Full Text Archive logoFull Text Archive — Free Classic E-books

The Complete Celebrated Crimes by Alexander Dumas, Pere

Part 5 out of 33

Adobe PDF icon
Download this document as a .pdf
File size: 3.3 MB
What's this? light bulb idea Many people prefer to read off-line or to print out text and read from the real printed page. Others want to carry documents around with them on their mobile phones and read while they are on the move. We have created .pdf files of all out documents to accommodate all these groups of people. We recommend that you download .pdfs onto your mobile phone when it is connected to a WiFi connection for reading off-line.

charge of bankers at Genoa; he wrote asking for this sum, with which
he hoped to levy troops in Spain and in Navarre, and make an attempt
upon Pisa: 500 men, 200,000 ducats, his name and his word were more
than enough to save him from despair.

The bankers denied the deposit.

Caesar was at the mercy of his brother-in-law.

One of the vassals of the King of Navarre, named Prince Alarino, had
just then revolted: Caesar then took command of the army which Jean
d'Albret was sending out against him, followed by Michelotto, who was
as faithful in adversity as ever before. Thanks to Caesar's courage
and skilful tactics, Prince Alarino was beaten in a first encounter;
but the day after his defeat he rallied his army, and offered battle
about three o'clock in the afternoon. Caesar accepted it.

For nearly four hours they fought obstinately on both sides; but at
length, as the day was going down, Caesar proposed to decide the
issue by making a charge himself, at the head of a hundred men-at-
arms, upon a body of cavalry which made his adversary's chief force.
To his great astonishment, this cavalry at the first shock gave way
and took flight in the direction of a little wood, where they seemed
to be seeking refuge. Caesar followed close on their heels up to the
edge of the forest; then suddenly the pursued turned right about
face, three or four hundred archers came out of the wood to help
them, and Caesar's men, seeing that they had fallen into an ambush,
took to their heels like cowards, and abandoned their leader.

Left alone, Caesar would not budge one step; possibly he had had
enough of life, and his heroism was rather the result of satiety than
courage: however that may be, he defended himself like a lion; but,
riddled with arrows and bolts, his horse at last fell, with Caesar's
leg under him. His adversaries rushed upon him, and one of them
thrusting a sharp and slender iron pike through a weak place in his
armour, pierced his breast; Caesar cursed God and died.

But the rest of the enemy's army was defeated, thanks to the courage
of Michelotto, who fought like a valiant condottiere, but learned, on
returning to the camp in the evening, from those who had fled; that
they had abandoned Caesar and that he had never reappeared. Then
only too certain, from his master's well-known courage, that disaster
had occurred, he desired to give one last proof of his devotion by
not leaving his body to the wolves and birds of prey. Torches were
lighted, for it was dark, and with ten or twelve of those who had
gone with Caesar as far as the little wood, he went to seek his
master. On reaching the spot they pointed out, he beheld five men
stretched side by side; four of them were dressed, but the fifth had
been stripped of his clothing and lay completely naked. Michelotto
dismounted, lifted the head upon his knees, and by the light of the
torches recognised Caesar.

Thus fell, on the 10th of March, 1507, on an unknown field, near an
obscure village called Viane, in a wretched skirmish with the vassal
of a petty king, the man whom Macchiavelli presents to all princes as
the model of ability, diplomacy, and courage.

As to Lucrezia, the fair Duchess of Ferrara, she died full of years,
and honours, adored as a queen by her subjects, and sung as a goddess
by Ariosto and by Bembo.


There was once in Paris, says Boccaccio, a brave and good merchant
named Jean de Civigny, who did a great trade in drapery, and was
connected in business with a neighbour and fellow-merchant, a very
rich man called Abraham, who, though a Jew, enjoyed a good
reputation. Jean de Civigny, appreciating the qualities of the
worthy Israelite; feared lest, good man as he was, his false religion
would bring his soul straight to eternal perdition; so he began to
urge him gently as a friend to renounce his errors and open his eyes
to the Christian faith, which he could see for himself was prospering
and spreading day by day, being the only true and good religion;
whereas his own creed, it was very plain, was so quickly diminishing
that it would soon disappear from the face of the earth. The Jew
replied that except in his own religion there was no salvation, that
he was born in it, proposed to live and die in it, and that he knew
nothing in the world that could change his opinion. Still, in his
proselytising fervour Jean would not think himself beaten, and never
a day passed but he demonstrated with those fair words the merchant
uses to seduce a customer, the superiority of the Christian religion
above the Jewish; and although Abraham was a great master of Mosaic
law, he began to enjoy his friend's preaching, either because of the
friendship he felt for him or because the Holy Ghost descended upon
the tongue of the new apostle; still obstinate in his own belief, he
would not change. The more he persisted in his error, the more
excited was Jean about converting him, so that at last, by God's
help, being somewhat shaken by his friend's urgency, Abraham one day

"Listen, Jean: since you have it so much at heart that I should be
converted, behold me disposed to satisfy you; but before I go to Rome
to see him whom you call God's vicar on earth, I must study his
manner of life and his morals, as also those of his brethren the
cardinals; and if, as I doubt not, they are in harmony with what you
preach, I will admit that, as you have taken such pains to show me,
your faith is better than mine, and I will do as you desire; but if
it should prove otherwise, I shall remain a Jew, as I was before; for
it is not worth while, at my age, to change my belief for a worse

Jean was very sad when he heard these words; and he said mournfully
to himself, "Now I have lost my time and pains, which I thought I had
spent so well when I was hoping to convert this unhappy Abraham; for
if he unfortunately goes, as he says he will, to the court of Rome,
and there sees the shameful life led by the servants of the Church,
instead of becoming a Christian the Jew will be more of a Jew than
ever." Then turning to Abraham, he said, "Ah, friend, why do you
wish to incur such fatigue and expense by going to Rome, besides the
fact that travelling by sea or by land must be very dangerous for so
rich a man as you are? Do you suppose there is no one here to
baptize you? If you have any doubts concerning the faith I have
expounded, where better than here will you find theologians capable
of contending with them and allaying them? So, you see, this voyage
seems to me quite unnecessary: just imagine that the priests there
are such as you see here, and all the better in that they are nearer
to the supreme pastor. If you are guided by my advice, you will
postpone this toil till you have committed some grave sin and need
absolution; then you and I will go together."

But the Jew replied--

"I believe, dear Jean, that everything is as you tell me; but you
know how obstinate I am. I will go to Rome, or I will never be a

Then Jean, seeing his great wish, resolved that it was no use trying
to thwart him, and wished him good luck; but in his heart he gave up
all hope; for it was certain that his friend would come back from his
pilgrimage more of a Jew than ever, if the court of Rome was still as
he had seen it.

