Showing posts with label Henry Baird. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Henry Baird. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
Early American Presbyterians on the French Huguenots
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Siege of Sancerre
The French Wars of Religion comprise of a series of military conflicts between Roman Catholics and Huguenots from 1562-1598. The fourth war was set off by the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre in August 1572 and lasted until the signing of the July 1573 Edict of Boulogne. This phase of the Wars of Religion is famous for three episodes in which the royalist Catholic forces besieged Huguenot cities at Sommières, La Rochelle and Sancerre.
Sommières capitulated after a siege which lasted from February to April 1573, during which the fortified city's defenders fought ferociously even pouring pots of boiling oil upon the heads of the attackers, and the terms of surrender were generous. Henry Baird writes that "the garrison capitulated on such favorable terms, that the Protestants were rather elated than discouraged" (History of the Rise of the Huguenots of France, Vol. 2, p. 589).
La Rochelle is a seaport and thus was not completely cut off by the massive consolidation of royalist forces, led by Henri, Duke of Anjou, which surrounded it. The conflict began there in November 1572, and the siege itself lasted from February to July 1573. Help was sought from Queen Elizabeth I of England, but she felt bound by an earlier peace treaty with France not to interfere beyond sending a small, ineffective relief convoy. (The famous Huguenot treatise, Vindiciae Contra Tyrannos (Defense of Liberty Against Tyrants), which has an important section on the duty of foreign princes to aid Christian subject being persecuted by their tyrant ruler, was published seven years later.) The city suffered but held out until the siege was lifted following diplomatic negotiations which involved Poland.
The Siege of Sancerre became legendary. Like La Rochelle, the initial phase of the conflict began in November 1572, with a temporarily successful surprise attack launched by the royalist forces led by Honorat de Bueil, seigneur de Racan. Unlike La Rochelle, Sancerre is a fortified landlocked hilltop city. Troops returned in January 1573, and in March, Claude de La Châtre led a second attack with 7,000 men, which was bitterly repulsed. Royalist troops pounded the city's walls with cannon fire, but the Sancerreans fought back with trebuchets, which became known as the "arquebuses of Sancerre," one of the last times this type of weapon was used in a European military campaign. After the failed assault, Châtre instituted a blockade which lasted through the summer. He made the calculated decision to starve the defenders whom he could not take by force. The Huguenot citizens responded bravely, singing psalms throughout the siege. But the effects of the starvation were staggering to contemplate. Resupply was impossible; messengers who were sent from the city to find help were executed. The day-to-day events were recorded by Jean de Léry, the Huguenot minister who had himself survived privation at the Protestant colony of France Antarctique in the 1550's, and lived through the Siege of Sancerre too, teaching his fellow citizens how to eat leather to survive. He wrote Histoire memorable de la ville de Sancerre (1574), the tenth chapter of which Edward Smedley, History of the Reformed Religion in France, Vol. 3, p. 88, has termed a "Cookery Book for the Besieged," because of de Léry's attention to detail and personal efforts at survival learned in Brazil and shared with his fellow Frenchmen. While most of the citizens suffered honorably, subsisting on horses, dogs, rats, mice, leather, parchment, grass and roots, he faithfully and sadly records the unpleasant details surrounding one family's descent into cannibalism. The dramatic effects of hunger led many to compare this siege to that of Jerusalem, and the Siege of Sancerre became a Protestant cause célèbre throughout Europe. Over 600 royalist troops were killed in combat compared to only 84 Sancerreans, but over 500 citizens, many of them children under the age of 12, died of starvation. But the city held out until a diplomatic solution was worked out. The city was ultimately taken by Châtre in August after Henri, Duke of Anjou (later Henri III of France), was elected king of Poland, upon the condition that he ceased hostilities against French Protestants, which led to the signing of the aforementioned Edict of Boulogne. Thus was the siege lifted. A year to the day after the commencement of the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre, the last Sancerrean left the city freely, and shortly thereafter Châtre entered in triumph of sorts. One of the most horrific sieges in modern history ended in God's providence with mercy to its heroic citizens, if not the city's fortifications, which were leveled by Châtre. The courage of the Huguenot Sancerreans, and all those who suffered for the name of Jesus and the sake of the Protestant religion in France, must not be forgot.
