|
At this moment the gates opened, and Giacomo appeared first on
the
threshold. He fell on his knees, adoring the holy crucifix with
great
devotion. He was completely covered with a large mourning cloak,
under
which his bare breast was prepared to be torn by the red-hot pincers
of
the executioner, which were lying ready in a chafing-dish fixed to
the
cart. Having ascended the vehicle, in which the executioner placed
him
so as more readily to perform this office, Bernardo came out, and
was
thus addressed on his appearance by the fiscal of Rome—
"Signor
Bernardo Cenci, in the name of our blessed Redeemer, our Holy
Father the Pope
spares your life; with the sole condition that you
accompany your relatives
to the scaffold and to their death, and never
forget to pray for those with
whom you were condemned to die."
At this unexpected intelligence, a loud
murmur of joy spread among the
crowd, and the members of the Confraternity
immediately untied the small
mask which covered the youth’s eyes; for, owing
to his tender age, it
had been thought proper to conceal the scaffold from
his sight.
Then the executioner; having disposed of Giacomo, came down
from the
cart to take Bernardo; whose pardon being formally communicated to
him,
he took off his handcuffs, and placed him alongside his
brother,
covering him up with a magnificent cloak embroidered with gold, for
the
neck and shoulders of the poor lad had been already bared, as
a
preliminary to his decapitation. People were surprised to see such
a
rich cloak in the possession of the executioner, but were told that
it
was the one given by Beatrice to Marzio to pledge him to the murder
of
her father, which fell to the executioner as a perquisite after
the
execution of the assassin. The sight of the great assemblage of
people
produced such an effect upon the boy that he fainted.
The
procession then proceeded to the prison of Corte Savella, marching
to the
sound of funeral chants. At its gates the sacred crucifix halted
for the
women to join: they soon appeared, fell on their knees, and
worshipped the
holy symbol as the others had done. The march to the
scaffold was then
resumed.
The two female prisoners followed the last row of penitents in
single
file, veiled to the waist, with the distinction that Lucrezia, as
a
widow, wore a black veil and high-heeled slippers of the same hue,
with
bows of ribbon, as was the fashion; whilst Beatrice, as a
young
unmarried girl, wore a silk flat cap to match her corsage, with a
plush
hood, which fell over her shoulders and covered her violet frock;
white
slippers with high heels, ornamented with gold rosettes
and
cherry-coloured fringe. The arms of both were untrammelled, except far
a
thin slack cord which left their hands free to carry a crucifix and
a
handkerchief.
During the night a lofty scaffold had been erected on
the bridge of
Sant’ Angelo, and the plank and block were placed thereon.
Above the
block was hung, from a large cross beam, a ponderous axe, which,
guided
by two grooves, fell with its whole weight at the touch of a
spring.
In this formation the procession wended its way towards the
bridge of
Sant’ Angela. Lucrezia, the more broken down of the two, wept
bitterly;
but Beatrice was firm and unmoved. On arriving at the open space
before
the bridge, the women were led into a chapel, where they were
shortly
joined by Giacomo and Bernardo; they remained together for a
few
moments, when the brothers were led away to the scaffold, although
one
was to be executed last, and the other was pardoned. But when they
had
mounted the platform, Bernardo fainted a second time; and as
the
executioner was approaching to his assistance, some of the
crowd,
supposing that his object was to decapitate him, cried loudly, "He
is
pardoned!" The executioner reassured them by seating Bernardo near
the
block, Giacomo kneeling on the other side.
Then the executioner
descended, entered the chapel, and reappeared
leading Lucrezia, who was the
first to suffer. At the foot of the
scaffold he tied her hands behind her
back, tore open the top of her
corsage so as to uncover her shoulders, gave
her the crucifix to kiss,
and led her to the step ladder, which she ascended
with great
difficulty, on account of her extreme stoutness; then, on her
reaching
the platform, he removed the veil which covered her head. On
this
exposure of her features to the immense crowd, Lucrezia shuddered
from
head to foot; then, her eyes full of tears, she cried with a loud
voice—
"O my God, have mercy upon me; and do you, brethren, pray for my
soul!"
Having uttered these words, not knowing what was required of her,
she
turned to Alessandro, the chief executioner, and asked what she was
to
do; he told her to bestride the plank and lie prone upon it; which
she
did with great trouble and timidity; but as she was unable, on
account
of the fullness of her bust, to lay her neck upon the block, this had
to
be raised by placing a billet of wood underneath it; all this time
the
poor woman, suffering even more from shame than from fear, was kept
in
suspense; at length, when she was properly adjusted, the
executioner
touched the spring, the knife fell, and the decapitated head,
falling on
the platform of the scaffold, bounded two or three times in the
air, to
the general horror; the executioner then seized it, showed it to
the
multitude, and wrapping it in black taffetas, placed it with the body
on
a bier at the foot of the scaffold.
Whilst arrangements were being
made for the decapitation of Beatrice,
several stands, full of spectators,
broke down; some people were killed
by this accident, and still more lamed
and injured.
