There was in Champagne, a small fortified town, called Vassy, containing about three thousand inhabitants, a third of whom, not reckoning the surrounding villages, professed the Reformed religion. It happened, on the 28th of February, 1562, that the Duke of Guise, journeying on his way to Paris, accompanied by his cousin, the cardinal of Lorraine, with an escort of gentlemen, followed by some two hundred horsemen, visited the château de Joinville, which was situated in the neighbourhood, on an estate belonging to the Lorraines. The mistress of the castle was a very old lady, the dowager Duchess of Guise, whose bigoted attachment to the faith of her ancestors made the very name of Huguenot an offence to her. Sorely indignant was she at the audacity of the inhabitants of Vassy, who had no right, she declared, as vassals of her granddaughter, Mary Stuart, to adopt a new religion without her permission. Often had she threatened vengeance upon them, and the time was now come to inflict it. And the aged woman urged her son, the fierce Duke Francis, to make a striking example of these insolent peasants. As he listened to her angry words, he swore a deep oath, and bit his beard, which was his custom, when his wrath waxed strong. [Picture: “Heretic dogs! Huguenot rebels! Kill, kill!”] The next morning, resuming his march, he arrived at a village not far from the obnoxious town; and the morning breeze, as it came sweeping up the hills, brought to his ears the sound of church bells. “What means that noise?” he asked of one of his attendants. “It is the morning service of the Huguenots,” was the reply. It was, in fact, the sabbath day, and the Reformers, assembled to the number of some hundreds, were performing their worship in a barn, under the protection of a recent edict of toleration. Unsuspicious of danger, there was not a man among them armed, with the exception of some ten strangers, probably gentlemen, who wore swords. Suddenly, a band of the duke’s soldiers approached the place, and began shouting—“Heretic dogs! Huguenot rebels! Kill, kill!” The first person whom they laid hands on was a poor hawker of wine. “In whom do you believe?” they cried. “I believe in Jesus Christ,” was the answer; and with one thrust of the pike he was laid low. Two more were killed at the door, and instantly the tumult raged. The duke, hastening up at the sound of arms, was struck by a stone, which drew blood from his cheek. Instantly the rage of his followers redoubled, and his own fury knew no bounds. A horrible butchery followed; men, women, and children were attacked indiscriminately, and sixty were slain in the barn or in the street, while more than two hundred were grievously wounded.