“Sire, I have communicated the commands of your Majesty to the inhabitants of the town, and to the soldiers of the garrison; and I have found good citizens and brave soldiers, but not one executioner. On which account, both they and I humbly beseech your Majesty to employ our arms and our lives in enterprises in which we can conscientiously engage. However perilous they may be, we will willingly shed therein the last drop of our blood.”
Both of these men of intrepid virtue soon after suddenly and mysteriously died. Few entertained a doubt that poison had been administered by the order of Charles.
From these revolting scenes of blood let us briefly glance at the impression which the massacre of St. Bartholomew produced upon Europe.
The pope received the tidings with exultation, and ordered the most imposing religious ceremonies in Rome in gratitude for the achievement. The Papal courts of Spain and of the Netherlands sent thanks to Charles and Catharine for having thus effectually purged France of heresy.
But Protestant Europe was stricken with indignation. As fugitives from France, emaciate, pale, and woe-stricken, recited, in England, Switzerland, and Germany, the story of the massacre, the hearts of their auditors were frozen with horror.
In Geneva, a day of fasting and prayer was instituted, which is observed to the present day. In Scotland, every churchresounded with the thrilling tale. John Knox proclaimed, in language of prophetic nerve,—
“Sentence has gone forth against that murderer, the King of France; and the vengeance of God will never be withdrawn from his house. His name shall be in everlasting execration.”
The French court, alarmed by the foreign indignation it had aroused, sent an ambassador to the court of Queen Elizabeth with a poor apology for the crime. The ambassador was received by England’s queen with appalling coldness and gloom. Arrangements were studiously made to invest the occasion with solemnity. The court was shrouded in mourning, and all the lords and ladies appeared in sable weeds. A stern and sombre sadness was upon every countenance. The ambassador, overwhelmed by this reception, was overheard to exclaim to himself,—
“I am ashamed to acknowledge myself a Frenchman!”
He entered, however, the presence of the queen; passed through the long line of silent courtiers, who refused to salute him even with a look; stammered out his miserable apology; and, receiving no response, retired covered with confusion.