The Day of the Massacre
I always think of this incident in my life with a certain amount of
shame; yet even now I cannot see in what I failed. My comrade and I
would have spent our lives freely in the Admiral's defence, but what
could we do? To fight our way through that mob of soldiers was
impossible; we could not have taken two steps without being killed.
And yet--and yet--perhaps it would have been the nobler part to have
died with our chief! I remember the look on Roger Braund's face when he
heard the story--an expression that plainly asked, "How comes it then
that you are still alive?"
If we did indeed act the coward's part the blame must rest on my
shoulders; but for me Felix would have flung himself at the troopers and
died with the old battle-cry "For the Admiral!" on his lips. It was I
who, regarding such sacrifice as sheer folly, kept him back, though my
blood boiled and my heart ached at what was going forward.
Presently a man wearing a corslet and waving a sword dyed red with blood
appeared at the window of the sick-room. "It is done, my lord!" cried
he lustily, "it is all over."
"Where is the body?" asked Guise brutally. "Monseigneur d'Angoulême will
not believe unless he sees the body."
I was beside myself with grief and passion; yet even at that awful
moment I gripped Felix tightly, bidding him control himself. "We must
live, and not die!" I whispered.
Behm, and Cosseins, and a trooper in the dark green and white uniform of
Anjou's guard approached the window, half dragging, half carrying a
lifeless body. Raising it up, they flung it, as if it were the carcase
of a sheep, into the courtyard, Behm exclaiming, "There is your enemy;
he can do little harm now!"
"Yes, it is he," said Guise, spurning the dead hero with his foot, "I
know him well. We have made a good beginning, my men; let us finish the
business. Forward, in the king's name!"
Our cry of agony was drowned by the shouting of the troopers, and the
next moment we were swept with the rest of the crowd from the courtyard
into the narrow street. Suddenly, as if it were a signal, the great bell
of St. Germain l'Auxerrois began to toll; other bells in the
neighbourhood clanged and clashed, and mingling with their sounds were
the fierce cries of "Kill the Huguenots! Kill! Kill!"
Felix turned to me with a look of horror. "It is a planned massacre!" he
exclaimed, "our comrades will be murdered in their beds!"
We were borne along helplessly in the midst of the crowd. In all the
world, I think, no one could have ever beheld a more fearful spectacle.
The men and women were mad with passion; their faces were as the faces
of fiends; already some of their weapons were wet with blood. Each had a
white band bound round the arm, and most of them wore a white cross in
their caps.
Guise and Angoulême rode off with their troopers to carry on the
terrible work elsewhere, and they bade the citizens slay and spare not.
Crash went the doors of the houses where the Huguenots lived; shrieks of
despair and cries of "Kill! Kill!" rose on the air; the glare of
numerous torches lit up the hideous scene.
"Drag them out!"
"Death to the Huguenots!"
"Burn the houses!"
"Long live the Duke of Guise!"
"Throw them from the windows!"
"Kill the whole brood!"
Very soon the street was dotted with dead bodies. The unhappy people,
roused from sleep by the yells of the mob, could offer but little
resistance; they were slain in their beds, or escaped from the murderers
only to be killed in the streets.
But every one did not die tamely. At one spot we saw about a dozen of
our comrades, some only half dressed, standing shoulder to shoulder,
with their backs to the wall and holding the mob at bay. At this sight
Felix, wrapping his mantle round his left arm and drawing his sword, ran
toward them, crying defiantly, "Coligny! Coligny! For the Admiral!"
It was a daring venture, and yet no more, dangerous than remaining in
the crowd, where we must shortly have been discovered.
"Coligny! Coligny!" shouted the fighters by the wall, and the very sound
of the name inspired them with fresh courage. One of the ruffians pushed
at Felix with his pike, but he, with a vigorous stroke, clave him from
the shoulder, and our comrades cheered again as the rascal fell.
"This way, Bellièvre," they cried; "this way, Le Blanc! Where is the
Admiral?"
"Murdered!" answered Felix bitterly, "and thrown like a dog into the
courtyard of his own house."
His words sent a thrill of horror through the little band. Coligny
murdered! Their noble chief done to death by a pack of human wolves!
Their eyes flashed fire; they set their teeth hard, and one, a strong,
sturdy fellow from Chatillon, crying "Vengeance for Coligny!" sprang at
the howling mob. Three times his blade gleamed in the air, and each time
it descended a man fell.
"Three for Coligny!" he cried grimly, springing back to his place.
It was a fearful conflict, chiefly because we had no hope. We could
fight to the death, but there was no escape. The men with the pikes
rushed at us repeatedly; we beat them off, and the heap of their slain
grew steadily larger, but we had lost two of our number, and were worn
with fatigue. And presently from the rear of the mob there arose a shout
of "Anjou! Anjou!" as if Monseigneur himself or some of his troopers had
arrived to complete our destruction.
"Let us defend the house!" exclaimed Felix, "we can kill more from the
inside!" and the rest agreed.
