
1574 à 1589
On 14 June 1574, news of the death of his brother Charles IX reached Henri III in Poland, where he had barely been elected king a few months earlier. Forced to flee Kraków secretly to return to France, he crossed Central Europe and Italy on a journey of several months before taking in hand a kingdom already gnawed at by a decade of civil wars. His accession, marked from the outset by the mourning of Marie de Clèves and a hasty remarriage, opened onto a climate of long-standing tension between Catholics and Protestants, further inflamed by the still-recent memory of the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre.
The last surviving son of Henri II and Catherine de’ Medici, the new king inherited a kingdom whose royal authority had considerably eroded under his two elder brothers: Protestant strongholds scattered across the territory, a nobility accustomed to negotiating weapons in hand, royal finances exhausted after decades of war. Above all, he inherited a latent dynastic problem, bound to become explosive: he himself was childless, and his youngest brother, François of Alençon then of Anjou, was his sole direct heir until his death in 1584, leaving the crown at the mercy of a Protestant succession through Henri de Navarre.
Henri III’s reign was characterised by an increasingly unbalanced confrontation between a royal power ceaselessly seeking to manoeuvre between factions and religious and noble movements that were ever more organised and uncompromising. A cultivated prince, pious in his own way, but seen as inconstant by his contemporaries, the king tried in turn conciliation, firmness, alliance with the League then a brutal break with it, without ever managing to rebuild undisputed royal authority. This chronic instability, more than the personal fickleness so often attributed to him, reflected the structural difficulty of a throne caught between two rival legitimacies, Catholic and Protestant.
On the domestic front, the reign was punctuated by an unbroken succession of Wars of Religion — from the Peace of Monsieur in 1576 to the War of the Three Henrys in 1587 — each followed by an edict of pacification immediately contested by whichever side felt wronged. On the religious and noble front, the birth and then radicalisation of the Catholic League, first exploited by the king himself before entirely escaping his control, dominated the second half of the reign, up to the humiliation of the Day of the Barricades and the desperate act of the assassination of the Guises. Dynastically, the death of the Duke of Anjou in 1584 turned a mere political crisis into an existential succession crisis for the French monarchy.
Henri III’s reign thus occupies a pivotal place in French history: the last king of the Valois-Angoulême branch, he embodies the final failure of a monarchy unable to overcome, by itself, the confessional divide opened in 1562, and his death, on 2 August 1589, opened the way directly to the solution he himself had ended up embracing at the last — the reign of a converted Protestant king, Henri IV, alone able, through conquest and abjuration, to close a cycle of civil wars nearly thirty years old.
Henri III learned in Poland, on 14 June 1574, of the death of his brother Charles IX. Eager to return to France to take the crown, he escaped secretly from Wawel Castle in Kraków on the night of 18 to 19 June; the Polish nobles, furious at this hasty departure, caught up with him at Fryštát, in Silesia, where he had to spend a night before being able to resume his journey westward. On 23 June, he reached Vienna, where Emperor Maximilian II received him with honours.
The return journey continued through Italy, in a succession of lavish stages: the Republic of Venice welcomed him with particular splendour, followed by Padua, Ferrara and Mantua, then Monza, where he met Cardinal Charles Borromeo in August.
The Doge and the Patriarch Welcoming Henri III in Venice: Andrea Vicentino, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
At Turin, he was reunited with his aunt Marguerite of France, Duchess of Savoy, before crossing the Alps in a glazed litter. He reached Chambéry on 2 September 1574, then Lyon on 6 September, where his mother Catherine de’ Medici and his brother François awaited him.
It was at this moment that the new king’s return took a turn for personal tragedy. On 30 October 1574, Marie de Clèves, Princess of Condé, died in childbirth at the age of twenty-one. Henri III, who had been in love with her since Poland, where he had sent her passionate letters, had been considering having his marriage to the Prince of Condé annulled in order to marry her himself; on hearing of her death, he refused to eat for ten days.
