ministers poured the rankest abuse on what John Knox called “the monstrous regiment of women;” and some of them--unless they are greatly belied--even went so far as to preach regicide. The minister Sureau was arrested for saying that it was lawful to kill the king and his mother, if they did not accept the Gospel according to Calvin.[187] The state of public opinion with regard to the clergy can be more easily detected in the amusements of the people than in the writings of scholars, or the acts of government. Before the Reformation there was a strong anti-papal feeling throughout Europe, which showed itself in the light literature of the day--the tales, the poetry, and the dramas with which all classes amused their leisure hours. For instance, in the tales ascribed to Margaret of Navarre, and in the grotesque romance of Gargantua, monks and the secular clergy are the chief victims. In the rude theatrical representations of this time, the abuses of the Church are dealt with most unsparingly. One of these was exhibited before the King of Navarre and his wife, the pious Joan of Albret, in the year 1558. In the first scene a poor woman is represented as at the point of death, and crying loudly for relief from her sufferings. The sympathizing gossips round her bed send off hastily for the parson, who goes through the usual religious ceremonial, but fails to alleviate her anguish. Then several monks appear--some bearing relics, others indulgences--none of which bring relief. She is next invested with the frock and scapulary of St. Francis, but this too fails to restore her to health. At length, after much good advice has been wasted, one of the bystanders says there is a stranger in the town who has a certain specific for the poor woman’s pains. He will guarantee a perfect cure; but the man is a homeless wanderer, who hides himself from the eyes of the world, flees the light of day, lives in obscure corners, and comes out at night only. The sufferer begs that he may be sent for, and after much trouble he is found. He appears in dress and gait like other men. Approaching the sick bed, he whispers something in the patient’s ear, places a little book in her hand, which he assures her is full of remedies for her disorder, and vanishes. And so the scene ends. In the next, we find the woman restored to perfect health: her eyes sparkle with animation, and she can walk with ease. She announces her recovery, eulogizes the unknown physician, extols his remedy, and recommends it to the audience. She adds that she would willingly lend it, “but it is hot to the touch, and smells of fire and faggot.” However, if they desire to know the name of the remedy and of the disease of which she had been cured, they must find it out for themselves. She retired amid loud applause, and the spectators of that day found no more difficulty in solving the enigma than we do.[188]