unpropitiously, was also brought to a prosperous issue. The wound of
Barbarigo transferred the command to the commissary Canale. Aided by
Nano, who commanded Barbarigo's galley, Canale engaged and sunk the
vessel of the Pacha of Alexandria. Mahomet Sirocco himself, severely
wounded, was fished out of the sea by Gian Contarini, and sent on board
Canale's galley. As the wound of the Turk appeared to be mortal, the
Venetian relieved him from further suffering by cutting off his head.
Marco Quirini likewise did gallant service, compelling several of the
enemy to strike their flags. Of the remaining galleys many were run
ashore by their crews, of whom the greater number were slain or drowned
as they attempted to swim to land.
The victory of the Christians at Lepanto was in a great measure to be
ascribed to the admirable tactics of their chief. The shock of the
Turkish onset was effectually broken by the dexterous disposition made
of the galeases of Venice. Indeed, had the great ships been there to
strengthen the sparse line formed by these six vessels, it is not
impossible that the Turks would have failed in forcing their way through
the wall of that terrible fire. Each Christian vessel, by the
retrenchment of its peak, enjoyed an advantage over its antagonist in
the freer play of its artillery. When, however, the galleys of Selim
came to close combat with the galleys of the League, the battle became a
series of isolated struggles which depended more upon individual mind
and manhood than upon any comprehensive plan of far-seeing calculation.
But Don John of Austria had the merit or the good-fortune of bringing
his forces into action in the highest moral and material perfection; of
placing admirable means in the hands of men whose spirit was in the
right temper to use them. He struck his great blow at the happy moment
when great dangers are cheerfully confronted and great things easily
accomplished.
His plan of battle was on the whole admirably executed. The galleys of
the various confederates were so studiously intermingled that each
vessel was incited to do its utmost by the spur of rivalry. Vaniero and
Colonna deserve their full share of the credit of the day; and the
gallant Santa Cruz, although at first stationed in the rear, soon found
and employed his opportunity of earning his share of laurels. On Doria
alone Roman and Venetian critics, and indeed public opinion, pronounced
a less favorable verdict. His shoreward movement unquestionably had the
effect of enabling Aluch Ali to cut the Christian line and fall with
damaging force upon its rear, and of rendering the victory more costly
in blood and less rich in prizes. This movement was ascribed to the
desire of the Genoese to spare his own ships, and to secure a safe
retreat for himself in case of a disaster; and he was further even
taunted with cowardice for hauling down the gilded celestial sphere, the
proud cognizance of his house, which usually surmounted his flag-staff.
To the latter charge his friends replied that the sphere was taken down
to secure it from injury, it being the gift of his wife, and that his
ship was too well known to both the fleets to find safety in the want of
her usual badge. The other accusations, they considered, were disposed
of by the necessity of shaping his course according to the tactics of
the Algerine, and abundantly refuted by the vigor and success with which
he at last attacked the enemy. It is not improbable that the true
explanation of his conduct is that offered by the captain of a
Neapolitan galley, present at the battle, that he wished to gain an
advantage over Aluch Ali by seamanship, and that the renegade, no less
skilled in the game, played it on this occasion better than he.