The door of the house to which my comrade pointed had been smashed; the
building itself contained no one but the dead. We worked our way along,
keeping the mob at bay with our swords, until we were all in shelter;
then they came with a terrific rush, but the foremost were wounded or
slain, and their bodies blocked the entrance.
"Drag the furniture into the passage!" cried Felix; but we had not the
time. Roused to desperation by their losses, the mob surged through the
doorway, trampling upon their fallen comrades, screaming "Kill the
Huguenots!" flinging themselves upon us with a fury we could not
withstand.
Back we went to the foot of the stairs, where not more than two men
could stand abreast; the passage was packed with a swaying, struggling
mass that forced a way by its own weight. "Kill! Kill!" they screamed,
and we answered with defiant shouts of "Coligny! Coligny! For the
Admiral."
They gained the lowest stair, and then another; it was evident we could
not hold out much longer, but the knowledge had no effect on our
courage. As Felix said, we could die but once. On the landing at the top
of the stairs were two rooms, but our numbers were not strong enough to
garrison them both. There were only seven of us left, and not one
unwounded.
"The end is close now," cried my comrade, "but we will die hard for the
honour of the Admiral."
"Well said, Bellièvre!" and once more the familiar battle-cry "Coligny!
Coligny! For the Admiral!" rang out.
[Illustration: "Coligny! Coligny! For the Admiral!"]
"Good-bye, Edmond. I am glad Jeanne is safe." "Farewell, Felix. Ah!" Our
two comrades nearest the door were down, and the angry mob, lusting for
blood, burst into the room. We numbered five now, and a minute later
four.
"For the Admiral!" cried Felix, running a man through the chest, but
before he could withdraw his sword a violent blow from a club struck him
to the ground.
We were three now, all faint, weary, and wounded. We were entirely at
the mercy of our assailants. They leaped at us, brandishing their
weapons, and yelling exultingly.
"Coligny! Coligny" I shouted in defiance. Crash! I was down, and almost
immediately afterwards the noise and the shouting died away. I was dimly
conscious of some one bending over me, and then knew no more.
I opened my eyes in a small room almost bare of furniture. I was lying
dressed, on a bed; my head was bandaged; every muscle of my body ached
with pain. Forgetting what had happened, I called for Jacques, and then
for Felix, but by degrees the sickening events of the awful tragedy came
back to my memory.
Getting down from the bed, I crossed the room slowly and cautiously, and
tried the door; it was fastened from the outside. I went back to the
little window for the purpose of looking into the street. It was crowded
with people wearing white crosses in their hats and white bands round
their arms.
Then, for the first time, I noticed that some one had tied a white band
round my arm. I tore the accursed emblem off, and trampled it underfoot,
in a fit of childish rage.
The citizens were dancing, shouting, and yelling like maniacs. They were
armed with clubs and pikes and swords, and one could see the clots of
blood clinging to the deadly weapons. I stood at the window horrified,
yet fascinated by the dreadful sight. A soldier, evidently an officer of
high rank, rode past cheering and waving a blood-stained sword. I caught
sight of his face, and recognized Marshal Tavannes.
Directly afterwards, a man chased by human bloodhounds from the shelter
of a neighbouring house darted into the midst of the crowd. He twisted
and doubled, running now this way, now that, like a hunted hare. The
assassins struck at him fiercely as he ran, holding his hands above his
head to protect himself.
A blow from a club struck one arm, and it dropped to his side, broken.
He turned sharply; a ruffian pricked him with his knife; he staggered
forward, lurched, swayed to and fro, and finally fell. I closed my eyes
in order not to see the end of the ghastly tragedy.
Presently a cart rumbled slowly along. Men and women danced round about
it, shouting and jeering, and brandishing their pikes and clubs. The
clumsy vehicle was packed with human beings, bound hand and foot, and
tied, as far as I could see, two together. They lay in a confused heap,
some of them wounded and bleeding.
I wondered in a dull sort of way where they were being taken. I learned
later that they were flung one and two at a time into the Seine, while
their savage enemies watched them drown.
Sick at heart, and stricken with horror, I lay down again upon the bed.
My misery was so intense that I cared nothing about my own fate. Coligny
was dead; I had seen Felix killed before my eyes; most of the gallant
gentlemen who had been my true and loyal comrades were slain--what
mattered it whether I lived or died? Strangely enough, perhaps, I did
not even ask myself how I had escaped the awful butchery.
Shortly after noon, the door was opened, and some one entered the room.
I expected to see a ruffian with a blood-red pike; my visitor was a pale
but pretty woman, carrying a bowl of soup.
"Drink this, monsieur," she said, "it will give you strength. Renaud
will return in the evening."
"Renaud!" I exclaimed, "do you mean Renaud L'Estang? Do I owe my life to
him?"
"He is a brave man," she answered, "he saved your life at the risk of
his own; but I must go again. Do not make any sound, monsieur. If the
citizens were aware of your being here they would murder us."