The machine being now rearranged and washed, the executioner
returned to
the chapel to take charge of Beatrice, who, on seeing the
sacred
crucifix, said some prayers for her soul, and on her hands being
tied,
cried out, "God grant that you be binding this body unto corruption,
and
loosing this soul unto life eternal!" She then arose, proceeded to
the
platform, where she devoutly kissed the stigmata; then leaving
her
slippers at the foot of the scaffold, she nimbly ascended the
ladder,
and instructed beforehand, promptly lay down on the plank,
without
exposing her naked shoulders. But her precautions to shorten
the
bitterness of death were of no avail, for the pope, knowing
her
impetuous disposition, and fearing lest she might be led into
the
commission of some sin between absolution and death, had given
orders
that the moment Beatrice was extended on the scaffold a signal
gun
should be fired from the castle of Sant’ Angelo; which was done, to
the
great astonishment of everybody, including Beatrice herself, who,
not
expecting this explosion, raised herself almost upright; the
pope
meanwhile, who was praying at Monte Cavallo, gave her absolution
’in
articulo mortis’. About five minutes thus passed, during which
the
sufferer waited with her head replaced on the block; at length, when
the
executioner judged that the absolution had been given, he released
the
spring, and the axe fell.
A gruesome sight was then afforded:
whilst the head bounced away on one
side of the block, on the other the body
rose erect, as if about to step
backwards; the executioner exhibited the
head, and disposed of it and
the body as before. He wished to place
Beatrice’s body with that of her
stepmother, but the brotherhood of Mercy
took it out of his hands, and
as one of them was attempting to lay it on the
bier, it slipped from him
and fell from the scaffold to the ground below; the
dress being
partially torn from the body, which was so besmeared with dust
and blood
that much time was occupied in washing it. Poor Bernardo was so
overcome
by this horrible scene that he swooned away for the third time, and
it
was necessary to revive him with stimulants to witness the fate of
his
elder brother.
The turn of Giacomo at length arrived: he had
witnessed the death of his
stepmother and his sister, and his clothes were
covered with their
blood; the executioner approached him and tore off his
cloak, exposing
his bare breast covered with the wounds caused by the grip of
red-hot
pincers; in this state, and half-naked, he rose to his feet, and
turning
to his brother, said—
"Bernardo, if in my examination I have
compromised and accused you, I
have done so falsely, and although I have
already disavowed this
declaration, I repeat, at the moment of appearing
before God, that you
are innocent, and that it is a cruel abuse of justice to
compel you to
witness this frightful spectacle."
The executioner then
made him kneel down, bound his legs to one of the
beams erected on the
scaffold, and having bandaged his eyes, shattered
his head with a blow of his
mallet; then, in the sight of all, he hacked
his body into four quarters. The
official party then left, taking with
them Bernardo, who, being in a state of
high fever, was bled and put to
bed.
The corpses of the two ladies
were laid out each on its bier under the
statue of St. Paul, at the foot of
the bridge, with four torches of
white wax, which burned till four o’clock in
the afternoon; then, along
with the remains of Giacomo, they were taken to
the church of San
Giovanni Decollato; finally, about nine in the evening, the
body of
Beatrice, covered with flowers, and attired in the dress worn at
her
execution, was carried to the church of San Pietro in Montorio,
with
fifty lighted torches, and followed by the brethren of the order of
the
Stigmata and all the Franciscan monks in Rome; there, agreeably to
her
wish, it was buried at the foot of the high altar.
The same
evening Signora Lucrezia was interred, as she had desired to
be, in the
church of San Giorgio di Velobre.
All Rome may be said to have been
present at this tragedy, carriages,
horses, foot people, and cars crowding as
it were upon one another. The
day was unfortunately so hot, and the sun so
scorching, that many
persons fainted, others returned home stricken with
fever, and some even
died during the night, owing to sunstroke from exposure
during the three
hours occupied by the execution.
The Tuesday
following, the 14th of September; being the Feast of the
Holy Cross, the
brotherhood of San Marcello, by special licence of the
pope, set at liberty
the unhappy Bernardo Cenci, with the condition of
paying within the year two
thousand five hundred Roman crowns to the
brotherhood of the most Holy
Trinity of Pope Sixtus, as may be found
to-day recorded in their
archives.
Having now seen the tomb, if you desire to form a more vivid
impression
of the principal actors in this tragedy than can be derived from
a
narrative, pay a visit to the Barberini Gallery, where you will
see,
with five other masterpieces by Guido, the portrait of Beatrice,
taken,
some say the night before her execution, others during her progress
to
the scaffold; it is the head of a lovely girl, wearing a
headdress
composed of a turban with a lappet. The hair is of a rich fair
chestnut
hue; the dark eyes are moistened with recent tears; a perfectly
farmed
nose surmounts an infantile mouth; unfortunately, the loss of tone
in
the picture since it was painted has destroyed the original
fair
complexion. The age of the subject may be twenty, or perhaps
twenty-two
years.
Near this portrait is that of Lucrezia Petrani the
small head indicates
a person below the middle height; the attributes are
those of a Roman
matron in her pride; her high complexion, graceful contour,
straight
nose, black eyebrows, and expression at the same time imperious
and
voluptuous indicate this character to the life; a smile still seems
to
linger an the charming dimpled cheeks and perfect mouth mentioned by
the
chronicler, and her face is exquisitely framed by luxuriant
curls
falling from her forehead in graceful profusion.
As for Giacomo
and Bernardo, as no portraits of them are in existence,
we are obliged to
gather an idea of their appearance from the manuscript
which has enabled us
to compile this sanguinary history; they are thus
described by the
eye-witness of the closing scene—Giacomo was short,
well-made and strong,
with black hair and beard; he appeared to be about
twenty-six years of
age.
Poor Bernardo was the image of his sister, so nearly resembling
her,
that when he mounted the scaffold his long hair and girlish face
led
people to suppose him to be Beatrice herself: he might be fourteen
or
fifteen years of age.