Although in numbers, both of men and vessels, the Sultan's fleet was
superior to the fleet of the League, this superiority was more than
counterbalanced by other important advantages possessed by the
Christians. The artillery of the West was of greater power and far
better served than the ordnance of the East; and its fire was rendered
doubly disastrous by the thronged condition of the Turkish vessels. The
lofty-peaked prows of these vessels seriously interfered, as we have
already seen, with the working of their guns. A great number of their
combatants were armed with the bow instead of the firelock, which placed
them at an obvious disadvantage, except during heavy rains, which
extinguished the match of the latter weapon. Of the Turks who carried
the musket or arquebus few could handle them with the expertness of a
Christian soldier. The advantages which the League derived from its
galeases were heightened by the fact that a large proportion of its
other vessels were superior to their antagonists. The galleys of the
King of Spain were, in general, both more strongly built and more
carefully protected against boarders than those of the Sultan. Even
early in the battle the Moslems began to discover that they were
overmatched. In many of the galleys the guns were at once silenced by
the heavier artillery of the Christians, in whose hands the fire of the
arquebus and the musket, when they came to close quarters, proved so
withering that the enemy's deck was sometimes swept clean before they
boarded, and the turbaned heads of the janizaries were seen crouching
beneath the benches of the slaves. When the conflict was transferred to
the Turkish decks, the Christians, however, found themselves fiercely
met, and among other means of opposing their progress they perceived
that the central gangway (_corsia_) had been torn up, or they slipped
upon planking which had been smeared with butter, oil, or even, it is
said, with honey, to render the footing insecure. So efficient were the
nettings and other precautions with which Don John of Austria defended
the bulwarks of his ships that he was able to inform Philip II that not
a Turk had set foot upon a single deck belonging to his majesty.
Such were some of the chief causes of the success of the arms of the
League. In the sixteenth century, in a vast concourse of men of the
South, hot from battle and largely leavened with priests and friars, it
was natural that the victory should be by many ascribed to a more
mysterious agency. In the opinion of these persons the Almighty had
evidently been fighting on the side of the Pope and the Cross, although
they would perhaps have demurred to the logical deduction from that
opinion that at Cyprus he had steadily adhered to the drunken Sultan and
the Crescent. It was not only in the victory that they saw the finger of
Omnipotence, but in many accidents and incidents of the day. The wind,
which wafted the Turks swiftly to destruction, changed at the precise
moment when it was needed to aid the onset of the Christians. The
boisterous sea also sank to smoothness in the special interest of the
League. Of the clergy and friars who ministered on the Spanish decks to
the wounded and dying, although some of them were struck, not one was
killed. The Venetians were less fortunate, having four chaplains killed
and three wounded; and the Pope likewise lost one of his friars, who
died of his wounds soon after the battle. The churchmen exposed
themselves as freely as the combatants, whom they encouraged from
conspicuous posts either on deck or in the rigging, and sometimes by
example as well as precept. A Spanish Capuchin, an old soldier, had tied
his crucifix to a halbert, and, crying that Christ would fight for his
faith, led the boarders of his galley over the bulwarks of her
antagonist; after using his weapon manfully, he returned victorious and
untouched.
An Italian priest, with a great gilded crucifix in one hand and a sword
in another, stood cheering on his spiritual sons, unharmed in the
fiercest centre of the arrowy sleet and iron hail. A Roman Capuchin,
finding his flock getting the worst of it, seized a boat-hook, and,
pulling his peaked hood over his face, rushed into the fray, laid about
him until he had slain seven Turks and driven the rest from the deck,
and lived to call a smile to the thin lips of Pius V by telling the
story of his prowess. The green banner of Mecca, brought from the
Prophet's tomb, and unfurled from the main-top of Ali, was riddled with
shot, which rendered illegible many of the sacred words with which it
was embroidered. But the azure standard of the League, blessed by the
supreme Pontiff and emblazoned with the image of the crucified Redeemer,
remained untouched by bolt or bullet, although masts, spars, and shrouds
around were torn and shattered from top to bottom.
The battle was over about four o'clock in the afternoon. The rout of the
centre and right wing of the Turk was complete. The vessels which
composed these divisions were either sunk or taken, or they had singly
sought safety in flight. A few galleys of the left wing still followed
the banner of the Viceroy of Algiers. After hovering for a while near
the coast of the Morea he made sail for St. Maura. Don John of Austria,
with Doria and some other captains, gave him chase, but was compelled to
desist for want of oarsmen. The pursuit, however, was not altogether
unsuccessful, for several of the panic-stricken Algerines ran their
galleys ashore, where some of them suffered shipwreck on the rocks. In
the course of the night Aluch Ali and his little squadron of fugitives
stole back from St. Maura to Lepanto. That harbor afforded a refuge to
about nine-and-twenty vessels, most of them much shattered, the sole
remains of the proud and confident armament which had so lately sailed
out from between the two castles.
MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW
A.D. 1572
HENRY WHITE ISAAC D'ISRAELI JNO. RUDD
Among the numberless butcheries which history, both ancient and
modern, records, there has been none more remarkable in motive,
execution, and number of victims than the Massacre of St.
Bartholomew. It is scarcely less remarkable as being one of those
historic crimes which defeat their own purpose by reacting against
the perpetrators and advancing the cause of those who suffer
outrage.
The tragedy of St. Bartholomew's Day marked the culmination of the
great struggle which devastated France in the latter half of the
sixteenth century. During the reign of Francis I (1515-1547) and his
immediate successors, Henry II (1547-1559), Francis II (1559-1560),
and Charles IX (1560-1574), "the Huguenot (French Protestant)
character was formed, and the nation gradually separated into two
parties so fanatically hostile that the extermination of the weaker
seemed the only possible means of reestablishing the unity of
France."
The "Puritans of France" were persecuted under all these kings.
During the minority of Charles IX his mother, Catherine de' Medici,
was regent, and throughout his reign she dictated the King's policy.
Under this rule the persecutions continued with increasing violence.
From 1562 to 1570 France was torn with civil wars between Catholics
and Protestants. On the Protestant side the great leaders were the
Prince of Condé, Admiral Coligny, and later Henry of Navarre. Condé
was murdered in 1569. By the Peace of St. Germain (1570) the
Huguenots received some favorable concessions. The weak Charles IX,
now in fear of Philip II of Spain, was inclining to the Protestant
side. Seconded by Coligny, he planned alliances with all the enemies
of Philip in Europe. But Catherine overruled him. Charles and
Coligny, however, had their way in the marriage of the King's
sister, Margaret of Valois, to Henry of Navarre. Coligny now gained
a stronger influence over the young Charles. He was followed by a
large body of exulting Protestants to Paris, and the Catholic party,
headed by Catherine, the Duke of Anjou, and the Guises, became
greatly enraged.
Of the terrible massacre which followed, and in which the number
killed throughout France has been estimated at from twenty thousand
to one hundred thousand, Coligny was the first victim. One attempt
to assassinate him failed; he was only wounded; and the Queen-mother
then plied her weak son with argument and persuasion in order to
make him consent to the admiral's murder and to the massacre which
had been arranged, with profound secrecy, for August 24th. She told
him of a Huguenot plot, in which, at a signal from Coligny,
conspirators were to rise throughout the kingdom, overturn the
throne, take Charles himself prisoner, and destroy the Queen-mother
and the Catholic nobility. She showed him some proofs, "forged or
real," of his personal danger.
As a counter-view to the intensely bitter picture of Catherine
presented by most non-Catholic historians, and represented here by
White, the explanation of Charles IX himself, in the letter
furnished by D'Israeli, possesses a peculiar interest.
HENRY WHITE
The King sat moody and silent, biting his nails, as was his wont. He
would come to no decision. He asked for proofs, and none was
forthcoming, except some idle gossip of the streets and the foolish
threats of a few hot-headed Huguenots. Charles had learned to love the
admiral: could he believe that the gentle Coligny and that
Rochefoucault, the companion of his rough sports, were guilty of this
meditated plot? He desired to be the king of France--of Huguenots and
Catholics alike--not a king of party. Catherine, in her despair,
employed her last argument. She whispered in his ear, "Perhaps, sire,
you are afraid." As if struck by an arrow, he started from his chair.
Raving like a madman, he bade them hold their tongues, and with fearful
oaths exclaimed: "Kill the admiral, if you like, but kill all the
Huguenots with him--all--all--all--so that not one be left to reproach
me hereafter. See to it at once--at once; do you hear?" And he dashed
furiously out of the closet, leaving the conspirators aghast at his
violence.
