THE grand victim of the night was Coligni. The Duke of Guise hated him as an enemy, feared him as a rival, and was resolved to have his blood as a man whose religious habits showed the general impurity of his own. Still, with all those strong stimulants to the passions of an arrogant and sanguinary spirit, it gives a dreadful idea of the furies of a persecuting time, to see the first subject of a country like France, the chief leader of her armies, a prince by birth, and standing in the first rank of eminent men in Europe, not merely countenance the assassination of a brave nobleman resting unsuspiciously on the pledged faith of the King, but actually covet to be the assassin. On the fatal night, the Duke of Guise sat up waiting for the tolling of the bell, and the signal had no sooner been thus given, than he rushed into the street with his brother, the Duc D'Aumale, the Duc D'Angouleme, and a crowd of men of rank, all prepared for murder. The house where the Admiral lodged was instantly beset, and, by an act of that consummate perfidy which makes the whole transaction infamously renowned, the man employed to break open the door was Cosseino, the officer of the guard. The whole number now poured into the house. The Swiss attendants on the stairs were the first stabbed, and in the mêlée two men, Besme, a Lorrainer, and Pistrucci, an Italian, both of the Duke of Guises's retainers, sprang upstairs, and attempted to force the doors of the suite of chambers where Coligni lay. The noise awakened him, and he called to one of his attendants to know its cause the household were already out of their beds, and, from the clash of arms below, and the outcries of the soldiers coming from the street, they knew that their fate was at hand. The man's singular, but expressive answer, was, My lord, God calls us to himself." The Admiral then rose, threw on his nightgown, and bade Merlin, his secretary, read prayers to them. But

VOL. XXXIX, NO, CCXLIII.

his terror rendering him scarcely able to articulate, the Admiral, calmly turning to the attendants, said, "Save yourselves, my friends. All is over with me. I have been long prepared for death." When they had all left the room but one, he knelt down and committed his soul to God. The doors were successively burst open, and Besme sprang into the room. Seeing but an old man on his knees, he thought that he had been disappointed of his prey, and hastily asked, "Where is Coligni?" "I am he," was the heroic answer. Young man, if you are a soldier, as you seem to be, you ought to respect my grey hairs. But do what you will, you can shorten my life only by a few days." The ruffian instantly drove the sword through his heart. The soldiers now filled the room, and the corpse was hacked by every man's sword or dagger. Besme then went to the window, and cried out to Guise and D'Angouleme, who were standing in the street, that the murder was done. "Very well," was the chief murderer's answer. "But M. D'Angouleme here will not believe it unless he sees him at his feet." The proof was soon furnished. The corpse was thrown out of the window to the feet of M. D'Angouleme, and, by the force of the concussion, the blood started out on the clothes and faces of the party. But Guise was still unsatisfied, and, to obtain full conviction, he took out his handkerchief and cleared the blood from its countenance. The features of his old noble antagonist were there, and, as the last triumph of an ungenerous and cruel heart, he ordered him to be decapitated. The body was left to the indignities of the rabble, 'and they acted up to their full measure. After mangling and mutilating the senseless flesh till they were exhausted, they fastened ropes to it, and then dragged it through the streets for several days; they then threw it into the Seine. But they now wanted an object for their horrible sport, and, after some

B

time, they drew it out again, hung it by the heels to the gibbet of Montfaucon, put a fire under it, and roasted it! As if to leave no rank of France unstained, not merely by the general sweeping crime of the massacre, but even by its lowest abominations, the King, hearing that the body of the man was roasting whom but a few days before he had courted and flattered, nay, called the ornament of his court and kingdom, his father! came with a showy cortège of his nobles to enjoy the spectacle. He was worthy to enjoy it. On some of the cortège turning away, offended by the smell, Charles laughed at their squeamishness, and said, as Virtellius had said before him," You see, gentlemen, I do not turn away. The smell of a dead enemy is always good." The miserable remains were afterwards taken down by the humanity of Marshal de Montmorency during the night; but as he was afraid of a renewal of those barbarities if he brought them to the chapel of Chantilly, he had them hidden for a while until they could be interred at Montauban. Long subsequently they were removed to the place of the Coligni family, and publicly buried at Chatillon sur Loire. The head, on being cut off in the street, was sent to the Queen Mother. With what emotions must not that arch fiend have gazed on her hideous trophy! It was then transmitted to the next fitting place for such a triumphRome.*

When the morning came, the streets exhibited a frightful spectacle. Vast numbers had been killed in every quarter-many thrown out of windows and dashed to pieces on the pavement, many stabbed in the upper parts of the houses, and hung bleeding from the casements. assassins were still employed in flinging the bodies into the streets, the porte-cochères and passages of the great houses were heaped in many instances with corpses, and

The

the

streets filled with the rabble shouting and dragging the bodies to throw them into the river. Yet a scene almost still more appalling was to be witnessed under the immediate eye of royalty. Many of the Protestants, and those among the chief, had

and

been massacred in the square, neighbourhood of the Louvre, to which they had crowded on the first alarm, to gather round the Admiral. Most of these gentlemen had been but a few days before sharers in the entertainments on the marriage, and were well known to the court. On this morning the King, the court, and, most inconceivable of all, the ladies of the household and women of rank, who had so lately before danced and banqueted with those unfortunate nobles and chevaliers, came down into the square of the Louvre, and walked among the corpses, corpses, recognising them, and laughing and jesting at every face they recognised. Some of the insults offered to the helpless dead by those women, divested of their nature by the spirit of bigotry, defy description.

