There can be little doubt that this organization of the Reformed churches added another element of strife to the contest between the two religions. The Romish clergy naturally abhorred it, as a sign of the increasing power and boldness of the Reformed party; while the statesmen of the day could not but look upon it with suspicion as a sort of _imperium in imperio_--a dangerous rival to the civil power, and savoring of rebellion, inasmuch as it ignored the headship alike of pope and king, acknowledging that of God alone. Men did not take the trouble to examine closely into the causes of their dislike: they felt instinctively that such an organization proclaimed the sovereignty of the people, and that the doctrine might easily be extended from spiritual to temporal matters. The subsequent history of the chief Calvinistic churches shows that this instinctive hatred was not altogether unreasonable. In Switzerland and Holland, in England and in North America, wherever this organization has been able to control the political power, a republic has followed. These are indeed the parts of the world where liberty flourishes most, and for this noble fruit we may well love the tree that bore it; but in the sixteenth century, the tendency of society was toward despotism, not toward self-government; and the statesmen of Europe must be excused if they were not clear-sighted enough to see that the new movement must inevitably succeed, or wise enough to become the leaders and controllers of the popular feelings. And so far it may be doubted whether Calvin’s influence in France was altogether for good, and whether the Reformed Church would not have struck deeper root in that country, if its organization had been less antagonistic. By separating itself entirely from antiquity, it risked a doubtful good for a certain evil. As church-government is not a matter of faith but of discipline, those have much to answer for who array Christians in hostile ranks on a secondary matter. The news of this synod and the merciful tendency of the Parliament inflamed Henry’s orthodoxy to such an extent that he issued an edict (June, 1559) more terrible even than those which had gone before. It was dated from Ecouen, a castle belonging to the constable, and situated about four leagues north of Paris. By that decree all convicted Lutherans were to be punished with death--instant and without the chance of remission. It was registered by all the Parliaments without any limitation or modification whatsoever, and the judges were forbidden, under severe penalties, to diminish the pains of the edict, as they had lately been in the habit of doing. Such terrible powers could scarcely have failed completely to eradicate heresy, if they had been carried out as Henry II. intended they should be. But there was a providence watching over France, by which the religionists were unexpectedly saved from the jaws of the lion.