But Abraham mounted his horse, and at his best speed took the road to
Rome, where on his arrival he was wonderfully well received by his
coreligionists; and after staying there a good long time, he began to
study the behaviour of the pope, the cardinals and other prelates,
and of the whole court. But much to his surprise he found out,
partly by what passed under his eyes and partly by what he was told,
that all from the pope downward to the lowest sacristan of St.
Peter's were committing the sins of luxurious living in a most
disgraceful and unbridled manner, with no remorse and no shame, so
that pretty women and handsome youths could obtain any favours they
pleased. In addition to this sensuality which they exhibited in
public, he saw that they were gluttons and drunkards, so much so that
they were more the slaves of the belly than are the greediest of
animals. When he looked a little further, he found them so
avaricious and fond of money that they sold for hard cash both human
bodies and divine offices, and with less conscience than a man in
Paris would sell cloth or any other merchandise. Seeing this and
much more that it would not be proper to set down here, it seemed to
Abraham, himself a chaste, sober, and upright man, that he had seen
enough. So he resolved to return to Paris, and carried out the
resolution with his usual promptitude. Jean de Civigny held a great
fete in honour of his return, although he had lost hope of his coming
back converted. But he left time for him to settle down before he
spoke of anything, thinking there would be plenty of time to hear the
bad news he expected. But, after a few days of rest, Abraham himself
came to see his friend, and Jean ventured to ask what he thought of
the Holy Father, the cardinals, and the other persons at the
pontifical court. At these words the Jew exclaimed, "God damn them
all! I never once succeeded in finding among them any holiness, any
devotion, any good works; but, on the contrary, luxurious living,
avarice, greed, fraud, envy, pride, and even worse, if there is
worse; all the machine seemed to be set in motion by an impulse less
divine than diabolical. After what I saw, it is my firm conviction
that your pope, and of course the others as well, are using all their
talents, art, endeavours, to banish the Christian religion from the
face of the earth, though they ought to be its foundation and
support; and since, in spite of all the care and trouble they expend
to arrive at this end, I see that your religion is spreading every
day and becoming more brilliant and more pure, it is borne in upon me
that the Holy Spirit Himself protects it as the only true and the
most holy religion; this is why, deaf as you found me to your counsel
and rebellious to your wish, I am now, ever since I returned from
this Sodom, firmly resolved on becoming a Christian. So let us go at
once to the church, for I am quite ready to be baptized."

There is no need to say if Jean de Civigny, who expected a refusal,
was pleased at this consent. Without delay he went with his godson
to Notre Dame de Paris, where he prayed the first priest he met to
administer baptism to his friend, and this was speedily done; and the
new convert changed his Jewish name of Abraham into the Christian
name of Jean; and as the neophyte, thanks to his journey to Rome, had
gained a profound belief, his natural good qualities increased so
greatly in the practice of our holy religion, that after leading an
exemplary life he died in the full odour of sanctity.

This tale of Boccaccio's gives so admirable an answer to the charge
of irreligion which some might make against us if they mistook our
intentions, that as we shall not offer any other reply, we have not
hesitated to present it entire as it stands to the eyes of our

And let us never forget that if the papacy has had an Innocent VIII
and an Alexander VI who are its shame, it has also had a Pius VII and
a Gregory XVI who are its honour and glory.


By Alexander Dumas, Pere



Should you ever go to Rome and visit the villa Pamphili, no doubt,
after having sought under its tall pines and along its canals the
shade and freshness so rare in the capital of the Christian world,
you will descend towards the Janiculum Hill by a charming road, in
the middle of which you will find the Pauline fountain. Having
passed this monument, and having lingered a moment on the terrace of
the church of St. Peter Montorio, which commands the whole of Rome,
you will visit the cloister of Bramante, in the middle of which, sunk
a few feet below the level, is built, on the identical place where
St. Peter was crucified, a little temple, half Greek, half Christian;
you will thence ascend by a side door into the church itself. There,
the attentive cicerone will show you, in the first chapel to the
right, the Christ Scourged, by Sebastian del Piombo, and in the third
chapel to the left, an Entombment by Fiammingo; having examined these
two masterpieces at leisure, he will take you to each end of the
transverse cross, and will show you--on one side a picture by
Salviati, on slate, and on the other a work by Vasari; then, pointing
out in melancholy tones a copy of Guido's Martyrdom of St. Peter on
the high altar, he will relate to you how for three centuries the
divine Raffaelle's Transfiguration was worshipped in that spot; how
it was carried away by the French in 1809, and restored to the pope
by the Allies in 1814. As you have already in all probability
admired this masterpiece in the Vatican, allow him to expatiate, and
search at the foot of the altar for a mortuary slab, which you will
identify by a cross and the single word; Orate; under this gravestone
is buried Beatrice Cenci, whose tragical story cannot but impress you

She was the daughter of Francesco Cenci. Whether or not it be true
that men are born in harmony with their epoch, and that some embody
its good qualities and others its bad ones, it may nevertheless
interest our readers to cast a rapid glance over the period which had
just passed when the events which we are about to relate took place.
Francesco Cenci will then appear to them as the diabolical
incarnation of his time.

On the 11th of August, 1492, after the lingering death-agony of
Innocent VIII, during which two hundred and twenty murders were
committed in the streets of Rome, Alexander VI ascended the
pontifical throne. Son of a sister of Pope Calixtus III, Roderigo
Lenzuoli Borgia, before being created cardinal, had five children by
Rosa Vanozza, whom he afterwards caused to be married to a rich
Roman. These children were:

Francis, Duke of Gandia;

Caesar, bishop and cardinal, afterwards Duke of Valentinois;

Lucrezia, who was married four times: her first husband was Giovanni
Sforza, lord of Pesaro, whom she left owing to his impotence; the
second, Alfonso, Duke of Bisiglia, whom her brother Caesar caused to
be assassinated; the third, Alfonso d'Este, Duke of Ferrara, from
whom a second divorce separated her; finally, the fourth, Alfonso of
Aragon, who was stabbed to death on the steps of the basilica of St.
Peter, and afterwards, three weeks later, strangled, because he did
not die soon enough from his wounds, which nevertheless were mortal;

Giofre, Count of Squillace, of whom little is known;

And, finally, a youngest son, of whom nothing at all is known.

The most famous of these three brothers was Caesar Borgia. He had
made every arrangement a plotter could make to be King of Italy at
the death of his father the pope, and his measures were so carefully
taken as to leave no doubt in his own mind as to the success of this
vast project. Every chance was provided against, except one; but
Satan himself could hardly have foreseen this particular one. The
reader will judge for himself.

The pope had invited Cardinal Adrien to supper in his vineyard on the
Belvidere; Cardinal Adrien was very rich, and the pope wished to
inherit his wealth, as he already had acquired that of the Cardinals
of Sant' Angelo, Capua, and Modena. To effect this, Caesar Borgia
sent two bottles of poisoned wine to his father's cup-bearer, without
taking him into his confidence; he only instructed him not to serve
this wine till he himself gave orders to do so; unfortunately, during
supper the cup-bearer left his post for a moment, and in this
interval a careless butler served the poisoned wine to the pope, to
Caesar Borgia, and to Cardinal Corneto.

Alexander VI died some hours afterwards; Caesar Borgia was confined
to bed, and sloughed off his skin; while Cardinal Corneto lost his
sight and his senses, and was brought to death's door.

Pius III succeeded Alexander VI, and reigned twenty-five days; on the
twenty-sixth he was poisoned also.

Caesar Borgia had under his control eighteen Spanish cardinals who
owed to him their places in the Sacred College; these cardinals were
entirely his creatures, and he could command them absolutely. As he
was in a moribund condition and could make no use of them for
himself, he sold them to Giuliano della Rovere, and Giuliano della
Rovere was elected pope, under the name of Julius II. To the Rome of
Nero succeeded the Athens of Pericles.