The peace of God be with
them!
*MASSACRES OF THE
SOUTH—1551-1815*
CHAPTER I
It is possible that our
reader, whose recollections may perhaps go back
as far as the Restoration,
will be surprised at the size of the frame
required for the picture we are
about to bring before him, embracing as
it does two centuries and a half; but
as everything, has its precedent,
every river its source, every volcano its
central fire, so it is that
the spot of earth on which we are going to fix
our eyes has been the
scene of action and reaction, revenge and retaliation,
till the
religious annals of the South resemble an account-book kept by
double
entry, in which fanaticism enters the profits of death, one side
being
written with the blood of Catholics, the other with that of
Protestants.
In the great political and religious convulsions of the
South, the
earthquake-like throes of which were felt even in the capital,
Nimes has
always taken the central place; Nimes will therefore be the pivot
round
which our story will revolve, and though we may sometimes leave it for
a
moment, we shall always return thither without fail.
Nimes was
reunited to France by Louis VIII, the government being taken
from its
vicomte, Bernard Athon VI, and given to consuls in the year
1207. During the
episcopate of Michel Briconnet the relics of St.
Bauzile were discovered, and
hardly were the rejoicings over this event
at an end when the new doctrines
began to spread over France. It was in
the South that the persecutions began,
and in 1551 several persons were
publicly burnt as heretics by order of the
Seneschal’s Court at Nimes,
amongst whom was Maurice Secenat, a missionary
from the Cevennes, who
was taken in the very act of preaching. Thenceforth
Nimes rejoiced in
two martyrs and two patron saints, one revered by the
Catholics, and one
by the Protestants; St. Bauzile, after reigning as sole
protector for
twenty-four years, being forced to share the honours of his
guardianship
with his new rival.
Maurice Secenat was followed as
preacher by Pierre de Lavau; these two
names being still remembered among the
crowd of obscure and forgotten
martyrs. He also was put to death on the Place
de la Salamandre, all the
difference being that the former was burnt and the
latter hanged.
Pierre de Lavau was attended in his last moments by
Dominique Deyron,
Doctor of Theology; but instead of, as is usual, the dying
man being
converted by the priest, it was the priest who was converted by
de
Lavau, and the teaching which it was desired should be suppressed
burst
forth again. Decrees were issued against Dominique Deyron; he
was
pursued and tracked down, and only escaped the gibbet by fleeing to
the
mountains.
The mountains are the refuge of all rising or decaying
sects; God has
given to the powerful on earth city, plain, and sea, but the
mountains
are the heritage of the oppressed.
Persecution and
proselytism kept pace with each other, but the blood
that was shed produced
the usual effect: it rendered the soil on which
it fell fruitful, and after
two or three years of struggle, during which
two or three hundred Huguenots
had been burnt or hanged, Nimes awoke one
morning with a Protestant majority.
In 1556 the consuls received a sharp
reprimand on account of the leaning of
the city towards the doctrines of
the Reformation; but in 1557, one short
year after this admonition,
Henri II was forced to confer the office of
president of the Presidial
Court on William de Calviere, a Protestant. At
last a decision of the
senior judge having declared that it was the duty of
the consuls to
sanction the execution of heretics by their presence, the
magistrates of
the city protested against this decision, and the power of the
Crown was
insufficient to carry it out.
Henri II dying, Catherine de
Medicis and the Guises took possession of
the throne in the name of Francois
II. There is a moment when nations
can always draw a long breath, it is while
their kings are awaiting
burial; and Nimes took advantage of this moment on
the death of Henri
II, and on September 29th, 1559, Guillaume Moget founded
the first
Protestant community.
Guillaume Moget came from Geneva. He
was the spiritual son of Calvin,
and came to Nimes with the firm purpose of
converting all the remaining
Catholics or of being hanged. As he was
eloquent, spirited, and wily,
too wise to be violent, ever ready to give and
take in the matter of
concessions, luck was on his side, and Guillaume Moget
escaped hanging.
The moment a rising sect ceases to be downtrodden it
becomes a queen,
and heresy, already mistress of three-fourths of the city,
began to hold
up its head with boldness in the streets. A householder called
Guillaume
Raymond opened his house to the Calvinist missionary, and allowed
him to
preach in it regularly to all who came, and the wavering were
thus
confirmed in the new faith. Soon the house became too narrow to
contain
the crowds which flocked thither to imbibe the poison of
the
revolutionary doctrine, and impatient glances fell on the
churches.
Meanwhile the Vicomte de Joyeuse, who had just been appointed
governor
of Languedoc in the place of M. de Villars, grew uneasy at the
rapid
progress made by the Protestants, who so far from trying to conceal
it
boasted of it; so he summoned the consuls before him, admonished
them
sharply in the king’s name, and threatened to quarter a garrison in
the
town which would soon put an end to these disorders. The
consuls
promised to stop the evil without the aid of outside help, and to
carry
out their promise doubled the patrol and appointed a captain of the
town
whose sole duty was to keep order in the streets. Now this captain
whose
office had been created solely for the repression of heresy, happened
to
be Captain Bouillargues, the most inveterate Huguenot who ever
existed.
The result of this discriminating choice was that Guillaume
Moget began
to preach, and once when a great crowd had gathered in a garden
to hear
him hold forth, heavy rain came on, and it became necessary for
the
people either to disperse or to seek shelter under a roof. As
the
preacher had just reached the most interesting part of his sermon,
the
congregation did not hesitate an instant to take the latter
alternative.
