He made his way in.
Entered by the Porte des Carmes, to find himself in the midst of a seething2 mass of people who shouted and gesticulated while pushing each other to and fro, some doing so in their anxiety to escape from out the city, others endeavouring to force themselves farther into it and toward the Canal de la Gau, which was near the gate. A mass of people who seemed infuriated, beyond the bounds of reason, to frenzy3, who shouted and screamed, "Au glaive, au glaive avec les héritéques. Kill all! Burn all! Now is the time." While others shrieked4, "To the mill, to the mill!" as onward5 they went in the direction of the canal.
He had put his horse up in a stall behind the gate, tethering it to a peg6 alongside one or two other animals which, by their trappings, evidently belonged to some dragoons; and now, borne on by the crowd, Martin went the same way, keeping his feet with difficulty yet still progressing, progressing toward where he saw the flames ascending7, darting8 through dense9 masses of black smoke, roaring as a vast furnace roars. Toward the mill that, all said, was the place which was on fire; the mill in which there were three hundred people--women, children, and old, decrepit10, useless men, old, aged11 Protestants who could not take to the mountains--being burned to death; the mill in which they had been worshipping God in their own fashion.
"Tell me," Martin besought12 a bystander, big, brawny13, and muscular, whom he found by his side and who, in spite of his splendidly developed manhood, wept, dashing the tears fiercely away from his eyes every moment. "Tell me what has happened. Tell me, I beg you."
"Murder! Butchery! A crime that will ring down the ages. Montrevel is burning three hundred helpless ones in Mercier's mill." Then he paused, casting his eyes over Martin's riding dress (stained now with the dust of his long rides) and upon his lace at breast and throat, smirched and dirty from continued wear. Paused to say: "What are you? a seigneur, I see. But of which side? The butchers or the slaughtered14?"
"I am of the Reformed faith."
"Of N?mes?" the man asked. "If so, God help you. Your mother or your babe may be burning there and you powerless to succour them. Montrevel's wolves surround the mill. He is there too, mad with wine and lust16 of blood. If there is any woman or child you love in N?mes at this moment, God help you."
"She whom I love is not here. But, alas17! can we do nothing? You wear a sword as I do? We can strike a blow----"
"Do! What can we do? There are two hundred dragoons there. What will our blades avail, though we were the best ferrailleurs in France?" Then suddenly he cried, "See, there is the slaughter15-house!"
He spoke18 truly. The burning mill was before them.
A sight to freeze one's blood, to turn that blood to ice even beneath the sky of brass19, even before the hot flames that darted20 forth21, licking up, devouring22 all.
It stood, an ancient building of stone foundations and wooden superstructure. They said the former dated back to C?sar's day, the latter to that of Charles le Bel, upon the banks of the canal as it would never stand again, since now it was nothing but a mass of burning fuel. Also a human hecatomb, there being within it the ashes of three hundred human beings whose bodies had that morning been consumed. And Martin blessed God that he had not been there to hear their piercing shrieks23, their cries for mercy and their supplications.
Around the nearly destroyed mill, except on one side where it adjoined an inn, "La Rose de Provence," the front of which was all singed24 and scarred, he saw the executioners, the men who had been soldiers, fierce yet valiant25, until this morning, but who were now worthy26 of no nobler name than that of cowardly murderers. Dragoons, Croatian Cravates, now Prance's most bloody27 swashbucklers with one exception, the Miquelets, those fierce Pyrenean tigers, as well as chevaux-légers and countless28 numbers of the milice. And near them, his sword drawn29, his face inflamed30 with drink and fury, his breast a mass of ribbons and orders, was Montrevel upon his horse, a scandal to the baton31 he had lately gained.
"Murderer! Assassin! Brave butcher of women and babes," howled many in the crowd, one half of which was Protestant, "noble papist! you have done your work well. Yet beware of Cavalier and Roland!"