Leo X succeeded Julius II, and under his pontificate Christianity
assumed a pagan character, which, passing from art into manners,
gives to this epoch a strange complexion. Crimes for the moment
disappeared, to give place to vices; but to charming vices, vices in
good taste, such as those indulged in by Alcibiades and sung by
Catullus. Leo X died after having assembled under his reign, which
lasted eight years, eight months, and nineteen days, Michael Angelo,
Raffaelle, Leonardo da Vinci, Correggio, Titian, Andrea del Sarto,
Fra Bartolommeo, Giulio Romano, Ariosto, Guicciardini, and

Giulio di Medici and Pompeo Colonna had equal claims to succeed him.
As both were skilful politicians, experienced courtiers, and moreover
of real and almost equal merit, neither of them could obtain a
majority, and the Conclave was prolonged almost indefinitely, to the
great fatigue of the cardinals. So it happened one day that a
cardinal, more tired than the rest, proposed to elect, instead of
either Medici or Colonna, the son, some say of a weaver, others of a
brewer of Utrecht, of whom no one had ever thought till then, and who
was for the moment acting head of affairs in Spain, in the absence of
Charles the Fifth. The jest prospered in the ears of those who heard
it; all the cardinals approved their colleague's proposal, and Adrien
became pope by a mere accident.

He was a perfect specimen of the Flemish type a regular Dutchman, and
could not speak a word of Italian. When he arrived in Rome, and saw
the Greek masterpieces of sculpture collected at vast cost by Leo X,
he wished to break them to pieces, exclaiming, "Suet idola
anticorum." His first act was to despatch a papal nuncio, Francesco
Cherigato, to the Diet of Nuremberg, convened to discuss the reforms
of Luther, with instructions which give a vivid notion of the manners
of the time.

"Candidly confess," said he, "that God has permitted this schism and
this persecution on account of the sins of man, and especially those
of priests and prelates of the Church; for we know that many
abominable things have taken place in the Holy See."

Adrien wished to bring the Romans back to the simple and austere
manners of the early Church, and with this object pushed reform to
the minutest details. For instance, of the hundred grooms maintained
by Leo X, he retained only a dozen, in order, he said, to have two
more than the cardinals.

A pope like this could not reign long: he died after a year's
pontificate. The morning after his death his physician's door was
found decorated with garlands of flowers, bearing this inscription:
"To the liberator of his country."

Giulio di Medici and Pompeo Colonna were again rival candidates.
Intrigues recommenced, and the Conclave was once more so divided that
at one time the cardinals thought they could only escape the
difficulty in which they were placed by doing what they had done
before, and electing a third competitor; they were even talking about
Cardinal Orsini, when Giulio di Medici, one of the rival candidates,
hit upon a very ingenious expedient. He wanted only five votes; five
of his partisans each offered to bet five of Colonna's a hundred
thousand ducats to ten thousand against the election of Giulio di
Medici. At the very first ballot after the wager, Giulio di Medici
got the five votes he wanted; no objection could be made, the
cardinals had not been bribed; they had made a bet, that was all.

Thus it happened, on the 18th of November, 1523, Giulio di Medici was
proclaimed pope under the name of Clement VII. The same day, he
generously paid the five hundred thousand ducats which his five
partisans had lost.

It was under this pontificate, and during the seven months in which
Rome, conquered by the Lutheran soldiers of the Constable of Bourbon,
saw holy things subjected to the most frightful profanations, that
Francesco Cenci was born.

He was the son of Monsignor Nicolo Cenci, afterwards apostolic
treasurer during the pontificate of Pius V. Under this venerable
prelate, who occupied himself much more with the spiritual than the
temporal administration of his kingdom, Nicolo Cenci took advantage
of his spiritual head's abstraction of worldly matters to amass a net
revenue of a hundred and sixty thousand piastres, about f32,000 of
our money. Francesco Cenci, who was his only son, inherited this

His youth was spent under popes so occupied with the schism of Luther
that they had no time to think of anything else. The result was,
that Francesco Cenci, inheriting vicious instincts and master of an
immense fortune which enabled him to purchase immunity, abandoned
himself to all the evil passions of his fiery and passionate
temperament. Five times during his profligate career imprisoned for
abominable crimes, he only succeeded in procuring his liberation by
the payment of two hundred thousand piastres, or about one million
francs. It should be explained that popes at this time were in great
need of money.

The lawless profligacy of Francesco Cenci first began seriously to
attract public attention under the pontificate of Gregory XIII. This
reign offered marvellous facilities for the development of a
reputation such as that which this reckless Italian Don Juan seemed
bent on acquiring. Under the Bolognese Buoncampagno, a free hand was
given to those able to pay both assassins and judges. Rape and
murder were so common that public justice scarcely troubled itself
with these trifling things, if nobody appeared to prosecute the
guilty parties. The good Gregory had his reward for his easygoing
indulgence; he was spared to rejoice over the Massacre of St.

Francesco Cenci was at the time of which we are speaking a man of
forty-four or forty-five years of age, about five feet four inches in
height, symmetrically proportioned, and very strong, although rather
thin; his hair was streaked with grey, his eyes were large and
expressive, although the upper eyelids drooped somewhat; his nose was
long, his lips were thin, and wore habitually a pleasant smile,
except when his eye perceived an enemy; at this moment his features
assumed a terrible expression; on such occasions, and whenever moved
or even slightly irritated, he was seized with a fit of nervous
trembling, which lasted long after the cause which provoked it had
passed. An adept in all manly exercises and especially in
horsemanship, he sometimes used to ride without stopping from Rome to
Naples, a distance of forty-one leagues, passing through the forest
of San Germano and the Pontine marshes heedless of brigands, although
he might be alone and unarmed save for his sword and dagger. When
his horse fell from fatigue, he bought another; were the owner
unwilling to sell he took it by force; if resistance were made, he
struck, and always with the point, never the hilt. In most cases,
being well known throughout the Papal States as a free-handed person,
nobody tried to thwart him; some yielding through fear, others from
motives of interest. Impious, sacrilegious, and atheistical, he
never entered a church except to profane its sanctity. It was said
of him that he had a morbid appetite for novelties in crime, and that
there was no outrage he would not commit if he hoped by so doing to
enjoy a new sensation.

At the age of about forty-five he had married a very rich woman,
whose name is not mentioned by any chronicler. She died, leaving him
seven children--five boys and two girls. He then married Lucrezia
Petroni, a perfect beauty of the Roman type, except for the ivory
pallor of her complexion. By this second marriage he had no

As if Francesco Cenci were void of all natural affection, he hated
his children, and was at no pains to conceal his feelings towards
them: on one occasion, when he was building, in the courtyard of his
magnificent palace, near the Tiber, a chapel dedicated to St.
Thomas, he remarked to the architect, when instructing him to design
a family vault, "That is where I hope to bury them all." The
architect often subsequently admitted that he was so terrified by the
fiendish laugh which accompanied these words, that had not Francesco
Cenci's work been extremely profitable, he would have refused to go
on with it.

As soon as his three eldest boys, Giacomo, Cristoforo, and Rocco,
were out of their tutors' hands, in order to get rid of them he sent
them to the University of Salamanca, where, out of sight, they were
out of mind, for he thought no more about them, and did not even send
them the means of subsistence. In these straits, after struggling
for some months against their wretched plight, the lads were obliged
to leave Salamanca, and beg their way home, tramping barefoot through
France and Italy, till they made their way back to Rome, where they
found their father harsher and more unkind than ever.

