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(Continued
from Issue #2)
On the faith of these stupid accusations the first
magistrate of the capital was summoned before the tribunal of the
Inquisition, thrown into prison, and would have been consigned to the
flames, if it had not been for the urgent solicitations of the court.
They contented themselves with disgracing him by compelling him to make
an atonement which was stamped with the seal of dishonour. He was drawn
in a cart into the court fronting the porch of Notre Dame, where a
scaffold had been erected; he appeared there in a humiliating posture,
without hood or sash, fell on his knees, and asked pardon; after which
he was recon ducted to the prison of the bishop's palace, where he was
condemned to end his days, with no other food than bread and water.*
The citizens of Paris were not moved by
this iniquitous judgment, they forgot the benefits with which their
provost had loaded them; the court itself dared not to side with this
worthy officer in the presence of the accusing cries of a fanatical
multitude, nor did the magistrates blush to allow a man to be condemned
as a Jew and a heretic, though the meanest capacity can readily see the
contradiction which exists between these two terms.
The day on which Hugues Aubriot was
dishonoured in the court fronting Notre Dame, Jehan le Rouge was set at
liberty by a decree of the court of the Chatelet, seeing that no proofs
existed against him, because a testimony of Jews could not be admitted
in a court of justice.
The court, magistrates, and citizens soon
became aware of the fault they had committed, in yielding to the fury of
an incensed populace; for its exactions soon became more numerous and
unjust.
When the popular masses are in motion
they bear a resemblance to the waves when raised by a storm; a deep
rumbling at first announces the gathering of the tempest; then the sky
becomes overcast; the sea rises, ploughed up by frightful gusts; the
billows dash and break with a dreadful roaring, and long after the foam,
which floats tremblingly on the surface of the waves, appears like the
echo of the internal agitation of the sea. Unhappy is that country which
is distracted by popular convulsions! Unhappy the town which is exposed
to the murderous assaults of an ignorant and fanatical mob! The more the
enraged crowd is in the wrong, the more are its excesses to be dreaded;
for when the senseless multitude has its feet in blood, it believes that
its head is raised to the skies. Laws, reason, justice, humanity, every
thing it tramples under foot, as soon as religious error has falsely
taught it that religion allows it to do whatever it wishes--and it is
not until it awakens that it understands that it is the first and most
certain victim of the disorder; for public calamities, which take their
birth in the street, reach the people before they arrive at the higher
classes.
On the 1st of March, 1381, the people
arranged their revolt, organized the insurrection, and, in connexion
with their interested adherents, put themselves in a way of obtaining by
violence the expulsion of the Jews and the dividing of their effects.
The Bishop of Beauvais, the Chancellor of
France, having refused to consent to the iniquitous decree of banishment
asked for against the Jews, and the court having declared that they
resided in France on the faith of the royal word,* the populace had
recourse to brutal force, and the debtors of the Jews excited it to
murder and plunder. The quarter of the Jews at Paris was again forced by
an infuriated multitude, and they defended themselves from house to
house, with the courage of despair. Every where the furniture was
destroyed, and the title-deeds and jewels were stolen, the air resounded
with cries of rage and the expiring groans of the dying; and the public
authorities, as if struck with stupor, did not interfere to put a stop
to this frightful work, which flooded with blood one part of the city,
to which the other quarters appeared to be strangers.
One group distinguished itself above all
others by its ferocity; it was the one headed by Jehan le Rouge, and he
excited it by the cries of "Slay!--Slay!" Urged by cupidity as
much as the desire of vengeance, these miserable wretches directed at
once their steps towards the house of Reuben Konitz. But they found the
house shut and barricaded, and they were compelled to undertake a
regular siege; boiling oil and projectiles of every kind were showered
in the first instance from the windows on the assailants, of whom
several were killed or wounded; and when the door was forced, the combat
continued from story to story, and chamber to chamber. Do you know by
whom this admirable resistance, this struggle so well maintained, and
this manly courage were planned and executed? By an old man, a youth,
and a young girl. Reuben, Samson, and Deborah had alone contended
against this sanguinary multitude, hoping every instant to see the
soldiers of the King of France arrive, whom they had so well paid for
protection, and to whose interests they had been so true. But at length
their strength was exhausted; they were about to yield, when despair
inspired them with the idea of setting fire to their house, and to draw
their assassins with themselves into a common ruin. Suddenly the house
appeared in flames, and when the assailants wished to fly it was too
late; they then redoubled their efforts, forced the last door, and were
about to make themselves masters of the Jew and his fortune; but at this
moment a horrible cracking was heard, the house fell down with a loud
crash, and the besiegers and besieged disappeared together under the
burning ruins.