The Church of St. Etienne du Capitole was quite near: someone
present
suggested that this building, if not the most suitable, as at least
the
most spacious for such a gathering.
The idea was received with
acclamation: the rain grew heavier, the crowd
invaded the church, drove out
the priests, trampled the Holy Sacrament
under foot, and broke the sacred
images. This being accomplished,
Guillaume Moget entered the pulpit, and
resumed his sermon with such
eloquence that his hearers’ excitement
redoubled, and not satisfied with
what had already been done, rushed off to
seize on the Franciscan
monastery, where they forthwith installed Moget and
the two women, who,
according to Menard the historian of Languedoc, never
left him day or
night; all which proceedings were regarded by Captain
Bouillargues with
magnificent calm.
The consuls being once more
summoned before M. de Villars, who had again
become governor, would gladly
have denied the existence of disorder; but
finding this impossible, they
threw themselves on his mercy. He being
unable to repose confidence in them
any longer, sent a garrison to the
citadel of Nimes, which the municipality
was obliged to support,
appointed a governor of the city with four district
captains under him,
and formed a body of military police which quite
superseded the
municipal constabulary. Moget was expelled from Nimes, and
Captain
Bouillargues deprived of office.
Francis II dying in his turn,
the usual effect was produced,—that is,
the persecution became less
fierce,—and Moget therefore returned to
Nimes. This was a victory, and every
victory being a step forward, the
triumphant preacher organised a Consistory,
and the deputies of Nimes
demanded from the States-General of Orleans
possession of the churches.
No notice was taken of this demand; but the
Protestants were at no loss
how to proceed. On the 21st December 1561 the
churches of Ste. Eugenie,
St. Augustin, and the Cordeliers were taken by
assault, and cleared of
their images in a hand’s turn; and this time Captain
Bouillargues was
not satisfied with looking on, but directed the
operations.
The cathedral was still safe, and in it were entrenched the
remnant of
the Catholic clergy; but it was apparent that at the
earliest
opportunity it too would be turned into a meeting-house; and
this
opportunity was not long in coming.
One Sunday, when Bishop
Bernard d’Elbene had celebrated mass, just as
the regular preacher was about
to begin his sermon, some children who
were playing in the close began to
hoot the ’beguinier’ [a name of
contempt for friars]. Some of the faithful
being disturbed in their
meditations, came out of the church and chastised
the little Huguenots,
whose parents considered themselves in consequence to
have been insulted
in the persons of their children. A great commotion
ensued, crowds began
to form, and cries of "To the church! to the church!"
were heard.
Captain Bouillargues happened to be in the neighbourhood, and
being very
methodical set about organising the insurrection; then putting
himself
at its head, he charged the cathedral, carrying everything before
him,
in spite of the barricades which had been hastily erected by
the
Papists. The assault was over in a few moments; the priests and
their
flock fled by one door, while the Reformers entered by another.
The
building was in the twinkling of an eye adapted to the new form
of
worship: the great crucifix from above the altar was dragged about
the
streets at the end of a rope and scourged at every cross-roads. In
the
evening a large fire was lighted in the place before the cathedral,
and
the archives of the ecclesiastical and religious houses, the
sacred
images, the relics of the saints, the decorations of the altar,
the
sacerdotal vestments, even the Host itself, were thrown on it
without
any remonstrance from the consuls; the very wind which blew upon
Nimes
breathed heresy.
For the moment Nimes was in full revolt, and
the spirit of organisation
spread: Moget assumed the titles of pastor and
minister of the Christian
Church. Captain Bouillargues melted down the sacred
vessels of the
Catholic churches, and paid in this manner the volunteers of
Nimes and
the German mercenaries; the stones of the demolished religious
houses
were used in the construction of fortifications, and before
anyone
thought of attacking it the city was ready for a siege. It was at
this
moment that Guillaume Calviere, who was at the head of the
Presidial
Court, Moget being president of the Consistory, and Captain
Bouillargues
commander-in-chief of the armed forces, suddenly resolved to
create a
new authority, which, while sharing the powers hitherto vested
solely in
the consuls, should be, even more than they, devoted to Calvin:
thus the
office of les Messieurs came into being. This was neither more nor
less
than a committee of public safety, and having been formed in the
stress
of revolution it acted in a revolutionary spirit, absorbing the
powers
of the consuls, and restricting the authority of the Consistory
to
things spiritual. In the meantime the Edict of Amboise, was
promulgated,
and it was announced that the king, Charles IX, accompanied by
Catherine
de Medicis, was going to visit his loyal provinces in the
South.