This happened in the early part of the reign of Clement VIII, famed
for his justice. The three youths resolved to apply to him, to grant
them an allowance out of their father's immense income. They
consequently repaired to Frascati, where the pope was building the
beautiful Aldobrandini Villa, and stated their case. The pope
admitted the justice of their claims, and ordered Francesco, to allow
each of them two thousand crowns a year. He endeavoured by every
possible means to evade this decree, but the pope's orders were too
stringent to be disobeyed.

About this period he was for the third time imprisoned for infamous
crimes. His three sons them again petitioned the pope, alleging that
their father dishonoured the family name, and praying that the
extreme rigour of the law, a capital sentence, should be enforced in
his case. The pope pronounced this conduct unnatural and odious, and
drove them with ignominy from his presence. As for Francesco, he
escaped, as on the two previous occasions, by the payment of a large
sum of money.

It will be readily understood that his sons' conduct on this occasion
did not improve their father's disposition towards them, but as their
independent pensions enabled them to keep out of his way, his rage
fell with all the greater intensity on his two unhappy daughters.
Their situation soon became so intolerable, that the elder,
contriving to elude the close supervision under which she was kept,
forwarded to the pope a petition, relating the cruel treatment to
which she was subjected, and praying His Holiness either to give her
in marriage or place her in a convent. Clement VIII took pity on
her; compelled Francesco Cenci to give her a dowry of sixty thousand
crowns, and married her to Carlo Gabrielli, of a noble family of
Gubbio. Francesco driven nearly frantic with rage when he saw this
victim released from his clutches.

About the same time death relieved him from two other encumbrances:
his sons Rocco and Cristoforo were killed within a year of each
other; the latter by a bungling medical practitioner whose name is
unknown; the former by Paolo Corso di Massa, in the streets of Rome.
This came as a relief to Francesco, whose avarice pursued his sons
even after their death, far he intimated to the priest that he would
not spend a farthing on funeral services. They were accordingly
borne to the paupers' graves which he had caused to be prepared for
them, and when he saw them both interred, he cried out that he was
well rid of such good-for-nothing children, but that he should be
perfectly happy only when the remaining five were buried with the
first two, and that when he had got rid of the last he himself would
burn down his palace as a bonfire to celebrate the event.

But Francesco took every precaution against his second daughter,
Beatrice Cenci, following the example of her elder sister. She was
then a child of twelve or thirteen years of age, beautiful and
innocent as an angel. Her long fair hair, a beauty seen so rarely in
Italy, that Raffaelle, believing it divine, has appropriated it to
all his Madonnas, curtained a lovely forehead, and fell in flowing
locks over her shoulders. Her azure eyes bore a heavenly expression;
she was of middle height, exquisitely proportioned; and during the
rare moments when a gleam of happiness allowed her natural character
to display itself, she was lively, joyous, and sympathetic, but at
the same time evinced a firm and decided disposition.

To make sure of her custody, Francesco kept her shut up in a remote
apartment of his palace, the key of which he kept in his own
possession. There, her unnatural and inflexible gaoler daily brought
her some food. Up to the age of thirteen, which she had now reached,
he had behaved to her with the most extreme harshness and severity;
but now, to poor Beatrice's great astonishment, he all at once became
gentle and even tender. Beatrice was a child no longer; her beauty
expanded like a flower; and Francesco, a stranger to no crime,
however heinous, had marked her for his own.

Brought up as she had been, uneducated, deprived of all society, even
that of her stepmother, Beatrice knew not good from evil: her ruin
was comparatively easy to compass; yet Francesco, to accomplish his
diabolical purpose, employed all the means at his command. Every
night she was awakened by a concert of music which seemed to come
from Paradise. When she mentioned this to her father, he left her in
this belief, adding that if she proved gentle and obedient she would
be rewarded by heavenly sights, as well as heavenly sounds.

One night it came to pass that as the young girl was reposing, her
head supported on her elbow, and listening to a delightful harmony,
the chamber door suddenly opened, and from the darkness of her own
room she beheld a suite of apartments brilliantly illuminated, and
sensuous with perfumes; beautiful youths and girls, half clad, such
as she had seen in the pictures of Guido and Raffaelle, moved to and
fro in these apartments, seeming full of joy and happiness: these
were the ministers to the pleasures of Francesco, who, rich as a
king, every night revelled in the orgies of Alexander, the wedding
revels of Lucrezia, and the excesses of Tiberius at Capri. After an
hour, the door closed, and the seductive vision vanished, leaving
Beatrice full of trouble and amazement.

The night following, the same apparition again presented itself,
only, on this occasion, Francesco Cenci, undressed, entered his
daughter's roam and invited her to join the fete. Hardly knowing
what she did, Beatrice yet perceived the impropriety of yielding to
her father's wishes: she replied that, not seeing her stepmother,
Lucrezia Petroni, among all these women, she dared not leave her bed
to mix with persons who were unknown to her. Francesco threatened
and prayed, but threats and prayers were of no avail. Beatrice
wrapped herself up in the bedclothes, and obstinately refused to

The next night she threw herself on her bed without undressing. At
the accustomed hour the door opened, and the nocturnal spectacle
reappeared. This time, Lucrezia Petroni was among the women who
passed before Beatrice's door; violence had compelled her to undergo
this humiliation. Beatrice was too far off to see her blushes and
her tears. Francesco pointed out her stepmother, whom she had lacked
for in vain the previous evening; and as she could no longer make any
opposition, he led her, covered with blushes and confusion, into the
middle of this orgy.

Beatrice there saw incredible and infamous things....

Nevertheless, she resisted a long time: an inward voice told her that
this was horrible; but Francesco had the slaw persistence of a demon.
To these sights, calculated to stimulate her passions, he added
heresies designed to warp her mind; he told her that the greatest
saints venerated by the Church were the issue of fathers and
daughters, and in the end Beatrice committed a crime without even
knowing it to be a sin.

His brutality then knew no bounds. He forced Lucrezia and Beatrice
to share the same bed, threatening his wife to kill her if she
disclosed to his daughter by a single word that there was anything
odious in such an intercourse. So matters went on for about three

At this time Francesco was obliged to make a journey, and leave the
women alone and free. The first thing Lucrezia did was to enlighten
Beatrice an the infamy of the life they were leading; they then
together prepared a memorial to the pope, in which they laid before
him a statement of all the blows and outrages they had suffered.
But, before leaving, Francesco Cenci had taken precautions; every
person about the pope was in his pay, or hoped to be. The petition
never reached His Holiness, and the two poor women, remembering that
Clement VIII had on a farmer occasion driven Giacomo, Cristaforo, and
Rocco from his presence, thought they were included in the same
proscription, and looked upon themselves as abandoned to their fate.

When matters were in this state, Giacomo, taking advantage of his
father's absence, came to pay them a visit with a friend of his, an
abbe named Guerra: he was a young man of twenty-five or twenty-six,
belonging to one of the most noble families in Rome, of a bold,
resolute, and courageous character, and idolised by all the Roman
ladies for his beauty. To classical features he added blue eyes
swimming in poetic sentiment; his hair was long and fair, with
chestnut beard and eyebrows; add to these attractions a highly
educated mind, natural eloquence expressed by a musical and
penetrating voice, and the reader may form some idea of Monsignor the
Abbe Guerra.