The Death of Marie of Cleves: Hortense Haudebourt-Lescot, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Remembering a young woman he had met in Lorraine whose features had reminded him of Marie de Clèves, Louise de Lorraine-Vaudémont, he sent emissaries as early as January 1575 to ask for her hand. The king was crowned at Reims on 13 February 1575, and married Louise two days later, on 15 February.
Meanwhile, the kingdom was sliding once again toward civil war. As early as spring 1574, the king’s youngest brother, François of Alençon, had taken the lead of the “Malcontents” movement, joined by Henri de Montmorency-Damville, governor of Languedoc — an unprecedented union of Catholic and Protestant nobles against royal policy. On 15 September 1575, Alençon openly left the court for Dreux and placed himself at the head of the movement, backed by Damville and the Protestant party. On 10 October 1575, at the Battle of Dormans, Henri de Guise routed two thousand German reiters recruited by the Malcontents under the command of Thoré, the younger brother of the Marshal de Montmorency, and captured Philippe de Mornay among other prisoners; wounded in the right cheek by an arquebus shot, Guise earned on this occasion the nickname “le Balafré” (“Scarface”), as his father had before him.
Despite this victory, the royal position remained fragile, and Henri III had to resolve to negotiate: on 6 May 1576, the Edict of Beaulieu — known as the “Peace of Monsieur,” in tribute to François of Alençon — ended the fifth War of Religion by granting Protestants freedom of worship throughout the kingdom except Paris, eight strongholds (Issoire, Périgueux, Serres, Nyons, Seyne, Beaucaire, Mas-Grenier and Aigues-Mortes), mixed chambers in the parlements, and the rehabilitation of the victims of St. Bartholomew’s Day. This peace, the most generous ever granted to the Reformed, was nonetheless to provoke a Catholic reaction of unexpected scale.
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The generosity of the Edict of Beaulieu triggered an immediate Catholic backlash. As early as February 1576, a first local league was signed at Péronne: Charles d’Humières refused to hand over the citadel to the new Protestant governor of Picardy, Henri de Condé — the first act of a reaction that would rapidly spread across the whole kingdom. In November 1576, a general twelve-article programme gave birth to the Catholic League, organised in Paris by Henri de Guise, cousin of Queen Louise. Aware of the danger posed by a movement escaping his control, Henri III chose, in December 1576, to proclaim himself its head, while amending certain clauses of the programme that weakened royal power.
This manoeuvre was not enough to contain the momentum already under way: meeting at Blois from December 1576 to March 1577, the Estates General of Blois, largely won over to the League’s cause, voted the outright abolition of the Edict of Beaulieu. The kingdom immediately plunged back into civil war — the sixth War of Religion, from March to September 1577 — before the Peace of Bergerac, signed on 17 September 1577 and ratified a few days later by the Edict of Poitiers, brought it to an end by significantly reducing the concessions granted to Protestants three years earlier.
The peace remained fragile. Conferences held at Nérac in February 1579 attempted to durably ease relations between the court and Henri de Navarre, but by 1579-1580 the seventh War of Religion broke out, nicknamed the “Lovers’ War” because of the role played in it by the romantic intrigues of Marguerite de Valois, the king’s sister and Navarre’s wife. The most notable feat of arms of this brief conflict was the capture of Cahors, on 29 May 1580: Captain Jean de Vezins, the League’s governor of the city, having refused any surrender, Navarre’s assailants blew up one of the gates and then fought for three days and three nights, barricade by barricade, through the streets of the town. Henri de Navarre nonetheless managed to spare the city the plunder and massacre that usually accompanied this type of assault, which earned him considerable prestige, both military and moral.
Portrait of Henri de Navarre, circa 1575: Anonymous, Licence CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
The Catholic response was not long in coming: from 7 July to 12 September 1580, the royal troops of Marshal de Matignon besieged and then retook La Fère, a stronghold held by the Prince of Condé’s Protestants. Exhausted by this new campaign, both sides accepted the mediation of François-Hercule, Duke of Anjou — the former leader of the Malcontents, now reconciled with the crown —, who negotiated the Peace of Fleix, signed on 26 November 1580 and confirming the concessions already granted at Nérac and Bergerac. This peace was to usher in several years of calm, brutally interrupted by a major dynastic event: the death of that same Duke of Anjou, in 1584, which would throw the question of succession to the throne wide open once again.