Determined as was Captain Bouillargues, for once he had to give
way, so
strong was the party against him; therefore, despite the murmurs of
the
fanatics, the city of Nimes resolved, not only to open its gates to
its
sovereign, but to give him such a reception as would efface the
bad
impression which Charles might have received from the history of
recent
events. The royal procession was met at the Pont du Gare, where
young
girls attired as nymphs emerged from a grotto bearing a collation,
which
they presented to their Majesties, who graciously and heartily
partook
of it. The repast at an end, the illustrious travellers resumed
their
progress; but the imagination of the Nimes authorities was not to
be
restrained within such narrow bounds: at the entrance to the city
the
king found the Porte de la Couronne transformed into a
mountain-side,
covered with vines and olive trees, under which a shepherd was
tending
his flock. As the king approached the mountain parted as if yielding
to
the magic of his power, the most beautiful maidens and the most
noble
came out to meet their sovereign, presenting him the keys of the
city
wreathed with flowers, and singing to the accompaniment of
the
shepherd’s pipe. Passing through the mountain, Charles saw chained to
a
palm tree in the depths of a grotto a monster crocodile from whose
jaws
issued flames: this was a representation of the old coat of arms
granted
to the city by Octavius Caesar Augustus after the battle of Actium,
and
which Francis I had restored to it in exchange for a model in silver
of
the amphitheatre presented to him by the city. Lastly, the king found
in
the Place de la Salamandre numerous bonfires, so that without waiting
to
ask if these fires were made from the remains of the faggots used at
the
martyrdom of Maurice Secenat, he went to bed very much pleased with
the
reception accorded him by his good city of Nimes, and sure that all
the
unfavourable reports he had heard were calumnies.
Nevertheless, in
order that such rumours, however slight their
foundation, should not again be
heard, the king appointed Damville
governor of Languedoc, installing him
himself in the chief city of his
government; he then removed every consul
from his post without
exception, and appointed in their place Guy-Rochette,
doctor and lawyer;
Jean Beaudan, burgess; Francois Aubert, mason; and Cristol
Ligier, farm
labourer—all Catholics. He then left for Paris, where a short
time after
he concluded a treaty with the Calvinists, which the people with
its
gift of prophecy called "The halting peace of unsure seat," and which
in
the end led to the massacre of St. Bartholomew.
Gracious as had
been the measures taken by the king to secure the peace
of his good city of
Nimes, they had nevertheless been reactionary;
consequently the Catholics,
feeling the authorities were now on their
side, returned in crowds: the
householders reclaimed their houses, the
priests their churches; while,
rendered ravenous by the bitter bread of
exile, both the clergy and the laity
pillaged the treasury. Their return
was not, however; stained by bloodshed,
although the Calvinists were
reviled in the open street. A few stabs from a
dagger or shots from an
arquebus might, however, have been better; such
wounds heal while
mocking words rankle in the memory.
On the morrow of
Michaelmas Day—that is, on the 31st September 1567—a
number of conspirators
might have been seen issuing from a house and
spreading themselves through
the streets, crying "To arms! Down with the
Papists!" Captain Bouillargues
was taking his revenge.
As the Catholics were attacked unawares, they did
not make even a show
of resistance: a number of Protestants—those who
possessed the best
arms—rushed to the house of Guy-Rochette, the first
consul, and seized
the keys of the city. Guy Rochette, startled by the cries
of the crowds,
had looked out of the window, and seeing a furious mob
approaching his
house, and feeling that their rage was directed against
himself, had
taken refuge with his brother Gregoire. There, recovering his
courage
and presence of mind, he recalled the important
responsibilities
attached to his office, and resolving to fulfil them
whatever might
happen, hastened to consult with the other magistrates, but as
they all
gave him very excellent reasons for not meddling, he soon felt there
was
no dependence to be placed on such cowards and traitors. He
next
repaired to the episcopal palace, where he found the bishop
surrounded
by the principal Catholics of the town, all on their knees
offering up
earnest prayers to Heaven, and awaiting martyrdom. Guy-Rochette
joined
them, and the prayers were continued.
A few instants later
fresh noises were heard in the street, and the
gates of the palace court
groaned under blows of axe and crowbar.
Hearing these alarming sounds, the
bishop, forgetting that it was his
duty to set a brave example, fled through
a breach in the wall of the
next house; but Guy-Rochette and his companions
valiantly resolved not
to run away, but to await their fate with patience.
The gates soon
yielded, and the courtyard and palace were filled with
Protestants: at
their head appeared Captain Bouillargues, sword in hand.
Guy-Rochette
and those with him were seized and secured in a room under the
charge of
four guards, and the palace was looted. Meantime another band
of
insurgents had attacked the house of the vicar-general, John
Pebereau,
whose body pierced by seven stabs of a dagger was thrown out of
a
window, the same fate as was meted out to Admiral Coligny eight
years
later at the hands of the Catholics. In the house a sum of 800
crowns
was found and taken. The two bands then uniting, rushed to
the
cathedral, which they sacked for the second time.
Thus the entire
day passed in murder and pillage: when night came the
large number of
prisoners so imprudently taken began to be felt as an
encumbrance by the
insurgent chiefs, who therefore resolved to take
advantage of the darkness to
get rid of them without causing too much
excitement in the city. They were
therefore gathered together from the
various houses in which they had been
confined, and were brought to a
large hall in the Hotel de Ville, capable of
containing from four to
five hundred persons, and which was soon full. An
irregular tribunal
arrogating to itself powers of life and death was formed,
and a clerk
was appointed to register its decrees. A list of all the
prisoners was
given him, a cross placed before a name indicating that its
bearer was
condemned to death, and, list in hand, he went from group to
group
calling out the names distinguished by the fatal sign. Those thus
sorted
out were then conducted to a spot which had been chosen beforehand
as
the place of execution.
This was the palace courtyard in the middle
of which yawned a well
twenty-four feet in circumference and fifty deep. The
fanatics thus
found a grave ready-digged as it were to their hand, and to
save time,
made use of it.
