On the first day four thousand men and women were slaughtered.  The massacre lasted two days longer; nor would it be an exaggerated estimate, if we assume that the amount of victims upon the two last days was equal to half the number sacrificed on the first.  It was said that not four hundred citizens were left alive after the termination of the siege.  These soon wandered away, their places being supplied by a rabble rout of Walloon sutlers and vagabonds.  Maestricht was depopulated as well as captured.  The booty obtained after the massacre was very large, for the city had been very thriving, its cloth manufacture extensive and important.  Sebastian Tappin, the heroic defender of the place, had been shot through the shoulder at the taking of the Parma ravelin, and had been afterwards severely injured at the capture of the demilune.  At the fall of the city he was mortally wounded, and carried a prisoner to the hostile camp, only to expire.  The governor, Swartsenberg, also lost his life.

Alexander, on the contrary, was raised from his sick bed with the joyful tidings of victory, and as soon as he could be moved, made his appearance in the city.  Seated in a splendid chair of state, borne aloft on the shoulders of his veterans, with a golden canopy above his head to protect him from the summer’s sun, attended by the officers of his staff, who were decked by his special command in, their gayest trappings, escorted by his body-guard, followed by his “plumed troops,” to the number of twenty thousand, surrounded by all the vanities of war, the hero made his stately entrance into the town.  His way led through deserted streets of shattered houses.  The pavement ran red with blood.  Headless corpses, mangled limbs—­an obscene mass of wretchedness and corruption, were spread on every side, and tainted the summer air.  Through the thriving city which, in the course of four months Alexander had converted into a slaughter-house and a solitude, the pompous procession took its course to the church of Saint Servais.  Here humble thanks were offered to the.  God of Love, and to Jesus of Nazareth, for this new victory.  Especially was gratitude expressed to the Apostles Paul and Peter; upon whose festival, and by whose sword and key the crowning mercy had been accomplished,—­and by whose special agency eight thousand heretics now lay unburied in the streets.  These acts of piety performed, the triumphal procession returned to the camp, where, soon afterwards, the joyful news of Alexander Farnese’s entire convalescence was proclaimed.

The Prince of Orange, as usual, was blamed for the tragical termination to this long drama.  All that one man could do, he had done to awaken his countrymen to the importance of the siege.  He had repeatedly brought the subject solemnly before the assembly, and implored for Maestricht, almost upon his knees.  Lukewarm and parsimonious, the states had responded to his eloquent appeals with wrangling addressee and