She went out and fastened the door, leaving me to drink the soup at my
leisure. So, it was Renaud L'Estang who had saved me. Truly that little
action of mine in Rochelle had borne good fruit.
Several times during the afternoon I returned to the window overlooking
the narrow street, but toward evening I lay down and slept, and when a
noise at the door wakened me the room was nearly dark.
"Monsieur," a voice exclaimed, "are you awake? Do not be alarmed; it is
I--L'Estang."
Hearing me move, he closed the door softly, and came across to the bed.
"You are better," he said, "I am glad of that, as you must leave Paris.
I have saved your life thus far, but it will be impossible to do so much
longer. Cordel has discovered that you are alive, and his fellows are
searching for your hiding-place. You must go to Rochelle at once; that
is your only place of safety."
"It is easy to say 'Go to Rochelle,'" I answered a trifle bitterly, "but
how is it to be done? The streets are filled with my enemies who will
kill me without mercy, and the gates, no doubt, are strictly watched."
"Yes," he replied slowly, "the sentries have been doubled, still it is
not impossible to get through, while to stay here means death. For the
sake of your sister you should endeavour to live."
"What do you propose?" I asked.
"I have a pass from Monseigneur in my pocket. The officer on duty is
commanded to let myself and Louis Bourdonais leave the city without
question or delay. For the time being you are Louis Bourdonais. As soon
as the night becomes darker I will bring a carriage to the house, you
will enter, and we will drive to the gate of St. Jacques. Unless you are
recognized there is no danger."
"And if I am?"
"Then," said he, "I fear you will share the fate of your friends."
"And you?"
He shrugged his shoulders carelessly, saying, "Have no fear for me; I
can easily make my peace with Monseigneur."
There seemed to me something cowardly in this running away from danger,
but L'Estang mocked at my scruples.
"What can you do?" he asked. "At present there is no Huguenot party. The
Admiral, Teligny, La Rochefoucalt, De Guerchy, all are dead; Henry of
Navarre and Condé are both prisoners, and may be put to death at any
moment; your particular friend, Bellièvre, is slain--I would have saved
him for your sake, but was too late. Now, if you stay in Paris, one of
two things will happen. You will be discovered here, when every person
in the house will be murdered; or you will venture into the street and
be clubbed to death in less than five minutes."
"I do not wish to drag you into danger."
"There is no danger to me," he answered rather brusquely, "unless you
are obstinate."
"Then I will go with you."
"Very good," he replied, as coolly as if we were about to embark on an
enterprise of the most ordinary kind. "I will make my preparations and
return in a short time."
He went out softly, and I sat on the side of the bed thinking sadly over
the information he had brought. There was no Huguenot party; there were
neither leaders nor followers. The assassins had not only lopped the
branches but had uprooted the tree. Even Condé and Henry of Navarre
were not safe from the royal vengeance! The horror pressed upon me
heavily; even now I could scarcely realize the full extent of the
fearful business.
I still sat brooding when L'Estang came again, this time bringing a
light. He noticed the white band on the ground, and, stooping, picked it
up. "It may be disagreeable," he said, "but it is necessary; it has
saved your life once. Remember you are Louis Bourdonais, and he would
not refuse to wear it."
"'Tis horrible!" I cried, turning from the badge with loathing.
"That may be, but it is a safeguard you cannot afford to despise. Lean
on me; you are weaker than I thought."
He supported me across the room, down the stairway, and so to the door
of the house, in front of which a carriage was drawn up. The coachman
wore Anjou's livery--a device of L'Estang's, since the equipage did not
belong to Monseigneur--and the crowd stood around cheering wildly.
L'Estang, fearful lest any of the lawyer's spies should be there, helped
me into the carriage quickly, jumped in himself, and told the driver to
whip up his horses. The worst of the massacre was over, but the citizens
having tasted blood thirsted for more, and, though the hour was so late,
they were roaming about in bands shouting for vengeance on the
Huguenots.
Our carriage being compelled to proceed slowly, I had ample opportunity
to note the traces of the awful tragedy. Every house where a Huguenot
had lived was wrecked; in many instances the window-sills were smeared
with blood, and dead bodies still lay thick in the streets. I shut my
eyes tightly, while my whole body was convulsed by a shudder of horror.
"Monsieur, we are at the gate. Turn your head to the left, so that the
officer may not see your face easily. If he asks questions, remember you
are Louis Bourdonais of Monseigneur's household."
"Halt! Who goes there?"
My companion looked out. "We are on Monseigneur's private business," he
exclaimed. "Here is his pass. Be quick, if you please, we are in a
hurry."
The officer took the paper and examined it closely, "Where is Louis
Bourdonais?" he asked.
"Here!" I said, bracing myself with an effort.
"I wish Monseigneur knew his own mind!" he grumbled, "my orders were to
let no one through!"
"Shall we go back and ask him to write down his reasons for the change?"
asked L'Estang; but the officer was already giving instructions for the
opening of the gate, and in a few minutes we were outside the walls.