Sommières capitulated after a siege which lasted from February to April 1573, during which the fortified city's defenders fought ferociously even pouring pots of boiling oil upon the heads of the attackers, and the terms of surrender were generous. Henry Baird writes that "the garrison capitulated on such favorable terms, that the Protestants were rather elated than discouraged" (History of the Rise of the Huguenots of France, Vol. 2, p. 589).
La Rochelle is a seaport and thus was not completely cut off by the massive consolidation of royalist forces, led by Henri, Duke of Anjou, which surrounded it. The conflict began there in November 1572, and the siege itself lasted from February to July 1573. Help was sought from Queen Elizabeth I of England, but she felt bound by an earlier peace treaty with France not to interfere beyond sending a small, ineffective relief convoy. (The famous Huguenot treatise, Vindiciae Contra Tyrannos (Defense of Liberty Against Tyrants), which has an important section on the duty of foreign princes to aid Christian subject being persecuted by their tyrant ruler, was published seven years later.) The city suffered but held out until the siege was lifted following diplomatic negotiations which involved Poland.
The Siege of Sancerre became legendary. Like La Rochelle, the initial phase of the conflict began in November 1572, with a temporarily successful surprise attack launched by the royalist forces led by Honorat de Bueil, seigneur de Racan. Unlike La Rochelle, Sancerre is a fortified landlocked hilltop city. Troops returned in January 1573, and in March, Claude de La Châtre led a second attack with 7,000 men, which was bitterly repulsed. Royalist troops pounded the city's walls with cannon fire, but the Sancerreans fought back with trebuchets, which became known as the "arquebuses of Sancerre," one of the last times this type of weapon was used in a European military campaign. After the failed assault, Châtre instituted a blockade which lasted through the summer. He made the calculated decision to starve the defenders whom he could not take by force. The Huguenot citizens responded bravely, singing psalms throughout the siege. But the effects of the starvation were staggering to contemplate. Resupply was impossible; messengers who were sent from the city to find help were executed. The day-to-day events were recorded by Jean de Léry, the Huguenot minister who had himself survived privation at the Protestant colony of France Antarctique in the 1550's, and lived through the Siege of Sancerre too, teaching his fellow citizens how to eat leather to survive. He wrote Histoire memorable de la ville de Sancerre (1574), the tenth chapter of which Edward Smedley, History of the Reformed Religion in France, Vol. 3, p. 88, has termed a "Cookery Book for the Besieged," because of de Léry's attention to detail and personal efforts at survival learned in Brazil and shared with his fellow Frenchmen. While most of the citizens suffered honorably, subsisting on horses, dogs, rats, mice, leather, parchment, grass and roots, he faithfully and sadly records the unpleasant details surrounding one family's descent into cannibalism. The dramatic effects of hunger led many to compare this siege to that of Jerusalem, and the Siege of Sancerre became a Protestant cause célèbre throughout Europe. Over 600 royalist troops were killed in combat compared to only 84 Sancerreans, but over 500 citizens, many of them children under the age of 12, died of starvation. But the city held out until a diplomatic solution was worked out. The city was ultimately taken by Châtre in August after Henri, Duke of Anjou (later Henri III of France), was elected king of Poland, upon the condition that he ceased hostilities against French Protestants, which led to the signing of the aforementioned Edict of Boulogne. Thus was the siege lifted. A year to the day after the commencement of the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre, the last Sancerrean left the city freely, and shortly thereafter Châtre entered in triumph of sorts. One of the most horrific sieges in modern history ended in God's providence with mercy to its heroic citizens, if not the city's fortifications, which were leveled by Châtre. The courage of the Huguenot Sancerreans, and all those who suffered for the name of Jesus and the sake of the Protestant religion in France, must not be forgot.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Reformer and Poet
One day in 1548, soon after Theodore Beza arrived in Geneva, John Calvin entered Beza's room, unbeknownst to his friend, and found lying on a desk a draft versification of Psalm 16 by the young Reformer. He took it, and with the agreement of other ministers to whom he showed the paper, succeeded in persuading young Beza to try his hand at further poetic versifications of the Psalms. This lead to the completion of the Genevan Psalter (1551-1562) following Clement Marot's early death (he died in 1544 having put 30 psalms to metre).