And even as they so shouted, from more than one window high up in the roofs there came little puffs32 of smoke and spits of flame, showing that he was aimed at. Only the devil protected him. His time was not yet come. He was mad now with fury or drink, or thirst for human blood. Mad, stung to frenzy by resistance and contempt, even in spite of all that he had done that morning, of having glutted33 his ire on the helpless, which should have sufficed, all heard him roar:
"Finissons! N?mes is heretic to the core. Make an end of it. Avancez, mes soldats. Burn, destroy, slaughter. Kill all." And he turned his horse toward where the crowd was thickest and bade the carnage begin, marshalling his troops into companies the better to distribute them about the doomed34 city.
But now there stepped forth one--Sandricourt, Governor of N?mes--who forbade him to do that which he threatened; warned him that if one more house or street was injured he would himself that night set forth for Paris, and tell Louis that Montrevel was unworthy of the command he held in this distracted province.
"Ha! Sandricourt, 'tis Sandricourt," whispered one in a knot of Protestants standing35 near to where Martin and the man he had accosted36 were. "He is the best, he and Fléchier, bishop37 though he is. If all were like them--if Baville were--then--then we might live in peace, not see nor know the awful terrors we have seen this day. Oh, the horror of it! the horror of it!" and he buried his face in his hands as though to hide some sight that he feared might blast him.
Baville! The name recalled the man to Martin's memory. Nay38, it did more, far more than that. Recalled his love, Urbaine. Set him wondering, too, if by any chance this holocaust39 had taken place at the Intendant's suggestion; if this was a vengeance40 on those who had destroyed her. For he must deem her dead by now; weeks had passed since she disappeared. Had he set the shambles41 fresh running with blood to avenge42 her loss?
He must see Baville at once, must tell him she was safe. Thereby43, perhaps, more slaughter might be averted44.
"Where is Baville?" he asked, turning to the group of terrified Protestants by his side. "Is he in this carnage?"
"God, he knows," one replied. "Yet he has not appeared. Not since this commenced. Were you here at the beginning?"
"Nay, I arrived but now. Is it true, can it be true there are three hundred destroyed within that?" and he glanced toward the débris of the mill, the superstructure now nothing but ashes and charred45 beams, with, lying above them, the red tiles of what had been a roof ere it fell in, burying beneath it--what?
"It is true, it is true," the man wailed46. Then, composing himself, he told of all that had gone before. "They were at prayer," he said, "in there, in Mercier's mill. I myself and Prosper47 Roumilli," indicating one of the men by his side. "Also Antoine La Quoite and Pierre Delamer," nodding to two others near him, "were hastening to join them; all grieved that we were too late. Late, grand Dieu! What have we not escaped?"
"Death and destruction," whispered La Quoite, trembling.
"Ay, death and destruction. Hélas! they raised their songs of thanksgiving too loud. Their cantiques told where they were, reached the ears of that murderer there who was at his breakfast----"
"He was," again interrupted La Quoite, "with the woman, Léonie Sabbat. A fitting companion. She can drink even him beneath the table."
"Furious he left that table, summoned a battalion48, passed swiftly here, surrounded the mill. Furious, too, because as they passed the cathedral he heard the organ blow, knew that Fléchier worshipped too, mad and savage49 because during such time we should also worship God in our own way."
"Yet our day will come," murmured Pierre Delamer, "it will come. I am old, yet shall I not die until it comes."
"The soldiers burst open the door," went on the original speaker, "rushed in among them sabres in hand, slew50 many. Yet this was too slow for him----"
"It was," exclaimed La Quoite. "He said they would be three hundred minutes slaying51 three hundred people thus. Too slow! He drew off his men, closed the doors, set fire to the mill. You see the end," and he pointed52 to the ashes of the ruined place, ashes that were also something else besides the remains53 of the mill.
Again the first speaker took up the story, Martin feeling sick unto death as he stood by and heard.
"From within there came the shouts of the lost, the piercing cries, the heartrending shrieks. Midst burst walls, at windows, upon the roof, we saw the death-doomed appear. Flying spectres, phantoms54, upon them the wounds the soldiers had made, black, singed by the flames. And then, O God! the sight passed man's endurance."
"What next?" asked Martin, white to the lips.
"What next? This: With their new weapons, the accursed ba?onnettes, the soldiers thrust back into the flames those whom the could get at; those whom they could not reach they fired at. We saw them fall back shrieking55. Yet in God's mercy their shrieks ceased soon--there were none left."