No sooner had he seen Beatrice than he fell in love with her. On her
side, she was not slow to return the sympathy of the young priest.
The Council of Trent had not been held at that time, consequently
ecclesiastics were not precluded from marriage. It was therefore
decided that on the return of Francesco the Abbe Guerra should demand
the hand of Beatrice from her father, and the women, happy in the
absence of their master, continued to live on, hoping for better
things to come.

After three or four months, during which no one knew where he was,
Francesco returned. The very first night, he wished to resume his
intercourse with Beatrice; but she was no longer the same person, the
timid and submissive child had become a girl of decided will; strong
in her love for the abbe, she resisted alike prayers, threats, and

The wrath of Francesco fell upon his wife, whom he accused of
betraying him; he gave her a violent thrashing. Lucrezia Petroni was
a veritable Roman she-wolf, passionate alike in love and vengeance;
she endured all, but pardoned nothing.

Some days after this, the Abbe Guerra arrived at the Cenci palace to
carry out what had been arranged. Rich, young, noble, and handsome,
everything would seem to promise him success; yet he was rudely
dismissed by Francesco. The first refusal did not daunt him; he
returned to the charge a second time and yet a third, insisting upon
the suitableness of such a union. At length Francesco, losing
patience, told this obstinate lover that a reason existed why
Beatrice could be neither his wife nor any other man's. Guerra
demanded what this reason was. Francesco replied:

"Because she is my mistress."

Monsignor Guerra turned pale at this answer, although at first he did
not believe a word of it; but when he saw the smile with which
Francesco Cenci accompanied his words, he was compelled to believe
that, terrible though it was, the truth had been spoken.

For three days he sought an interview with Beatrice in vain; at
length he succeeded in finding her. His last hope was her denial of
this horrible story: Beatrice confessed all. Henceforth there was no
human hope for the two lovers; an impassable gulf separated them.
They parted bathed in tears, promising to love one another always.

Up to that time the two women had not formed any criminal resolution,
and possibly the tragical incident might never have happened, had not
Frances one night returned into his daughter's room and violently
forced her into the commission of fresh crime.

Henceforth the doom of Francesco was irrevocably pronounced.

As we have said, the mind of Beatrice was susceptible to the best and
the worst influences: it could attain excellence, and descend to
guilt. She went and told her mother of the fresh outrage she had
undergone; this roused in the heart of the other woman the sting of
her own wrongs; and, stimulating each other's desire for revenge,
they, decided upon the murder of Francesco.

Guerra was called in to this council of death. His heart was a prey
to hatred and revenge. He undertook to communicate with Giacomo
Cenci, without whose concurrence the women would not act, as he was
the head of the family, when his father was left out of account.

Giacomo entered readily into the conspiracy. It will be remembered
what he had formerly suffered from his father; since that time he had
married, and the close-fisted old man had left him, with his wife and
children, to languish in poverty. Guerra's house was selected to
meet in and concert matters.

Giacomo hired a sbirro named Marzio, arid Guerra a second named

Both these men had private reasons for committing the crime--one
being actuated by love, the other by hatred. Marzio, who was in the
service of Giacomo, had often seen Beatrice, and loved her, but with
that silent and hopeless love which devours the soul. When he
conceived that the proposed crime would draw him nearer to Beatrice,
he accepted his part in it without any demur.

As for Olympio, he hated Francesco, because the latter had caused him
to lose the post of castellan of Rocco Petrella, a fortified
stronghold in the kingdom of Naples, belonging to Prince Colonna.
Almost every year Francesco Cenci spent some months at Rocco Petrella
with his family; for Prince Colonna, a noble and magnificent but
needy prince, had much esteem for Francesco, whose purse he found
extremely useful. It had so happened that Francesco, being
dissatisfied with Olympio, complained about him to Prince Colonna,
and he was dismissed.

After several consultations between the Cenci family, the abbe and
the sbirri, the following plan of action was decided upon.

The period when Francesco Cenci was accustomed to go to Rocco
Petrella was approaching: it was arranged that Olympio, conversant
with the district and its inhabitants, should collect a party of a
dozen Neapolitan bandits, and conceal them in a forest through which
the travellers would have to pass. Upon a given signal, the whole
family were to be seized and carried off. A heavy ransom was to be
demanded, and the sons were to be sent back to Rome to raise the sum;
but, under pretext of inability to do so, they were to allow the time
fixed by the bandits to lapse, when Francesco was to be put to death.
Thus all suspicions of a plot would be avoided, and the real
assassins would escape justice.

This well-devised scheme was nevertheless unsuccessful. When
Francesco left Rome, the scout sent in advance by the conspirators
could not find the bandits; the latter, not being warned beforehand,
failed to come down before the passage of the travellers, who arrived
safe and sound at Rocco Petreila. The bandits, after having
patrolled the road in vain, came to the conclusion that their prey
had escaped, and, unwilling to stay any longer in a place where they
had already spent a week, went off in quest of better luck elsewhere.

Francesco had in the meantime settled down in the fortress, and, to
be more free to tyrannise over Lucrezia and Beatrice, sent back to
Rome Giacomo and his two other sons. He then recommenced his
infamous attempts upon Beatrice, and with such persistence, that she
resolved herself to accomplish the deed which at first she desired to
entrust to other hands.

Olympio and Marzio, who had nothing to fear from justice, remained
lurking about the castle; one day Beatrice saw them from a window,
and made signs that she had something to communicate to them. The
same night Olympio, who having been castellan knew all the approaches
to the fortress, made his way there with his companion. Beatrice
awaited them at a window which looked on to a secluded courtyard; she
gave them letters which she had written to her brother and to
Monsignor Guerra. The former was to approve, as he had done before,
the murder of their father; for she would do nothing without his
sanction. As for Monsignor Guerra, he was to pay Olympio a thousand
piastres, half the stipulated sum; Marzio acting out of pure love for
Beatrice, whom he worshipped as a Madonna; which observing, the girl
gave him a handsome scarlet mantle, trimmed with gold lace, telling
him to wear it for love of her. As for the remaining moiety, it was
to be paid when the death of the old man had placed his wife and
daughter in possession of his fortune.

The two sbirri departed, and the imprisoned conspirators anxiously
awaited their return. On the day fixed, they were seen again.
Monsignor Guerra had paid the thousand piastres, and Giacomo had
given his consent. Nothing now stood in the way of the execution of
this terrible deed, which was fixed for the 8th of September, the day
of the Nativity of the Virgin; but Signora Lucrezia, a very devout
person, having noticed this circumstance, would not be a party to the
committal of a double sin; the matter was therefore deferred till the
next day, the 9th.

That evening, the 9th of September, 1598, the two women, supping with
the old man, mixed some narcotic with his wine so adroitly that,
suspicious though he was, he never detected it, and having swallowed
the potion, soon fell into a deep sleep.

The evening previous, Marzio and Olympio had been admitted into the
castle, where they had lain concealed all night and all day; for, as
will be remembered, the assassination would have been effected the
day before had it not been for the religious scruples of Signora
Lucrezia Petroni. Towards midnight, Beatrice fetched them out of
their hiding-place, and took them to her father's chamber, the door
of which she herself opened. The assassins entered, and the two
women awaited the issue in the room adjoining.

After a moment, seeing the sbirri reappear pale and nerveless,
shaking their heads without speaking, they at once inferred that
nothing had been done.

"What is the matter?" cried Beatrice; "and what hinders you?"

"It is a cowardly act," replied the assassins, "to kill a poor old
man in his sleep. At the thought of his age, we were struck with

Then Beatrice disdainfully raised her head, and in a deep firm .voice
thus reproached them.