Earlier that year, before his conversion and arrival at Geneva, Beza in fact had published his Poëmata, or Juvenilia, a collection of poems written mostly before he turned 20 (he was 28 or 29 when they were published) dedicated his mentor (and Calvin's), Melchior Wolmar, that were more elegant and more innocent than later critics would assume. Beza would later describe his Latin epigrams as being "in imitation of the ancient poets," naming elsewhere Catullus and Ovid. He would later express regret for writing these particular poems, identifying them with the errors of his youth, though his opponents took occasion to ascribe a corruption to them which was not there. Henry Baird writes: "On that score, nothing more need be said than that not many of the Juvenilia are open to the charge of indelicacy, while many are above reproach" (Theodore Beza, Counsellor of the Reformation 1519-1605, p. 30).
But in his new life after conversion, he embraced the psalmody of Geneva, and tried to redeem his poetic gift. Thus, the Huguenot Psalter was completed and Reformation Psalmody was strengthened.
All his life, Beza retained a love of poetry. He regretted some of his youthful poetic labors and the fact that, rightly or wrongly, they became the basis of certain calumnies leveled against the Reformation. He would mainly write prose thereafter, but the Genevan Psalter is a shining example of how he would redeem his noteworthy poetic gifts. He continued to write poetry from time to time, as well as a play, Abraham Sacrifiant, published in 1550. It was translated into English in 1575 (published in 1577) by Arthur Golding under the title The Tragedy of Abraham's Sacrifice. It is available to read online in modern spelling here (and in the original spelling here).
Beza has been often quoted as saying, "I have never been able to repent of my love of poetry." The context of this statement is worthy of elaboration. It was in the preface to his play that he wrote:
There is in this statement some measure of guilt it seems, and there is a sense in which his religious poetic and playwright efforts are an expiation, or an atonement, for youthful misdeeds, real or perceived. Talents wastefully employed by him in younger days were applied to more serious and eternal endeavors. But the gifts themselves were not to be denied, and the poetry in Beza would flow all throughout his life.
He wrote an epigram upon the death of his dear friend, John Calvin, originally in Latin, which reads:
Not long after his wife Claudine died in 1588, he wrote a poem for Jacques Lect, a Councilman in Geneva who likewise lost his wife, in which he honored Claudine and expressed his own grief while consoling his friend.
In 1595, he wrote a poem to his friend Grynaeus, pastor of Basel. Henry Baird writes (ibid, pp. 341-342:
In the late 1590's, a curious rumor was spread that Beza was at death's door, and that indeed he had died, having returned to the Roman fold on his death-bed. Beza himself was very much alive and found it amusing (one may well imagine he would appreciate Mark Twain's remark that "Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated") but found it necessary to dispel the rumor with a letter and satirical epigram.
There is a story told about a famous visitor who visited him around the year 1600 and found him busily scratching out and re-working poetic verses to which Beza pleasantly responded by saying "This is the way that I beguile my time!"
The last poem he published was a tribute to King Henry IV, who visited him in Geneva in 1599. "It was a poem of six stanzas, Ad inclytum Franciae et Navarrae regem Henricum IV. ("to the renowned King of France and Navarre, Henry IV.") 'It was his last, his swan song.'" (Philip Schaff, History of the Christian Church, Vol. 8 § 175, quoting Heinrich Heppe, Theodor Beza. Leben und ausgewählte Schriften, p. 310).