Having become the mediator of the Peace of Fleix, François-Hercule, Duke of Anjou, had nonetheless not given up the ambition that had driven him since the start of the decade: to reign in his own right. The Protestant insurgents of the Netherlands, in revolt against the Spanish rule of Philip II, offered him the throne France could not give him. On 29 September 1580, the Treaty of Plessis-lès-Tours, signed with representatives of the provinces of the Union of Utrecht — with the exception of Holland and Zeeland, which remained loyal to William of Orange —, granted him the title of “protector of the liberty of the Netherlands.” The title flattered his pride without giving him real power: the States General and provincial States jealously retained the bulk of authority, leaving the French prince only a largely honorific role.
On 19 February 1582, Anjou nonetheless made a lavish “Joyous Entry” into Antwerp, followed by his solemn investiture as Duke of Brabant and Count of Flanders at the city’s cathedral, where he nominally replaced Philip II.
Joyous Entry of the Duke of Anjou into Antwerp, 19 February 1582: Monogrammist M.H.V.H., Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
But the gap between the pomp of the ceremony and the real narrowness of his prerogatives only fed his frustration. Early the following year, convinced he could force the issue, he conceived a coup: seizing Antwerp by force, the main stronghold held by the insurgents, to finally establish himself there as effective sovereign.
The coup was carefully premeditated: between 15 and 16 January, French garrisons seized several other towns in the Netherlands by surprise according to the same coordinated plan. In Antwerp itself, on 17 January 1583 at midday, three hundred of Anjou’s cavalrymen approached one of the city’s gates, pretending to escort a wounded man; once close enough, they cut down the guards defending it and thus opened the way for the rest of the army, some three thousand musketeers and six hundred cavalrymen, who poured into the city. The people of Antwerp, far from being caught off guard, then shut the gates on the attackers and improvised a desperate defence, engaging in close combat in the streets for nearly an hour. The outcome of this “French Fury” was disastrous for Anjou: around fifteen hundred French soldiers killed, five hundred taken prisoner, against only about a hundred Antwerpers; the duke himself narrowly escaped death. The episode, which reverberated throughout Protestant Europe, finished ruining his authority and reputation in the Netherlands, where he was now nothing more than a phantom sovereign, reviled by the very people who had called on him.
The French Fury at Antwerp, 1583: Anonymous, after Jan Luyken, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Discredited, Anjou withdrew to France during 1583, without formally renouncing his titles but no longer exercising any real authority over the insurgent provinces. His health, already fragile, declined rapidly: consumed by tuberculosis, he died on 10 June 1584 at the château of Château-Thierry. His death, far from closing a mere unfortunate personal adventure, suddenly reopened the gravest question that could trouble the kingdom: Henri III, married for nearly ten years without an heir, lost with his younger brother his sole direct heir. The crown now reverted, under Salic law, to Henri de Bourbon, King of Navarre — the recognised leader of the Protestant party. This prospect of a Huguenot king ruling a kingdom that remained overwhelmingly Catholic immediately revived the League’s agitation, now poised for its second and more dangerous rise under the leadership of Henri de Guise.
From the end of 1584, the Catholic League, reorganised around Henri de Guise, sealed a secret alliance with the Spain of Philip II through the Treaty of Joinville, signed on 31 December 1584: Madrid pledged to finance the movement in order to bar a Protestant sovereign from the throne at all costs. Placed under the joint pressure of the League and his own mother, Catherine de’ Medici, who favoured appeasement with Guise, Henri III eventually gave way. On 7 July 1585, he signed at Nemours an edict that revoked at a stroke all the edicts of tolerance granted to Protestants since 1562, abolished their strongholds and required them to convert to Catholicism within six months, on pain of banishment from the kingdom — thereby excluding Henri de Navarre from the succession. That same day, the king once again proclaimed himself head of the League. On 18 July, having come in person to register the edict at the Parlement of Paris, he delivered, according to witnesses, a speech he gave “with tears in his eyes,” no doubt already gauging the political cost of this capitulation.