"Is it possible that you, who pretend to be brave and strong, have
not courage enough to kill a sleeping old man? How would it be if he
were awake? And thus you steal our money! Very well: since your
cowardice compels me to do so, I will kill my father myself; but you
will not long survive him."

Hearing these words, the sbirri felt ashamed of their irresolution,
and, indicating by signs that they would fulfil their compact, they
entered the room, accompanied by the two women. As they had said, a
ray of moonlight shone through the open window, and brought into
prominence the tranquil face of the old man, the sight of whose white
hair had so affected them.

This time they showed no mercy. One of them carried two great nails,
such as those portrayed in pictures of the Crucifixion; the other
bore a mallet: the first placed a nail upright over one of the old
man's eyes; the other struck it with the hammer, and drove it into
his head. The throat was pierced in the same way with the second
nail; and thus the guilty soul, stained throughout its career with
crimes of violence, was in its turn violently torn from the body,
which lay writhing on the floor where it had rolled.
The young girl then, faithful to her word, handed the sbirri a large
purse containing the rest of the sum agreed upon, and they left.
When they found themselves alone, the women drew the nails out of the
wounds, wrapped the corpse in a sheet, and dragged it through the
rooms towards a small rampart, intending to throw it down into a
garden which had been allowed to run to waste. They hoped that the
old man's death would be attributed to his having accidentally fallen
off the terrace on his way in the dark to a closet at the end of the
gallery. But their strength failed them when they reached the door
of the last room, and, while resting there, Lucrezia perceived the
two sbirri, sharing the money before making their escape. At her
call they came to her, carried the corpse to the rampart, and, from a
spot pointed out by the women, where the terrace was unfenced by any
parapet, they threw it into an elder tree below, whose branches
retained' it suspended.

When the body was found the following morning hanging in the branches
of the elder tree, everybody supposed, as Beatrice and her stepmother
had foreseen, that Francesco, stepping over the edge of the 386
terrace in the dark, had thus met his end. The body was so scratched
and disfigured that no one noticed the wounds made by the two nails.
The ladies, as soon as the news was imparted to them, came out from
their rooms, weeping and lamenting in so natural a manner as to
disarm any suspicions. The only person who formed any was the
laundress to whom Beatrice entrusted the sheet in which her father's
body had been wrapped, accounting for its bloody condition by a lame
explanation, which the laundress accepted without question, or
pretended to do so; and immediately after the funeral, the mourners
returned to Rome, hoping at length to enjoy quietude and peace.
For some time, indeed, they did enjoy tranquillity, perhaps poisoned
by remorse, but ere long retribution pursued them. The court of
Naples, hearing of the sudden and unexpected death of Francesco
Cenci, and conceiving some suspicions of violence, despatched a royal
commissioner to Petrella to exhume the body and make minute
inquiries, if there appeared to be adequate grounds for doing so. On
his arrival all the domestics in the castle were placed under arrest
and sent in chains to Naples. No incriminating proofs, however, were
found, except in the evidence of the laundress, who deposed that
Beatrice had given her a bloodstained sheet to wash. This, clue led
to terrible consequences; for, further questioned she declared that
she could not believe the explanation given to account for its
condition. The evidence was sent to the Roman court; but at that
period it did not appear strong enough to warrant the arrest of the
Cenci family, who remained undisturbed for many months, during which
time the youngest boy died. Of the five brothers there only remained
Giacomo, the eldest, and Bernardo, the youngest but one. Nothing
prevented them from escaping to Venice or Florence; but they remained
quietly in Rome.

Meantime Monsignor Guerra received private information that, shortly
before the death of Francesco, Marzio and Olympio had been seen
prowling round the castle, and that the Neapolitan police had
received orders to arrest them.

The monsignor was a most wary man, and very difficult to catch
napping when warned in time. He immediately hired two other sbirri
to assassinate Marzio and Olympio. The one commissioned to put
Olympio out of the way came across him at Terni, and conscientiously
did his work with a poniard, but Marzio's man unfortunately arrived
at Naples too late, and found his bird already in the hands of the

He was put to the torture, and confessed everything. His deposition
was sent to Rome, whither he shortly afterwards followed it, to be
confronted with the accused. Warrants were immediately issued for
the arrest of Giacomo, Bernardo, Lucrezia, and Beatrice; they were at
first confined in the Cenci palace under a strong guard, but the
proofs against them becoming stronger and stronger, they were removed
to the castle of Corte Savella, where they were confronted with
Marzio; but they obstinately denied both any complicity in the crime
and any knowledge of the assassin. Beatrice, above all, displayed
the greatest assurance, demanding to be the first to be confronted
with Marzio; whose mendacity she affirmed with such calm dignity,
that he, more than ever smitten by her beauty, determined, since he
could not live for her, to save her by his death. Consequently, he
declared all his statements to be false, and asked forgiveness from
God and from Beatrice; neither threats nor tortures could make him
recant, and he died firm in his denial, under frightful tortures.
The Cenci then thought themselves safe.

God's justice, however, still pursued them. The sbirro who had
killed Olympio happened to be arrested for another crime, and, making
a clean breast, confessed that he had been employed by Monsignor
Guerra--to put out of the way a fellow-assassin named Olympio, who
knew too many of the monsignor's secrets.

Luckily for himself, Monsignor Guerra heard of this opportunely. A
man of infinite resource, he lost not a moment in timid or irresolute
plans, but as it happened that at the very moment when he was warned,
the charcoal dealer who supplied his house with fuel was at hand, he
sent for him, purchased his silence with a handsome bribe, and then,
buying for almost their weight in gold the dirty old clothes which he
wore, he assumed these, cut off all his beautiful cherished fair
hair, stained his beard, smudged his face, bought two asses, laden
with charcoal, and limped up and down the streets of Rome, crying,
"Charcoal! charcoal!" Then, whilst all the detectives were hunting
high and low for him, he got out of the city, met a company of
merchants under escort, joined them, and reached Naples, where he
embarked. What ultimately became of him was never known; it has been
asserted, but without confirmation, that he succeeded--in reaching
France, and enlisted in a Swiss regiment in the pay of Henry IV.

The confession of the sbirro and the disappearance of Monsignor
Guerra left no moral doubt of the guilt of the Cenci. They were
consequently sent from the castle to the prison; the two brothers,
when put to the torture, broke down and confessed their guilt.
Lucrezia Petroni's full habit of body rendered her unable to bear the
torture of the rope, and, on being suspended in the air, begged to be
lowered, when she confessed all she knew.

As for Beatrice, she continued unmoved; neither promises, threats,
nor torture had any effect upon her; she bore everything
unflinchingly, and the judge Ulysses Moscati himself, famous though
he was in such matters, failed to draw from her a single
incriminating word. Unwilling to take any further responsibility, he
referred the case to Clement VIII; and the pope, conjecturing that
the judge had been too lenient in applying the torture to, a young
and beautiful Roman lady, took it out of his hands and entrusted it
to another judge, whose severity and insensibility to emotion were

This latter reopened the whole interrogatory, and as Beatrice up to
that time had only been subjected to the ordinary torture, he gave
instructions to apply both the ordinary and extraordinary. This was
the rope and pulley, one of the most terrible inventions ever devised
by the most ingenious of tormentors.

To make the nature of this horrid torture plain to our readers, we
give a detailed description of it, adding an extract of the presiding
judge's report of the case, taken from the Vatican manuscripts.