Beza's poetry was a pleasant diversion or pastime for him, but a gift to the church, especially in the form of the Huguenot Psalter. He will always be remembered for his prose writings, but he was a poet and a playwright too, and if I may be permitted a brief allusion to a modern composer, Alan Lerner, "Don't let it be forgot / that once there was a spot" where poetry and the Reformation came together in Beza's Geneva.
Earlier that year, before his conversion and arrival at Geneva, Beza in fact had published his Poëmata, or Juvenilia, a collection of poems written mostly before he turned 20 (he was 28 or 29 when they were published) dedicated his mentor (and Calvin's), Melchior Wolmar, that were more elegant and more innocent than later critics would assume. Beza would later describe his Latin epigrams as being "in imitation of the ancient poets," naming elsewhere Catullus and Ovid. He would later express regret for writing these particular poems, identifying them with the errors of his youth, though his opponents took occasion to ascribe a corruption to them which was not there. Henry Baird writes: "On that score, nothing more need be said than that not many of the Juvenilia are open to the charge of indelicacy, while many are above reproach" (Theodore Beza, Counsellor of the Reformation 1519-1605, p. 30).
But in his new life after conversion, he embraced the psalmody of Geneva, and tried to redeem his poetic gift. Thus, the Huguenot Psalter was completed and Reformation Psalmody was strengthened.
All his life, Beza retained a love of poetry. He regretted some of his youthful poetic labors and the fact that, rightly or wrongly, they became the basis of certain calumnies leveled against the Reformation. He would mainly write prose thereafter, but the Genevan Psalter is a shining example of how he would redeem his noteworthy poetic gifts. He continued to write poetry from time to time, as well as a play, Abraham Sacrifiant, published in 1550. It was translated into English in 1575 (published in 1577) by Arthur Golding under the title The Tragedy of Abraham's Sacrifice. It is available to read online in modern spelling here (and in the original spelling here).
Beza has been often quoted as saying, "I have never been able to repent of my love of poetry." The context of this statement is worthy of elaboration. It was in the preface to his play that he wrote:
I admit that by nature I have always delighted in poetry, and I cannot yet repent of it; but much do I regret to have employed the slender gifts with which God has endowed me in this regard, upon things of which the mere recollection at present makes me blush. I have therefore given myself to such matters as are more holy, hoping to continue therein hereafter.
There is in this statement some measure of guilt it seems, and there is a sense in which his religious poetic and playwright efforts are an expiation, or an atonement, for youthful misdeeds, real or perceived. Talents wastefully employed by him in younger days were applied to more serious and eternal endeavors. But the gifts themselves were not to be denied, and the poetry in Beza would flow all throughout his life.
He wrote an epigram upon the death of his dear friend, John Calvin, originally in Latin, which reads:
Rome's greatest terror he, whom now being dead
The best of men lament, the wicked dread:
Virtue itself from him might virtue learn; -
And dost thou ask why Calvin did not earn
A place more splendid for his last repose,
Than that small spot which does his bones inclose?
But know, that modesty even from the womb
Had been his guest, - and she has built his tomb.
O happy clod! thy tenant, great was he;
The gorgeous shrines may justly envy thee.
Not long after his wife Claudine died in 1588, he wrote a poem for Jacques Lect, a Councilman in Geneva who likewise lost his wife, in which he honored Claudine and expressed his own grief while consoling his friend.