The Edict of Nemours immediately triggered the eighth War of Religion, known as the “War of the Three Henrys,” which now pitted three armed camps against one another: the king, Navarre at the head of the Protestants, and Guise at the head of the League. On 20 October 1587, at Coutras, the royal army led by the king’s favourite Anne de Joyeuse — around 5,000 infantry and 1,800 cavalry on each side — faced Navarre’s troops. By interspersing units of infantry among his cavalry squadrons, Navarre broke the royal line in under three hours: more than two thousand Catholics, including three hundred noblemen, perished, against only around forty on the Protestant side. Joyeuse himself was shot dead with a pistol, in reprisal, it was said, for his recent atrocities. True to his taste for chivalrous display, Navarre chose not to exploit his victory: he released his prisoners for ransom rather than march on Paris, letting slip an opportunity that might have hastened the end of the war in his favour.
Battle of Coutras, Where the Duke of Joyeuse Was Killed: Frans Hogenberg, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Barely six days after this royal disaster, Guise took his revenge elsewhere on the military chessboard. An army of German — reiters and landsknechts — and Swiss mercenaries, raised by John Casimir of the Palatinate and largely financed by Elizabeth I of England under the command of Baron Fabian von Dohna, had entered Lorraine on 22 August 1587 to bring aid to Navarre. On 26 October, near Montargis, Guise surprised and crushed these troops at the Battle of Vimory; then, taking advantage of the departure of the Swiss contingent, which had made up more than half of Dohna’s force, he inflicted a second defeat on them on 24 November, at Auneau, near Chartres. The campaign ended on 8 December with the capitulation of Marcigny, negotiated by the Duke of Épernon, which allowed the survivors to withdraw to the border.
This striking contrast between the royal rout at Coutras and the two League victories at Vimory and Auneau upset the kingdom’s political balance at the end of 1587. In Paris, Guise became the object of unprecedented popular fervour, celebrated as the defender of Catholicism against an invasion of foreign mercenaries, while Henri III, held responsible for having let these reiters onto French soil and already weakened by Joyeuse’s death, saw his authority erode further with each passing day in his own capital. This dynamic, driven by a galvanised League and an increasingly isolated king, would lead directly to the explosion of May 1588.
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On 9 May 1588, Henri de Guise entered Paris despite the king’s express prohibition, carried by the popular enthusiasm sparked by his victories the previous autumn. Henri III, alarmed, brought troops into the capital on 11 May, which immediately set off rumours of a “St. Bartholomew’s Day in reverse” aimed this time at Catholic League members.
Henri de Guise at Henri III’s Court at the Louvre in 1588: Albert Aublet, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
On 12 May 1588 — a day remembered as the “Day of the Barricades” —, students, professors, members of parliament and Parisian townsfolk, directed by League leaders, threw up hundreds of barricades within hours, made of stretched chains and piled-up objects, notably around the Place Maubert, completely immobilising the royal troops trapped in their own capital. Reduced to having to ask Guise himself to intervene to lift the blockade, Henri III fled the very next day, 13 May, to Chartres, abandoning Paris to the League. Strengthened by this victory without having drawn a single sword, Guise forced the humiliated king to sign the Edict of Union, which established him as guarantor of the Catholic faith in the kingdom, and had himself appointed lieutenant-general of the kingdom.
The Duke of Guise During the Day of the Barricades: Paul Lehugeur, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Convened in the autumn of 1588 at Blois, the Estates General proved to be as thoroughly won over to the League’s cause as those of 1576 had been. The assembly demanded that Henri III elevate the Edict of Union to a fundamental law of the kingdom, that he permanently exclude Henri de Navarre from the succession, and that it required the subsidies raised across the kingdom to fund the League’s captains directly rather than the royal treasury. Stripped by degrees of his fiscal and dynastic authority, and even of command over his own guard, Henri III found himself cornered: unable to govern as long as Guise dominated the political scene, he resolved to put an end to it through a coup.