Of the various forms of torture then used in Rome the most common
were the whistle, the fire, the sleepless, and the rope.

The mildest, the torture of the whistle, was used only in the case of
children and old persons; it consisted in thrusting between the nails
and the flesh reeds cut in the shape of whistles.

The fire, frequently employed before the invention of the sleepless
torture, was simply roasting the soles of the feet before a hot fire.

The sleepless torture, invented by Marsilius, was worked by forcing
the accused into an angular frame of wood about five feet high, the
sufferer being stripped and his arms tied behind his back to the
frame; two men, relieved every five hours, sat beside him, and roused
him the moment he closed his eyes. Marsilius says he has never found
a man proof against this torture; but here he claims more than he is
justly entitled to. Farinacci states that, out of one hundred
accused persons subjected to it, five only refused to confess--a very
satisfactory result for the inventor.

Lastly comes the torture of the rope and pulley, the most in vogue of
all, and known in other Latin countries as the strappado.

It was divided into three degrees of intensity--the slight, the
severe, and the very severe.

The first, or slight torture, which consisted mainly in the
apprehensions it caused, comprised the threat of severe torture,
introduction into the torture chamber, stripping, and the tying of
the rope in readiness for its appliance. To increase the terror
these preliminaries excited, a pang of physical pain was added by
tightening a cord round the wrists. This often sufficed to extract a
confession from women or men of highly strung nerves.

The second degree, or severe torture, consisted in fastening the
sufferer, stripped naked, and his hands tied behind his back, by the
wrists to one end of a rope passed round a pulley bolted into the
vaulted ceiling, the other end being attached to a windlass, by
turning which he could be hoisted, into the air, and dropped again,
either slowly or with a jerk, as ordered by the judge. The
suspension generally lasted during the recital of a Pater Noster, an
Ave Maria, or a Miserere; if the accused persisted in his denial, it
was doubled. This second degree, the last of the ordinary torture,
was put in practice when the crime appeared reasonably probable but
was not absolutely proved.

The third, or very severe, the first of the extraordinary forms of
torture, was so called when the sufferer, having hung suspended by
the wrists, for sometimes a whole hour, was swung about by the
executioner, either like the pendulum of a clock, or by elevating him
with the windlass and dropping him to within a foot or two of the
ground. If he stood this torture, a thing almost unheard of, seeing
that it cut the flesh of the wrist to the bone and dislocated the
limbs, weights were attached to the feet, thus doubling the torture.
This last form of torture was only applied when an atrocious crime
had been proved to have been committed upon a sacred person, such as
a priest, a cardinal, a prince, or an eminent and learned man.

Having seen that Beatrice was sentenced to the torture ordinary and
extraordinary, and having explained the nature of these tortures, we
proceed to quote the official report:--

"And as in reply to every question she would confess nothing, we
caused her to be taken by two officers and led from the prison to the
torture chamber, where the torturer was in attendance; there, after
cutting off her hair, he made her sit on a small stool, undressed
her, pulled off her shoes, tied her hands behind her back, fastened
them to a rope passed over a pulley bolted into the ceiling of the
aforesaid chamber, and wound up at the other end by a four lever
windlass, worked by two men."

"Before hoisting her from the ground we again interrogated her
touching the aforesaid parricide; but notwithstanding the confessions
of her brother and her stepmother, which were again produced, bearing
their signatures, she persisted in denying everything, saying, 'Haul
me about and do what you like with me; I have spoken the truth, and
will tell you nothing else, even if I were torn to pieces.'

"Upon this we had her hoisted in the air by the wrists to the height
of about two feet from the ground, while we recited a Pater Noster;
and then again questioned her as to the facts and circumstances of
the aforesaid parricide; but she would make no further answer, only
saying, 'You are killing me! You are killing me!'

"We then raised her to the elevation of four feet, and began an Ave
Maria. But before our prayer was half finished she fainted away; or
pretended to do so.

"We caused a bucketful of water to be thrown over her head; feeling
its coolness, she recovered consciousness, and cried, 'My God! I am
dead! You are killing me! My God!' But this was all she would say.

"We then raised her higher still, and recited a Miserere, during
which, instead of joining in the prayer, she shook convulsively and
cried several times, 'My God! My God!'

"Again questioned as to the aforesaid parricide, she would confess
nothing, saying only that she was innocent, and then again fainted

"We caused more water to be thrown over her; then she recovered her
senses, opened her eyes, and cried, 'O cursed executioners! You are
killing me! You are killing me!' But nothing more would she say.

"Seeing which, and that she persisted in her denial, we ordered the
torturer to proceed to the torture by jerks.

"He accordingly hoisted her ten feet from the ground, and when there
we enjoined her to tell the truth; but whether she would not or could
not speak, she answered only by a motion of the head indicating that
she could say nothing.

"Seeing which, we made a sign to the executioner, to let go the rope,
and she fell with all her weight from the height of ten feet to that
of two feet; her arms, from the shock, were dislocated from their
sockets; she uttered a loud cry, and swooned away.

"We again caused water to be dashed in her face; she returned to
herself, and again cried out, 'Infamous assassins! You are killing
me; but were you to tear out my arms, I would tell you nothing else.'

"Upon this, we ordered a weight of fifty pounds to be fastened to her
feet. But at this moment the door opened, and many voices cried,
'Enough! Enough! Do not torture her any more!'"

These voices were those of Giacomo, Bernardo, and Lucrezia Petroni.
The judges, perceiving the obstinacy of Beatrice, had ordered that
the accused, who had been separated for five months, should be

They advanced into the torture chamber, and seeing Beatrice hanging
by the wrists, her arms disjointed, and covered with blood, Giacomo
cried out:--

"The sin is committed; nothing further remains but to save our souls
by repentance, undergo death courageously, and not suffer you to be
thus tortured."

Then said Beatrice, shaking her head as if to cast off grief--

"Do you then wish to die? Since you wish it, be it so."

Then turning to the officers:--

"Untie me," said she, "read the examination to me; and what I have to
confess, I will confess; what I have to deny, I will deny."

Beatrice was then lowered and untied; a barber reduced the
dislocation of her arms in the usual manner; the examination was read
over to her, and, as she had promised, she made a full confession.

After this confession, at the request of the two brothers, they were
all confined in the same prison; but the next day Giacomo and
Bernardo were taken to the cells of Tordinona; as for the women, they
remained where they were.

The pope was so horrified on reading the particulars of the crime
contained in the confessions, that he ordered the culprits to be
dragged by wild horses through the streets of Rome. But so barbarous
a sentence shocked the public mind, so much so that many persons of
princely rank petitioned the Holy Father on their knees, imploring
him to reconsider his decree, or at least allow the accused to be
heard in their defence.

"Tell me," replied Clement VIII, "did they give their unhappy father
time to be heard in his own defence, when they slew him in so
merciless and degrading a fashion?"

At length, overcome by so many entreaties, he respited them for three

The most eloquent and skilful advocates in Rome immediately busied
themselves in preparing pleadings for so emotional a case, and on the
day fixed for hearing appeared before His Holiness.

The first pleader was Nicolo degli Angeli, who spoke with such force
and eloquence that the pope, alarmed at the effect he was producing
among the audience, passionately interrupted him.

