With a flaming prelude concerning the omnipotence delegated by Almighty God to St. Peter and his successors—­an authority infinitely superior to all earthly powers—­the decrees of which were irresistible alike by the highest and the meanest, and which hurled misguided princes from their thrones into the abyss, like children of Beelzebub, the Pope proceeded to fulminate his sentence of excommunication against those children of wrath, Henry of Navarre and Henry of Conde.  They were denounced as heretics, relapsed, and enemies of God (28th Aug.1585).  The King was declared dispossessed of his principality of Bearne, and of what remained to him of Navarre.  He was stripped of all dignities, privileges, and property, and especially proclaimed incapable of ever ascending the throne of France.

The Bearnese replied by a clever political squib.  A terse and spirited paper found its way to Rome, and was soon affixed, to the statutes of Pasquin and Marforio, and in other public places of that city, and even to the gates of the papal palace.  Without going beyond his own doors, his Holiness had the opportunity of reading, to his profound amazement, that Mr. Sixtus, calling himself Pope, had foully and maliciously lied in calling the King of Navarre a heretic.  This Henry offered to prove before any free council legitimately chosen.  If the Pope refused to submit to such decision, he was himself no better than excommunicate and Antichrist, and the King of Navarre thereby declared mortal and perpetual war upon him.  The ancient kings of France had known how to chastise the insolence of former popes, and he hoped, when he ascended the throne, to take vengeance on Mr. Sixtus for the insult thus offered to all the kings of Christendom—­and so on, in a vein which showed the Bearnese to be a man rather amused than blasted by these papal fireworks.

Sixtus V., though imperious, was far from being dull.  He knew how to appreciate a man when he found one, and he rather admired the cheerful attitude maintained by Navarre, as he tossed back the thunderbolts.  He often spoke afterwards of Henry with genuine admiration, and declared that in all the world he knew but two persons fit to wear a crown—­Henry of Navarre and Elizabeth of England. “’Twas pity,” he said, “that both should be heretics.”

And thus the fires of civil war had been lighted throughout Christendom, and the monarch of France had thrown himself head foremost into the flames.

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     Hibernian mode of expressing himself
     His inordinate arrogance
     His insolence intolerable
     Humility which was but the cloak to his pride
     Longer they delay it, the less easy will they find it
     Oration, fertile in rhetoric and barren in facts
     Round game of deception, in which nobody was deceived
     Wasting time fruitlessly is sharpening the knife for himself
     With something of feline and feminine duplicity
     ’Twas pity, he said, that both should be heretics