On 23 December 1588, at the château de Blois, the king, feigning to be leaving for the Christmas festivities, summoned Guise to a council meeting. Members of his personal guard, the “Forty-Five,” had been positioned in advance in the corridors and the royal antechamber. Called into the king’s chamber, Guise was set upon with dagger blows — Montséry struck first, crying “Traitor, you shall die for it!” — and collapsed at the foot of the royal bed after vainly begging for mercy.
The Assassination of the Duke of Guise: Paul Delaroche, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
The following day, 24 December, the king had the duke’s brother, Cardinal Louis II of Lorraine, executed in his cell; most of the Forty-Five having refused this act deemed sacrilegious, it was Michel de Gast, with six soldiers armed with halberds, who carried it out. The news roused all of Paris: the theology faculty of the Sorbonne declared the king to have forfeited his right to the throne and released his subjects from their duty of obedience, preachers denounced him from the pulpit as a “new Herod,” and the Parisian crowd attacked royal monuments and effigies in the streets.
Barely a few days after this double murder, which she had tried to the very end to dissuade, Catherine de’ Medici, exhausted and crushed by the ruin of the policy of conciliation she had pursued throughout her life, died of pleurisy at the château de Blois on 5 January 1589, at the age of sixty-nine. With the kingdom plunged into civil war, her body could not even be transported to the royal necropolis of Saint-Denis and was provisionally buried in the church of Saint-Sauveur in Blois. With her disappeared the last figure capable of tempering the clashes at court; Henri III, now alone, without mother, without brother and deprived of any moderate Catholic support, would have to look elsewhere for the strength needed to reconquer his own kingdom.
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Rejected by Paris, abandoned by the League and deprived of his mother, Henri III had, to reconquer his own kingdom, no recourse left but to turn to the very man he himself had excluded from the succession four years earlier: Henri de Navarre. A truce between the royal and Huguenot armies was concluded on 3 April 1589, then, on 30 April, the two sovereigns met in person in the park of the château de Plessis-lès-Tours to seal the Treaty of Tours: Navarre pledged to put his forces at the king’s service against the League, in exchange for which he received the stronghold of Saumur, a strategic gateway on the Loire, as well as one additional town in each bailiwick of the kingdom.
Joining their two armies, Henri III and Navarre marched together, over the summer, on Paris, held by the League since the Day of the Barricades. On 30 July 1589, the king set up his headquarters at Saint-Cloud, while Navarre took up position at Meudon: the noose was finally tightening on the insurgent capital, and a swift reconquest seemed within reach.
Henri III at Saint-Cloud, the Beginning of the Siege of Paris: Arnold Scheffer, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Jacques Clément Preparing to Assassinate King Henri III: François Marius Granet, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
On 1 August 1589, around eight o’clock in the morning, a young Dominican monk devoted to the League, Jacques Clément, presented himself at Saint-Cloud under the pretext of bringing letters to the king. Admitted while Henri III was seated on his close stool, he drew with lightning speed a knife hidden in his sleeve and plunged it into the king’s lower abdomen, before being immediately killed on the spot by the guards present. The monk, convinced that the king had made himself guilty of an unforgivable crime against the Church by having the Duke and Cardinal of Guise assassinated, had acted alone, out of pure religious conviction. Henri III survived his wound for a few hours and died the following day, 2 August 1589. Before expiring, he solemnly called on his closest advisers and captains to rally to Henri de Navarre, who thus became King of France under the name Henri IV, on condition of receiving instruction in the Catholic faith in accordance with the fundamental laws of the kingdom. With the death of Henri III, the direct Valois line came to an end, and there opened, for the new king, the long reconquest of a kingdom that did not yet recognise him.
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