"Are there then to be found," he indignantly cried, "among the Roman
nobility children capable of killing their parents, and among Roman
lawyers men capable of speaking in their defence? This is a thing we
should never have believed, nor even for a moment supposed it

All were silent upon this terrible rebuke, except Farinacci, who,
nerving himself with a strong sense of duty, replied respectfully but

"Most Holy Father, we are not here to defend criminals, but to save
the innocent; for if we succeeded in proving that any of the accused
acted in self-defence, I hope that they will be exonerated in the
eyes of your Holiness; for just as the law provides for cases in
which the father may legally kill the child, so this holds good in
the converse. We will therefore continue our pleadings on receiving
leave from your Holiness to do so."

Clement VIII then showed himself as patient as he had previously been
hasty, and heard the argument of Farinacci, who pleaded that
Francesco Cenci had lost all the rights of a father from, the day
that he violated his daughter. In support of his contention he
wished to put in the memorial sent by Beatrice to His Holiness,
petitioning him, as her sister had done, to remove her from the
paternal roof and place her in a convent. Unfortunately, this
petition had disappeared, and notwithstanding the minutest search
among the papal documents, no trace of it could be found.

The pope had all the pleadings collected, and dismissed the
advocates, who then retired, excepting d'Altieri, who knelt before
him, saying--

"Most Holy Father, I humbly ask pardon for appearing before you in
this case, but I had no choice in the matter, being the advocate of
the poor."

The pope kindly raised him, saying:

"Go; we are not surprised at your conduct, but at that of others, who
protect and defend criminals."

As the pope took a great interest in this case, he sat up all night
over it, studying it with Cardinal di San Marcello, a man of much
acumen and great experience in criminal cases. Then, having summed
it up, he sent a draft of his opinion to the advocates, who read it
with great satisfaction, and entertained hopes that the lives of the
convicted persons would be spared; for the evidence all went to prove
that even if the children had taken their father's life, all the
provocation came from him, and that Beatrice in particular had been
dragged into the part she had taken in this crime by the tyranny,
wickedness, and brutality of her father. Under the influence of
these considerations the pope mitigated the severity of their prison
life, and even allowed the prisoners to hope that their lives would
not be forfeited.

Amidst the general feeling of relief afforded to the public by these
favours, another tragical event changed the papal mind and frustrated
all his humane intentions. This was the atrocious murder of the
Marchese di Santa Croce, a man seventy years of age, by his son
Paolo, who stabbed him with a dagger in fifteen or twenty places,
because the father would not promise to make Paolo his sole heir.
The murderer fled and escaped.

Clement VIII was horror-stricken at the increasing frequency of this
crime of parricide: for the moment, however, he was unable to take
action, having to go to Monte Cavallo to consecrate a cardinal
titular bishop in the church of Santa Maria degli Angeli; but the day
following, on Friday the 10th of September 1599, at eight o'clock in
the morning, he summoned Monsignor Taverna, governor of Rome, and
said to him--

"Monsignor, we place in your hands the Cenci case, that you may carry
out the sentence as speedily as possible."

On his return to his palace, after leaving His Holiness, the governor
convened a meeting of all the criminal judges in the city, the result
of the council being that all the Cenci were condemned to death.

The final sentence was immediately known; and as this unhappy family
inspired a constantly increasing interest, many cardinals spent the
whole of the night either on horseback or in their carriages, making
interest that, at least so far as the women were concerned, they
should be put to death privately and in the prison, and that a free
pardon should be granted to Bernardo, a poor lad only fifteen years
of age, who, guiltless of any participation in the crime, yet found
himself involved in its consequences. The one who interested himself
most in the case was Cardinal Sforza, who nevertheless failed to
elicit a single gleam of hope, so obdurate was His Holiness. At
length Farinacci, working on the papal conscience, succeeded, after
long and urgent entreaties, and only at the last moment, that the
life of Bernardo should be spared.

From Friday evening the members of the brotherhood of the Conforteria
had gathered at the two prisons of Corte Savella and Tordinona. The
preparations for the closing scene of the tragedy had occupied
workmen on the bridge of Sant' Angelo all night; and it was not till
five o'clock in the morning that the registrar entered the cell of
Lucrezia and Beatrice to read their sentences to them.

Both were sleeping, calm in the belief of a reprieve. The registrar
woke them, and told them that, judged by man, they must now prepare
to appear before God.

Beatrice was at first thunderstruck: she seemed paralysed and
speechless; then she rose from bed, and staggering as if intoxicated,
recovered her speech, uttering despairing cries. Lucrezia heard the
tidings with more firmness, and proceeded to dress herself to go to
the chapel, exhorting Beatrice to resignation; but she, raving, wrung
her, hands and struck her head against the wall, shrieking, "To die!
to die! Am I to die unprepared, on a scaffold! on a gibbet! My God!
my God!" This fit led to a terrible paroxysm, after which the
exhaustion of her body enabled her mind to recover its balance, and
from that moment she became an angel of humility and an example of

Her first request was for a notary to make her will. This was
immediately complied with, and on his arrival she dictated its
provisions with much calmness and precision. Its last clause desired
her interment in the church of San Pietro in Montorio, for which she
always had a strong attachment, as it commanded a view of her
father's palace. She bequeathed five hundred crowns to the nuns of
the order of the Stigmata, and ordered that her dowry; amounting to
fifteen thousand crowns, should be distributed in marriage portions
to fifty poor girls. She selected the foot of the high altar as the
place where she wished to be buried, over which hung the beautiful
picture of the Transfiguration, so often admired by her during her

Following her example, Lucrezia in her turn, disposed of her
property: she desired to be buried in the church of San Giorgio di
Velobre, and left thirty-two thousand crowns to charities, with other
pious legacies. Having settled their earthly affairs, they joined in
prayer, reciting psalms, litanies, and prayers far the dying.

At eight o'clock they confessed, heard mass, and received the
sacraments; after which Beatrice, observing to her stepmother that
the rich dresses they wore were out of place on a scaffold, ordered
two to be made in nun's fashion--that is to say, gathered at the
neck, with long wide sleeves. That for Lucrezia was made of black
cotton stuff, Beatrice's of taffetas. In addition she had a small
black turban made to place on her head. These dresses, with cords
for girdles, were brought them; they were placed on a chair, while
the women continued to pray.

The time appointed being near at hand, they were informed that their
last moment was approaching. Then Beatrice, who was still on her
knees, rose with a tranquil and almost joyful countenance. "Mother,"
said she, "the moment of our suffering is impending; I think we had
better dress in these clothes, and help one another at our toilet for
the last time." They then put on the dresses provided, girt
themselves with the cords; Beatrice placed her turban on her head,
and they awaited the last summons.

In the meantime, Giacomo and Bernardo, whose sentences had been read
to them, awaited also the moment of their death. About ten o'clock
the members of the Confraternity of Mercy, a Florentine order,
arrived at the prison of Tordinona, and halted on the threshold with
the crucifix, awaiting the appearance of the unhappy youths. Here a
serious accident had nearly happened. As many persons were at the
prison windows to see the prisoners come out, someone accidentally
threw down a large flower-pot full of earth, which fell into the
street and narrowly missed one of the Confraternity who was amongst
the torch-bearers just before the crucifix. It passed so close to
the torch as to extinguish the flame in its descent.

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

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

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 tie 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

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

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

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!


by Alexandre Dumas, Pere


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.

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

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

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

Book of the day:
Facebook Google Reddit StumbleUpon Twitter Pinterest