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.
"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."
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.