In 1595, he wrote a poem to his friend Grynaeus, pastor of Basel. Henry Baird writes (ibid, pp. 341-342:
But up to the end of his life the passion for letters continued, and now that the time for sustained labours had clearly passed, it was chiefly in poetry that he continued to divert himself, the epigram which had been the pastime of his youth thus becoming the solace of his old age. The homeliest circumstance of every-day life afforded subject enough for verses — Latin verses, of course—in which the trivial occurrence was turned to spiritual account and made to bear a higher interpretation. In the freedom of familiar correspondence with his old friend, Grynaeus, the pastor of Basel, he jots down, for example, the fact that that very morning of his seventy-sixth birthday, his aged servant had greeted him on awaking with news from the poultry- yard. A hen had been bought a month before and had been lost sight of at once; she just now appears, but not alone; fifteen little chickens, her progeny, follow and crowd about her. "You see," he writes to Grynaeus, "by this homely incident how unconventionally I treat you. I gave thanks for this increase of wealth to the Author of all good, and I saw in it—shall I tell you ?—without regarding myself in this as being guilty of superstition—the presage of some special favour. I even composed on this subject an epigram, and I send it to you, in order not to leave you a stranger to these light relaxations of my mind." Heppe, 315.
The eight verses enclosed were of faultless Latinity, but need not be transcribed here. The thought was simple but pious. The hen bought but a month ago rewards her purchaser, who expended for her but ten sous, with a whole brood of young. "And I, O Christ full of benignity, what fruits have I returned to Thee in the seventy-six years that I have lived until now?"
In the late 1590's, a curious rumor was spread that Beza was at death's door, and that indeed he had died, having returned to the Roman fold on his death-bed. Beza himself was very much alive and found it amusing (one may well imagine he would appreciate Mark Twain's remark that "Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated") but found it necessary to dispel the rumor with a letter and satirical epigram.
There is a story told about a famous visitor who visited him around the year 1600 and found him busily scratching out and re-working poetic verses to which Beza pleasantly responded by saying "This is the way that I beguile my time!"
The last poem he published was a tribute to King Henry IV, who visited him in Geneva in 1599. "It was a poem of six stanzas, Ad inclytum Franciae et Navarrae regem Henricum IV. ("to the renowned King of France and Navarre, Henry IV.") 'It was his last, his swan song.'" (Philip Schaff, History of the Christian Church, Vol. 8 § 175, quoting Heinrich Heppe, Theodor Beza. Leben und ausgewählte Schriften, p. 310).
Beza's poetry was a pleasant diversion or pastime for him, but a gift to the church, especially in the form of the Huguenot Psalter. He will always be remembered for his prose writings, but he was a poet and a playwright too, and if I may be permitted a brief allusion to a modern composer, Alan Lerner, "Don't let it be forgot / that once there was a spot" where poetry and the Reformation came together in Beza's Geneva.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Eutaxian Humor
Today's Friday Funny comes from a book that revolutionized the American Presbyterian church in the 19th century. Charles W. Baird -- who, like his brother, Henry M. Baird, was a Huguenot historian of note -- published Eutaxia, or the Presbyterian Liturgies: Historical Sketches in 1855. It was successful in moving American Presbyterians away from the form of worship sketched by the Westminster Assembly's Directory of Public Worship and towards liturgical forms of worship more akin to Anglicanism. In fact, James W. Alexander had this to say about this book in a letter dated June 13, 1855: 'If the Eutaxian Liturgy come into actuality, the only result will be to train people for the "Common Prayer"' (Forty Years' Familiar Letters of James W. Alexander, D. D., Constituting, with the Notes, a Memoir of His Life (1860), p. 208).
Be that as it may, one particular anecdote provided by Baird in this book (pp. 83-84) strikes the funny bone.
Be that as it may, one particular anecdote provided by Baird in this book (pp. 83-84) strikes the funny bone.
We may be allowed to vary these souvenirs by adducing one of the more lively cast. It is connected with the baptismal service. When the famous [Jean] Claude was pastor of the church at Charenton, near Paris (about the middle of the seventeenth century), he was called on one occasion to perform the marriage ceremony between two Huguenots in high life; of whom the bridegroom was a decrepit septuagenerian, leading to the altar a young girl of some sixteen summers. As the minister saw this ill-matched couple advancing up the aisle to meet him, whether by accident or design we cannot say, he opened his book to the baptismal form, and addressed the disconcerted bridegroom with the interrogation: "Dost thou here present this child to be baptized?"
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