Lorraine, and for selling which in the ordinary course of business, a poor Parisian book-seller[131] was arrested in June, 1560, tortured to make him give up the name of the author, which probably he did not know, and then hanged. An unfortunate spectator, a merchant of Rouen, who had manifested some compassion for the fate of poor Martin Lhomme, was arrested and executed four days after as an accomplice.[132] It was a time of almost universal lawlessness. “Every day,” writes Throckmorton to Cecil, “there are advertisements of new stirs.”[133] There was no public protection, no law enforced; every man had to protect himself as best he could. In Paris the insecurity of life and property was notorious. The Catholics armed themselves against the Huguenots, and these in their turn procured arms in self-defense. Even priests and monks shouldered the spear and arquebuse, and became captains of companies. And when the war did really break out, such victors would not be very merciful, especially when the vanquished had imported a new element into the strife by defiling the churches, destroying the images, and ridiculing the ceremonies. There were many Huguenots who disgraced the name they assumed; but had they all been pious, the triumphant Romanist would not have spared them. The cause of pure religion suffered much from the violence of these hot-headed partisans. At Rheims the “Lutherans” ate meat publicly in Lent, broke the lanterns before the image of the Virgin over the great door of the cathedral, and prowled about at night defacing the crosses and pictures. One Gillet, a lawyer, drove a priest from a chapel, seized the alms in the poor-box, and gave the sacerdotal robes to his wife, who made caps and other articles of feminine attire out of them. At Rouen, when a Catholic priest spoke of purgatory in his sermon, the Huguenots called him “a fool,” and the children who had been trained for the purpose, imitated the amorous noises of cats. The Reformed doctrine was introduced into Brittany in 1558 by Andelot. At Croisic the “new apostles” were so bold as to preach in the principal church, Notre Dame de Pitié, of which the people and clergy complained as soon as Andelot’s back was turned. The bishop of the diocese marched in solemn procession through the streets, after which the clergy attacked with a large culverine a house in which the preachers had taken refuge. The inmates, nineteen in number, escaped during the night, and the prelate was very properly condemned by the government, “such violent practices being unusual in the kingdom,” which certainly was not a correct statement.