The massacre continued in full violence for two days, and was renewed at intervals during the week. A royal proclamation to stop the bloodshed had been issued on the Tuesday, but as no attempt was made to enforce it, the slaughters went on, principally now of individuals who had taken refuge. Seven or eight hundred who had run to the public jails for shelter, were brought out and put to death, and all attempts made by any of the royal party to save Protestants were reprobated at Court as treason, The language of the Louvre, on its being mentioned that the Duke of Guise and Tavannes, whether through policy or contempt, had suffered some to hide in their hotels, was, "that to spare the heretics was betraying God and the King; that if they were the smaller number, revenge would give them the more strength; that though Coligni was dead, Navarre and Condé were both alive. That the war must be pushed to the uttermost; Rochelle and Montaubon must be attacked; the fugitives from Paris, Languedoc, and the other provinces must be looked for there; that Protestantism must not be suffered to raise its head through any unweariness in the arm of the Faith." The massacre was regarded as only the primary step in a war of extermination.

One of the most distinguished of

the Huguenot leaders in subsequent years, the Marshal la Force, who was a child at the time of the massacre, gives a most minute and affecting narrative of the series of accidents by which he was saved from the common fate. La Force's father, with his two sons, lived in the Faubourg St Germain, where many of the Reformed resided. It happened that a man who had sold him some horses a week before, saw the attack on Coligni's house, and the murder of the Admiral. As he justly regarded this horrible act to be the beginning of a general destruction, he thought of La Force and his family. But how to warn them was the difficulty. There was no bridge at that time connecting the Louvre with the Faubourg, and the boats had been all seized already to carry over the troops who were to attack the Protestants in the St Germain. There was but one possibility of accomplishing the object, and it was to swim across at the moment. The man gallantly plunged in, though it was utter darkness, and awoke the elder La Force. He sprang out of bed, and in his first agitation, thought only of how he might save himself. But soon remembering his children, he returned to carry them with him. The delay was fatal. He had scarcely reached the chamber where they slept, than the soldiery were at the door. One at their head entered the room, seized La Force's arms, and with dreadful imprecations, told him that the time was come for him and his to die. In this extremity, La Force tried the power of gold. He offered two thousand crowns for their lives. The man pondered a while, but finally took it, on the promise of its being paid within two days. The soldiers then pillaged the house, and desiring him and the children to put their handkerchiefs in their hats in the resemblance of a cross, and strip their right arms up to the elbows, which were understood signs of the troops, sent them across the river. As they passed the Seine, they saw it actually loaded with corpses. They landed in front of the Louvre, and there saw several of the Huguenots put to death. Their captor still led them on to his house in the Rue de Petits Champs. There he made them take an oath, that they would not leave the house

until they had paid the two thousand crowns; left them in charge of two Swiss soldiers, and went out to do his duty, and kill Huguenots! While they remained in this state of melancholy anxiety, one of the Swiss, touched with compassion, proposed to La Force tha the should make an effort to escape. But the spirit of the chevalier would not submit to do what he deemed an act of dishonour; he sent for the money, which was supplied by a relative, and was on the point of paying it, when he was told that the Duke D'Anjou desired to see him. The name was a dreaded one to the Protestants, and La Force justly looked upon the message as equivalent to death. The messenger's too was an ill omened name. The Count de Coconas, a man of persecution, who rendered himself memorable by murdering Protestants in cold blood. The father and his children, bareheaded and uncloaked, went down stairs as to their execution. As they passed along, the father prayed the Count that his children's lives might be spared; but the younger, the future Marshal, then but thirteen years old, continued with indignant courage, crying out against the crimes of their assassins, calling them murderers, and telling them" that they would be punished for that night's crimes by God." But their doom was sealed. They were then led to the end of the street, which was filled with assassins. There they were stopped; and the butchery began. The elder brother was stabbed by several swords at once, and fell on the ground at his father's feet, crying out, father; oh God! I am dead!" In a moment after, the unfortunate father was killed, and flung on the body of his son. In the confusion, the second boy was thrown down, crying out that he was killed. He lay so unmoving between his father and brother, that he was supposed to be actually dead, though he had received no wound; and the soldiers, whose time was too little for the work which they had to do, left him thus covered with parental blood. In an agony of terror, he lay for a considerable time; several of the rabble then came to strip the bodies. Among the rest, one began to draw the

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stocking off the boy's leg. But suddenly struck with a feeling of compassion at the sight of this most