The unfortunate Catholics, led thither in
groups, were either stabbed
with daggers or mutilated with axes, and the
bodies thrown down the
well. Guy-Rochette was one of the first to be dragged
up. For himself he
asked neither mercy nor favour, but he begged that the
life of his young
brother might be spared, whose only crime was the bond of
blood which
united them; but the assassins, paying no heed to his prayers,
struck
down both man and boy and flung them into the well. The corpse of
the
vicar-general, who had been killed the day before, was in its
turn
dragged thither by a rope and added to the others. All night
the
massacre went on, the crimsoned water rising in the well as corpse
after
corpse was thrown in, till, at break of day, it overflowed, one
hundred
and twenty bodies being then hidden in its depths.
Next day,
October 1st, the scenes of tumult were renewed: from early
dawn Captain
Bouillargues ran from street to street crying, "Courage,
comrades!
Montpellier, Pezenas, Aramon, Beaucaire, Saint-Andeol, and
Villeneuve are
taken, and are on our side. Cardinal de Lorraine is dead,
and the king is in
our power." This aroused the failing energies of the
assassins. They joined
the captain, and demanded that the houses round
the palace should be
searched, as it was almost certain that the bishop,
who had, as may be
remembered, escaped the day before, had taken refuge
in one of them. This
being agreed to, a house-to-house visitation was
begun: when the house of M.
de Sauvignargues was reached, he confessed
that the bishop was in his cellar,
and proposed to treat with Captain
Bouillargues for a ransom. This
proposition being considered reasonable,
was accepted, and after a short
discussion the sum of 120 crowns was
agreed on. The bishop laid down every
penny he had about him, his
servants were despoiled, and the sum made up by
the Sieur de
Sauvignargues, who having the bishop in his house kept him
caged. The
prelate, however, made no objection, although under other
circumstances
he would have regarded this restraint as the height of
impertinence; but
as it was he felt safer in M. de Sauvignargues’ cellar than
in the
palace.
But the secret of the worthy prelate’s hiding place was
but badly kept
by those with whom he had treated; for in a few moments a
second crowd
appeared, hoping to obtain a second ransom. Unfortunately, the
Sieur de
Sauvignargues, the bishop, and the bishop’s servants had
stripped
themselves of all their ready money to make up the first, so the
master
of the house, fearing for his own safety, having barricaded the
doors,
got out into a lane and escaped, leaving the bishop to his fate.
The
Huguenots climbed in at the windows, crying, "No quarter! Down with
the
Papists!" The bishop’s servants were cut down, the bishop
himself
dragged out of the cellar and thrown into the street. There his
rings
and crozier were snatched from him; he was stripped of his clothes
and
arrayed in a grotesque and ragged garment which chanced to be at
hand;
his mitre was replaced by a peasant’s cap; and in this condition he
was
dragged back to the palace and placed on the brink of the well to
be
thrown in. One of the assassins drew attention to the fact that it
was
already full. "Pooh!" replied another, "they won’t mind a
little
crowding for a bishop." Meantime the prelate, seeing he need expect
no
mercy from man, threw himself on his knees and commended his soul
to
God. Suddenly, however, one of those who had shown himself
most
ferocious during the massacre, Jean Coussinal by name, was touched as
if
by miracle with a feeling of compassion at the sight of so
much
resignation, and threw himself between the bishop and those about
to
strike, and declaring that whoever touched the prelate must
first
overcome himself, took him under his protection, his comrades
retreating
in astonishment. Jean Coussinal raising the bishop, carried him in
his
arms into a neighbouring house, and drawing his sword, took his stand
on
the threshold.
The assassins, however, soon recovered from their
surprise, and
reflecting that when all was said and done they were fifty to
one,
considered it would be shameful to let themselves be intimidated by
a
single opponent, so they advanced again on Coussinal, who with
a
back-handed stroke cut off the head of the first-comer. The cries
upon
this redoubled, and two or three shots were fired at the
obstinate
defender of the poor bishop, but they all missed aim. At that
moment
Captain Bouillargues passed by, and seeing one man attacked by
fifty,
inquired into the cause. He was told of Coussinal’s odd determination
to
save the bishop. "He is quite right," said the captain; "the bishop
has
paid ransom, and no one has any right to touch him." Saying this,
he
walked up to Coussinal, gave him his hand, and the two entered
the
house, returning in a few moments with the bishop between them. In
this
order they crossed the town, followed by the murmuring crowd, who
were,
however, afraid to do more than murmur; at the gate the bishop
was
provided with an escort and let go, his defenders remaining there
till
he was out of sight.
The massacres went on during the whole of
the second day, though towards
evening the search for victims relaxed
somewhat; but still many isolated
acts of murder took place during the night.
On the morrow, being tired
of killing, the people began to destroy, and this
phase lasted a long
time, it being less fatiguing to throw stones about than
corpses. All
the convents, all the monasteries, all the houses of the priests
and
canons were attacked in turn; nothing was spared except the
cathedral,
before which axes and crowbars seemed to lose their power, and
the
church of Ste. Eugenie, which was turned into a powder-magazine. The
day
of the great butchery was called "La Michelade," because it took
place
the day after Michaelmas, and as all this happened in the year 1567
the
Massacre of St. Bartholomew must be regarded as a plagiarism.
At
last, however, with the help of M. Damville; the Catholics again got
the
upper hand, and it was the turn of the Protestants to fly. They took
refuge
in the Cevennes. From the beginning of the troubles the Cevennes
had been the
asylum of those who suffered for the Protestant faith; and
still the plains
are Papist, and the mountains Protestant. When the
Catholic party is in the
ascendant at Nimes, the plain seeks the
mountain; when the Protestants come
into power, the mountain comes down
into the plain.