But there was no time to be lost; the King might change his mind; the
Huguenots might get wind of the plot. The murderous scheme must be
carried out that very night, and accordingly the Duke of Guise was
summoned to the Louvre. And now the different parts of the tragedy were
arranged, Guise undertaking, on the strength of his popularity with the
Parisian mob, to lead them to the work of blood. We may also imagine him
begging as a favor the privilege of despatching the admiral in
retaliation for his father's murder. The city was parted into districts,
each of which was assigned to some trusty officer, Marshal Tavannes
having the general superintendence of the military arrangements. The
conspirators now separated, intending to meet again at ten o'clock.
Guise went into the city, where he communicated his plans to such of the
mob leaders as could be trusted. He told them of a bloody conspiracy
among the Huguenot chiefs to destroy the King and the royal family and
extirpate Catholicism; that a renewal of war was inevitable, but it was
better that war should come in the streets of Paris than in the open
field, for the leaders would thus be far more effectually punished and
their followers crushed. He affirmed that letters had been intercepted
in which the admiral had sought the aid of German reiters and Swiss
pikemen, and that Montmorency was approaching with twenty-five thousand
men to burn the city, as the Huguenots had often threatened. And, as if
to give color to this idle story, a small body of cavalry had been seen
from the walls in the early part of the day.
Such arguments and such falsehoods were admirably adapted to his
hearers, who swore to carry out the Duke's orders with secrecy and
despatch. "It is the will of our lord the King," continued Henry of
Guise, "that every good citizen should take up arms to purge the city of
that rebel Coligny and his heretical followers. The signal will be given
by the great bell of the Palace of Justice. Then let every true Catholic
tie a white band on his arm and put a white cross in his cap, and begin
the vengeance of God." Finding upon inquiry that Le Charron, the provost
of the merchants, was too weak and tender-hearted for the work before
him, the Duke suggested that the municipality should temporarily confer
his power on the ex-provost Marcel, a man of very different stamp.
About four in the afternoon Anjou rode through the crowded streets in
company with his bastard brother Angoulême. He watched the aspect of the
populace, and let fall a few insidious expressions in no degree
calculated to quiet the turbulent passions of the citizens. One account
says he distributed money, which is not probable, his afternoon ride
being merely a sort of reconnaissance. The journals of the Hôtel de
Ville still attest the anxiety of the court--of Catherine and her
fellow-conspirator--that the massacre should be sweeping and complete.
"Very late in the evening"--it must have been after dark, for the King
went to lie down at eight, and did not rise until ten--the provost was
sent for. At the Louvre he found Charles, the Queen-mother, and the Duke
of Anjou, with other princes and nobles, among whom we may safely
include Guise, De Retz, and Tavannes. The King now repeated to him the
story of the Huguenot plot which had already been whispered abroad by
Guise of Anjou, and bade him shut the gates of the city, so that no one
could pass in or out, and take possession of the keys. He was also to
draw up all the boats on the river bank and chain them together, to
remove the ferry, to muster under arms the able-bodied men of each ward
under their proper officers, and hold them in readiness at the usual
mustering-places to receive the orders of his majesty. The city
artillery, which does not appear to have been as formidable as the word
would imply, was to be stationed at the Grève to protect the Hôtel de
Ville or for any other duty required of it. With these instructions the
provost returned to the Hôtel de Ville, where he spent great part of the
night in preparing the necessary orders, which were issued "very early
the next morning." There is reason for believing that these measures
were simply precautions in case the Huguenots should resist and a bloody
struggle should have to be fought in the streets of their capital. The
municipality certainly took no part in the earlier massacres, whatever
they may have done later. Tavannes complains of the "want of zeal" in
some of the citizens, and Brantome admits that "it was necessary to
threaten to hang some of the laggards."
That evening the King had supped in public, and, the hours being much
earlier than with us, the time was probably between six and seven. The
courtiers admitted to witness the meal appear to have been as numerous
as ever, Huguenots as well as Catholics, victims and executioners.
