudé, Marie de Gournay, and François de La Mothe Le Vayer contributed to the rise in political discourse on religious tolerance, as Maryanne Cline Horowitz describes in her essay, “French Free-Thinkers in the First Decades of the Edict of Nantes.”

252 responses to defeat in the epic, and the growing need for renewed policies on religious toleration that manifested in theater.

My primary objective in this dissertation has been to reach a wider understanding of the role of martyrdom and religious violence in early modern French culture by exploring how writers reimagined and repurposed these phenomena in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. To do so, I have focused on the appropriation of the religious other’s lived experiences in French vernacular works that embody different aspects of Catholic-Reformed conflict in France, that represent different episodes in the history of the French Reform, and that delineate the form and functions of different genres and narrative modes. To my knowledge, a study of such breadth has never been attempted. My dissertation is thus a significant contribution to the field of early modern

French literature that has traced the evolution of early modern conceptions of and responses to the martyrdom and persecution of the religious other — an evolution of ideas that has ultimately exposed a lifespan, from 1554 to 1643, of the practical uses of religious violence in a powerful cultural medium, from consoling and inspiring those most immediately affected to encouraging future generations to adopt more tolerant attitudes toward the beliefs and devotional practices of minority groups.

In the end, my dissertation tells a specific kind of story — a story of death, suffering, war, and violence. It generates a conversation, more broadly speaking, about the relationship between culture and conflict in the early modern period. Since culture is the lens through which people see conflict and learn to navigate it,7 widely-circulated writings from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries provide an insightful area of inquiry, as I hope to have shown, that can be fruitfully brought to bear on the study of

7 Pat K. Chew describes the relationship between conflict and culture in this way in her book The Culture and Conflict Reader (3).

253 early modern people’s understandings of religious and political discord. Much like the texts examined in this dissertation, the story of martyrdom and religious violence is far from over, and the lessons that Crespin, Léry, Aubigné, and Corneille left behind have much to impart to us today.

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