However,
vanquished and fugitive though they were, the Calvinists did
not lose
courage: in exile one day, they felt sure their luck would turn
the next; and
while the Catholics were burning or hanging them in effigy
for contumacy,
they were before a notary, dividing the property of
their
executioners.
But it was not enough for them to buy or sell this
property amongst each
other, they wanted to enter into possession; they
thought of nothing
else, and in 1569—that is, in the eighteenth month of
their exile—they
attained their wish in the following manner:
One day
the exiles perceived a carpenter belonging to a little village
called
Cauvisson approaching their place of refuge. He desired to speak
to M.
Nicolas de Calviere, seigneur de St. Cosme, and brother of the
president, who
was known to be a very enterprising man. To him the
carpenter, whose name was
Maduron, made the following proposition:
In the moat of Nimes, close to
the Gate of the Carmelites, there was a
grating through which the waters from
the fountain found vent. Maduron
offered to file through the bars of this
grating in such a manner that
some fine night it could be lifted out so as to
allow a band of armed
Protestants to gain access to the city. Nicolas de
Calviere approving of
this plan, desired that it should be carried out at
once; but the
carpenter pointed out that it would be necessary to wait for
stormy
weather, when the waters swollen by the rain would by their noise
drown
the sound of the file. This precaution was doubly necessary as the
box
of the sentry was almost exactly above the grating. M. de Calviere
tried
to make Maduron give way; but the latter, who was risking more
than
anyone else, was firm. So whether they liked it or not, de Calviere
and
the rest had to await his good pleasure.
Some days later rainy
weather set in, and as usual the fountain became
fuller; Maduron seeing that
the favourable moment had arrived, glided at
night into the moat and applied
his file, a friend of his who was hidden
on the ramparts above pulling a cord
attached to Maduron’s arm every
time the sentinel, in pacing his narrow
round, approached the spot.
Before break of day the work was well begun.
Maduron then obliterated
all traces of his file by daubing the bars with mud
and wax, and
withdrew. For three consecutive nights he returned to his task,
taking
the same precautions, and before the fourth was at an end he found
that
by means of a slight effort the grating could be removed. That was
all
that was needed, so he gave notice to Messire Nicolas de Calviere
that
the moment had arrived.
Everything was favourable to the
undertaking: as there was no moon, the
next night was chosen to carry out the
plan, and as soon as it was dark
Messire Nicolas de Calviere set out with his
men, who, slipping down
into the moat without noise, crossed, the water being
up to their belts,
climbed up the other side, and crept along at the foot of
the wall till
they reached the grating without being perceived. There Maduron
was
waiting, and as soon as he caught sight of them he gave a slight blow
to
the loose bars; which fell, and the whole party entered the drain,
led
by de Calviere, and soon found themselves at the farther end—that is
to
say, in the Place de la Fontaine. They immediately formed into
companies
twenty strong, four of which hastened to the principal gates, while
the
others patrolled the streets shouting, "The city taken! Down with
the
Papists! A new world!" Hearing this, the Protestants in the
city
recognised their co-religionists, and the Catholics their opponents:
but
whereas the former had been warned and were on the alert, the
latter
were taken by surprise; consequently they offered no resistance,
which,
however, did not prevent bloodshed. M. de St. Andre, the governor of
the
town, who during his short period of office had drawn the bitter
hatred
of the Protestants on him, was shot dead in his bed, and his body
being
flung out of the window, was torn in pieces by the populace. The work
of
murder went on all night, and on the morrow the victors in their
turn
began an organised persecution, which fell more heavily on the
Catholics
than that to which they had subjected the Protestants; for, as we
have
explained above, the former could only find shelter in the plain,
while
the latter used the Cevennes as a stronghold.
It was about this
time that the peace, which was called, as we have
said, "the insecurely
seated," was concluded. Two years later this name
was justified by the
Massacre of St. Bartholomew.
When this event took place, the South,
strange as it may seem, looked
on: in Nimes both Catholics and Protestants,
stained with the other’s
blood, faced each other, hand on hilt, but without
drawing weapon. It
was as if they were curious to see how the Parisians would
get through.
The massacre had one result, however, the union of the principal
cities
of the South and West: Montpellier, Uzes, Montauban, and La
Rochelle,
with Nimes at their head, formed a civil and military league to
last, as
is declared in the Act of Federation, until God should raise up
a
sovereign to be the defender of the Protestant faith. In the year
1775
the Protestants of the South began to turn their eyes towards Henri
IV
as the coming defender.
At that date Nimes, setting an example to
the other cities of the
League, deepened her moats, blew up her suburbs, and
added to the height
of her ramparts. Night and day the work of perfecting the
means of
defence went on; the guard at every gate was doubled, and knowing
how
often a city had been taken by surprise, not a hole through which
a
Papist could creep was left in the fortifications. In dread of what
the
future might bring, Nimes even committed sacrilege against the past,
and
partly demolished the Temple of Diana and mutilated the
amphitheatre—of
which one gigantic stone was sufficient to form a section of
the wall.
During one truce the crops were sown, during another they were
garnered
in, and so things went on while the reign of the Mignons lasted.
At
length the prince raised up by God, whom the Huguenots had waited for
so
long, appeared; Henri IV ascended the, throne.