"But one," exclaimed the man called La Quoite, "a girl, pauvre petite fillette! She escaped so far as to reach the ground unhurt, to escape their blades, although they held them up as she jumped from the window, so that thereby she might be impaled56. But they missed her, and, running toward Montrevel, she shrieked for mercy. Poor child, poor child! not more than fifteen--than fifteen!"
"His lackey57," struck in Delamer, "had more mercy than the master. He helped her to escape from out the hands of the soldiers."
"Thank God there was a man, a human heart, among them," murmured Martin.
"Ay, yet it availed little. The brigand58 ordered her to the hangman's hands, also the lackey. The gibbet was prepared. Both would have died but that a Catholic woman, une s?ur de la miséricorde, upon her knees--Heaven's blessings59 light upon her!--besought him by the God whom all worship equally to give them their lives."
"And he yielded?"
"He yielded. He spared these two, though an hour later the lackey was thrown outside the gate of N?mes, his master bidding him go hang or drown himself, or join his friends, les Protestants, whereby once more he might fall into his hands."
"There is one good piece of news yet to be told," whispered La Quoite, who was a man of fiercer mood than the others. "In the mêlée the soldiers sabred many of the Catholics unwittingly. God be praised!" and he laughed harshly.
And now the end of this day's work had come. Montrevel had left the spot. Behind him went the dragoons and milices. The butchery was over. He should have been well satisfied with his morning.
Yet it scarcely looked as though he were so. His eyes glared around him as he rode off, his hand clutched convulsively the sword laid across his horse's mane. No wonder that they said afterward60, when his recall came and the noble and merciful Villars replaced him, that on that day he was mad as the long-chained and infuriated panther is mad. He had met with nothing but defeat and disaster since he had marched into Languedoc tambours battants; nothing but scorn and contempt and derision from the mountaineers whom he had sworn to crush beneath his heel; had received nothing but reproof61 from headquarters.
"Baville must be somewhere near," Martin said to La Quoite as they watched him ride forth from the scene of carnage. "Where is he?"
"I know not; yet, doubtless, not far. And he too is mad for the death of his loved one. God grant he is not close at hand; that none of us fall into his clutches. He would spur Montrevel on to fresh attempts."
Yet La Quoite's prayer found no echo in Martin's heart. He wished to find Baville, desired to see him, to stand face to face with him and tell him that Urbaine was safe. For safe she must be even after this massacre62, safe even though in Cavalier's hands.
Had he not said that he knew for certain she too was a Protestant, as they were--une Huguenote!
Note.--Justice requires it to be said that, of all the Roman Catholic writers who have described and written upon the slaughter at the mill in N?mes, not one has approved of it, or attempted to exonerate63 Montrevel. In truth, this awful outrage64 was the brutality65 of a rude, ungovernable soldier and not of a priest; and Fléchier, Bishop of N?mes, was loud in its condemnation66. It led to Montrevel's recall and to the arrival of Marshal Villars, who at last restored peace to Languedoc by the use of clemency67 and mercy. Such peace was not, however, to take place for some time.
Also it should be stated that Baville was quite free from any part in this matter, and that Louis XIV knew nothing of what had happened, nor indeed of any of the terrible events which occurred about the same time, it being the system of Madame de Maintenon and of Chamillart to keep him in ignorance of what was being enacted68 so far away from Versailles. It has been told that when he heard of the massacre at the mill he was observed to weep for the first and only time in his life. He might well do so!
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1
par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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24
singed
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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26
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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baton
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| n.乐队用指挥杖 | |
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32
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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33
glutted
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| v.吃得过多( glut的过去式和过去分词 )；（对胃口、欲望等）纵情满足；使厌腻；塞满 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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holocaust
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| n.大破坏；大屠杀 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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41
shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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42
avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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43
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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45
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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46
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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48
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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49
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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50
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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51
slaying
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| 杀戮。 | |
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52
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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54
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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55
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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56
impaled
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| 钉在尖桩上( impale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
lackey
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| n.侍从；跟班 | |
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58
brigand
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| n.土匪，强盗 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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60
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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62
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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63
exonerate
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| v.免除责任，确定无罪 | |
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64
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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65
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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66
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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67
clemency
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| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
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68
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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