Charles, who retired before eight o'clock, kept Francis, Count of La
Rochefoucault, with him for some time, as if unwilling to part with him.
"Do not go," he said; "it is late. We will sit and talk all night."
"Excuse me, sire, I am tired and sleepy."
"You must stay; you can sleep with my valets." But as Charles was rather
too fond of rough practical jokes, the Count still declined, and went
away, suspecting no evil, to pay his usual evening visit to the Dowager
Princess of Condé. He must have remained some time in her apartments,
for it was past twelve o'clock when he went to bid Navarre good-night.
As he was leaving the palace a man stopped him at the foot of the stairs
and whispered in his ear. When the stranger left. La Rochefoucault bade
Mergey, one of his suite, to whom we are indebted for these particulars,
return and tell Henry that Guise and Nevers were about the city. During
Mergey's brief absence something more appears to have been told the
Count, for he returned upstairs with Nancay, captain of the guard, who,
lifting the tapestry which closed the entrance to Navarre's antechamber,
looked for some time at the gentlemen within, playing at cards or dice,
others talking. At last he said: "Gentlemen, if any one of you wishes to
retire, you must do so at once, for we are going to shut the gates." No
one moved, as it would appear, for at Charles' express desire, it is
said--which is scarcely probable--these Huguenot gentlemen had gathered
round the King of Navarre to protect him against any outrage of the
Guises. In the court-yard Mergey found the guard under arms. "M.
Rambouillet, who loved me," he continues, "was sitting by the wicket as
I passed out. He took my hand, and with a piteous look said: 'Adieu,
Mergey; adieu, my friend,' not daring to say more, as he told me
afterward."
Coligny's hotel had been crowded all day by visitors; the Queen of
Navarre had paid him a visit, and most of the gentlemen in Paris,
Catholic as well as Huguenot, had gone to express their sympathy. For
the Frenchman is a gallant enemy and respects brave men; and the foul
attempt upon the admiral, whom they had so often encountered on the
battle-field, was felt as a personal injury. A council had been held
that day, at which the propriety of removing in a body from Paris and
carrying the admiral with them had again been discussed. Navarre and
Condé opposed the proposition, and it was finally resolved to petition
to the King "to order all the Guisians out of Paris, because they had
too much sway with the people of the town." One Bouchavannnes, a
traitor, was among them, greedily listening to every word, which he
reported to Anjou, strengthening him in his determination to make a
clean sweep that very night.
As the evening came on, the admiral's visitors took their leave.
Teligny, his son-in-law, was the last to quit his bedside. To the
question whether the admiral would like any of them to keep watch in his
house during the night, he answered, says the contemporary biographer,
"that it was labor more than needed, and gave them thanks with very
loving words." It was after midnight when Teligny and Guerchy departed,
leaving Ambrose Paré and Pastor Merlin with the wounded man. There were
besides in the house two of his gentlemen, Cornaton, afterward his
biographer, and La Bonne; his squire Yolet, five Switzers belonging to
the King of Navarre's guard, and about as many domestic servants. It was
the last night on earth for all except two of that household.
It is strange that the arrangements in the city, which must have been
attended with no little commotion, did not rouse the suspicion of the
Huguenots. Probably, in their blind confidence, they trusted implicitly
in the King's word that these movements of arms and artillery, these
postings of guards and midnight musters, were intended to keep the
Guisian faction in order. There is a story that some gentlemen, aroused
by the measured tread of the soldiers and the glare of torches--for no
lamps then lit up the streets of Paris--went outdoors and asked what it
meant. Receiving an unsatisfactory reply, they proceeded to the Louvre,
where they found the outer court filled with armed men, who, seeing them
without the white cross and the scarf, abused them as "accursed
Huguenots," whose turn would come next. One of them who replied to this
insolent threat, was immediately run through with a spear. This, if the
incident be true, occurred about one o'clock on Sunday morning, August
24th, the festival of St. Bartholomew.