When it was too late to effect any good,
they discovered among the yet smoking ruins the inanimate bodies of
Reuben and his two children lying closely together, as if this united
family had not wishes to be separated even on the threshold of eternity.
Jehan le Rouge was found near them writhing in agony, disfigured, half
burnt, and though in a most desperate condition, he continued to live
for some time longer, enduring the most dreadful sufferings.
When nearly all the houses of the
Parisian Jews bore some marks of the fury of the populace, the revolt
extended itself into the other parts of the city, with the cries of
"No more imposts! no more Jews." The doors of the Hotel de
Ville were broken open, the prisons opened, and the liberated
malefactors joined the revolters; the other collectors of the taxes were
assassinated, and officers of government insulted, the agents of the
police threatened, and the Jews who had escaped to the Chatelet were
pursued thither, and struck even in the presence of the powerless
authorities. Women and children, who had found refuge in the monastery
of St. Germain-des-Prés, and whose only crime was that of belonging to
the Jewish religion, were murdered on the very steps of the altar; and
it was not until at the end of four days of massacre and pillage, when
no more victims were left to be sacrificed, no more booty to be carried
off, that this terrible mob retired peacefully to brood over its crimes;
without the citizens of Paris, who had already sustained their provost
so feebly, giving any proof of a less degree of cowardice in defending
their guests, or in fighting for humanity and morality, which had been
dragged, so to say, into the mud of the gutters.
But vengeance was not slow in making
itself felt, and unavailing regrets followed in its steps. The populace
imagined that its reign had commenced; that from this date its will
should be supreme and be the only law for all; for when the equilibrium
of the different powers in a state is violently destroyed, all the
interests are threatened equally; and when the people revolt against the
laws, the bad passions will generally prevail, as, when a quiet lake is
forcibly agitated, the dregs will always rise to the surface. Paris
became soon a prey to anarchy; no authority was recognized, the
administrative action was suspended, and the farther existence of all
the institutions was rendered doubtful. The yoke of the populace weighed
heavily on the Parisian citizens, who regretted having become accessory
to the violation of the holy laws of hospitality; and, as if to add to
their regrets, discord, misery, and famine exercised their work of
destruction in the capital.
The rightful authority now felt that the
hour of its return had arrived; and on the 11th of January, 1382, the
princes regent, accompanied by the young king, set out from St. Denis at
the head of three divisions of the royal army, and took possession of
Paris without encountering much resistance; so much was every one
disgusted with the reign of the assassins of the Jews. The king's
retaliation was dreadful; the Parisians were disarmed, the chiefs of the
sedition perished on the scaffold, three hundred citizens were put to
death on the first day, and a great number of others were thrown into
prison; those who could not be punished otherwise were ruined by
confiscations, and secret acts of vengeance were exercised likewise
through means of nocturnal executions, the traces of which were
concealed by throwing the bodies of the sufferers into the Seine.
Liberty, which had been so greatly abused by the outrage committed on
the Jews, also received her revenge; the fortifications in the interior
of Paris were destroyed, the gate St. Antoine (then situated in front of
the street Culture St. Catherine) was demolished, and the stones from
its ruins were used to finish the Bastile, the structure which acted as
a constant threat against the liberty of the Parisians; and a royal
ordinance of the 27th January abolished the office of provost of the
merchants, suppressed the municipal council, destroyed the tribunal of
the chamber of commerce, and disbanded the national guard established
among the citizens for the defence of the city.
Paris did not dare to complain at seeing
itself all at once deprived of so many of its privileges and immunities,
for it had to call to mind the wrongs it had practised towards the Jews;
it felt that the liberties of all are a mutual surety, and it understood
that those only who respect the rights of others, can require others to
maintain theirs. The pressure of the public misery proved to the
inhabitants of the capital that anarchy is the most fearful adversary of
true liberty, just as fanaticism is the most violent enemy of true
piety. And when the great city was filled with alarm and covered with
mourning, the divine judge of human passions, called conscience, told
her: "Behold the fruits of hospitality wilfully neglected, of
humanity outraged, and of religious tolerance trampled under foot." |