But once seated,
Henri found himself in the same difficulty as had
confronted Octavius fifteen
centuries earlier, and which confronted
Louis Philippe three centuries
later—that is to say, having been raised
to sovereign power by a party which
was not in the majority, he soon
found himself obliged to separate from this
party and to abjure his
religious beliefs, as others have abjured or will yet
abjure their
political beliefs; consequently, just as Octavius had his
Antony, and
Louis Philippe was to have his Lafayette, Henri IV was to have
his
Biron. When monarchs are in this position they can no longer have a
will
of their own or personal likes and dislikes; they submit to the force
of
circumstances, and feel compelled to rely on the masses; no sooner
are
they freed from the ban under which they laboured than they are
obliged
to bring others under it.
However, before having recourse to
extreme measures, Henri IV with
soldierly frankness gathered round him all
those who had been his
comrades of old in war and in religion; he spread out
before them a map
of France, and showed them that hardly a tenth of the
immense number of
its inhabitants were Protestants, and that even that tenth
was shut up
in the mountains; some in Dauphine, which had been won for them
by their
three principal leaders, Baron des Adrets, Captain Montbrun,
and
Lesdiguieres; others in the Cevennes, which had become
Protestant
through their great preachers, Maurice Secenat and Guillaume
Moget; and
the rest in the mountains of Navarre, whence he himself had come.
He
recalled to them further that whenever they ventured out of
their
mountains they had been beaten in every battle, at Jarnac,
at
Moncontour, and at Dreux. He concluded by explaining how impossible
it
was for him, such being the case, to entrust the guidance of the
State
to their party; but he offered them instead three things, viz.,
his
purse to supply their present needs, the Edict of Nantes to assure
their
future safety, and fortresses to defend themselves should this edict
one
day be revoked, for with profound insight the grandfather divined
the
grandson: Henri IV feared Louis XIV.
The Protestants took what
they were offered, but of course like all who
accept benefits they went away
filled with discontent because they had
not been given more.
Although
the Protestants ever afterwards looked on Henri IV as a
renegade, his reign
nevertheless was their golden age, and while it
lasted Nines was quiet; for,
strange to say, the Protestants took no
revenge for St. Bartholomew,
contenting themselves with debarring the
Catholics from the open exercise of
their religion, but leaving them
free to use all its rites and ceremonies in
private. They even permitted
the procession of the Host through the streets
in case of illness,
provided it took place at night. Of course death would
not always wait
for darkness, and the Host was sometimes carried to the dying
during the
day, not without danger to the priest, who, however, never let
himself
be deterred thereby from the performance of his duty; indeed, it is
of
the essence of religious devotion to be inflexible; and few
soldiers,
however brave, have equalled the martyrs in courage.
During
this time, taking advantage of the truce to hostilities and the
impartial
protection meted out to all without distinction by the
Constable Damville,
the Carmelites and Capuchins, the Jesuits and monks
of all orders and
colours, began by degrees to return to Nines; without
any display, it is
true, rather in a surreptitious manner, preferring
darkness to daylight; but
however this may be, in the course of three or
four years they had all
regained foothold in the town; only now they
were in the position in which
the Protestants had been formerly, they
were without churches, as their
enemies were in possession of all the
places of worship. It also happened
that a Jesuit high in authority,
named Pere Coston, preached with such
success that the Protestants, not
wishing to be beaten, but desirous of
giving word for word, summoned to
their aid the Rev. Jeremie Ferrier, of
Alais, who at the moment was
regarded as the most eloquent preacher they had.
Needless to say, Alais
was situated in the mountains, that inexhaustible
source of Huguenot
eloquence. At once the controversial spirit was aroused;
it did not as
yet amount to war, but still less could it be called peace:
people were
no longer assassinated, but they were anathematised; the body was
safe,
but the soul was consigned to damnation: the days as they passed
were
used by both sides to keep their hand in, in readiness for the
moment
when the massacres should again begin.
CHAPTER
II
The death of Henri IV led to new conflicts, in which although at
first
success was on the side of the Protestants it by degrees went over
to
the Catholics; for with the accession of Louis XIII Richelieu had
taken
possession of the throne: beside the king sat the cardinal; under
the
purple mantle gleamed the red robe. It was at this crisis that Henri
de
Rohan rose to eminence in the South. He was one of the most
illustrious
representatives of that great race which, allied as it was to the
royal
houses of Scotland, France, Savoy, and Lorraine; had taken as
their
device, "Be king I cannot, prince I will not, Rohan I am."
Henri
de Rohan was at this time about forty years of age, in the prime
of life. In
his youth, in order to perfect his education, he had visited
England,
Scotland, and Italy. In England Elizabeth had called him her
knight; in
Scotland James VI had asked him to stand godfather to his
son, afterwards
Charles I; in Italy he had been so deep in the
confidence of the leaders of
men, and so thoroughly initiated into the
politics of the principal cities,
that it was commonly said that, after
Machiavel, he was the greatest
authority in these matters. He had
returned to France in the lifetime of
Henry IV, and had married the
daughter of Sully, and after Henri’s death had
commanded the Swiss and
the Grison regiments—at the siege of Juliers. This
was the man whom the
king was so imprudent as to offend by refusing him the
reversion of the
office of governor of Poitou, which was then held by Sully,
his
father-in-law. In order to revenge himself for the neglect he met
with
at court, as he states in his Memoires with military ingenuousness,
he
espoused the cause of Conde with all his heart, being also drawn in this
direction by his liking for Conde’s brother and his consequent desire to help
those of Conde’s religion. |
|
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기