Amid the glittering lights and euphoric cheers of New Year’s Eve in the Swiss Alps, a night meant for celebration descended into unimaginable horror at Le Constellation bar in Crans-Montana. Just minutes after midnight on January 1, 2026, flames erupted, claiming 40 lives and injuring over 116 others in one of the deadliest indoor fires in modern European history.

Yet from this abyss of tragedy emerged a story of extraordinary courage: 19-year-old Ferdinand Du Beaudiez, a French economics student, who—after barely escaping the inferno himself—turned back into the blazing hell not once, but twice, to save his brother, girlfriend, and friends.

“I couldn’t let them burn. I had to go back,” Ferdinand said from his hospital bed, his voice raw with emotion and pain, as bandages covered severe burns on his neck and arms. What he witnessed inside those flames—scenes of unspeakable terror—has left scars far deeper than those on his skin. And now, his minute-by-minute account of battling death itself will haunt readers forever.

Joy to Chaos: The Spark That Ignited Disaster

Crans-Montana, a luxurious ski resort nestled in the Valais canton at 1,500 meters altitude, is a playground for the affluent—pristine powder slopes by day, pulsating nightlife after dark. Le Constellation, a rustic wooden chalet-style bar and basement nightclub, was the hotspot for young revelers that night. Around 300 people, mostly teenagers and twenty-somethings from Switzerland, France, Italy, and beyond, packed the venue to ring in 2026.

The atmosphere was electric. Videos circulating on social media show the crowd erupting in cheers as the clock struck midnight: champagne bottles adorned with sparkling fountains—those festive indoor fireworks that shoot glittering sparks skyward—thrust high for dramatic photos and videos. Staff encouraged the spectacle, a common tradition in upscale venues.

But tragedy struck swiftly. Investigators now confirm that a spark from one of those sparklers ignited the low, flammable wooden ceiling beams. Flames raced across the panels like wildfire, fueled by decorations, alcohol vapors, and the bar’s cozy timber interior. In seconds, the ceiling was engulfed. Thick, toxic black smoke billowed downward, turning celebration into panic.

“It happened so fast,” Ferdinand recalled, his eyes distant. “People were laughing, filming the sparks. Then someone yelled ‘Fire!’ The lights flickered out. Suddenly, it was pitch black, with only the orange glow of flames above.”

Screams filled the air as partygoers surged toward the single narrow staircase—the primary exit. The basement location made escape even deadlier: smoke sank quickly, and the crowd crushed forward in blind terror. Emergency exits were reportedly obstructed or hard to access, details now central to the ongoing probe.

Ferdinand was dancing near the bar with his 17-year-old brother Louis, 18-year-old girlfriend Elise, and five university friends when chaos erupted. “I grabbed Elise’s hand and pushed through the bodies,” he said. “The smoke burned your eyes, clawed at your throat. You couldn’t see anything. People were falling, trampling each other.”

The heat intensified rapidly—like breathing inside a kiln. Ferdinand shielded Elise as they battled the stampede up the stairs. “My lungs felt like they were on fire,” he described. They stumbled out onto the snowy street, collapsing in the freezing air as sirens wailed distantly.

For a fleeting moment, Ferdinand thought the nightmare was over. Then he realized: Louis and several friends weren’t behind them.

Defying Death: The Decision No One Else Made

Outside, most survivors fled into the night, gasping for breath amid the arriving chaos. Firefighters were still minutes away. But Ferdinand heard the muffled, desperate screams echoing from inside the building.

“Everyone was running away from the fire,” he said quietly. “But I knew my brother was in there. Elise’s friends. If I didn’t go back, they would die.”

Covering his face with his scorched shirt, he braced against the wall of radiant heat and plunged back through the door—straight into hell.

The conditions inside defied human endurance. “The smoke was so dense it felt solid, like knives ripping your lungs,” Ferdinand recounted, his voice trembling. “The heat hit you like a wall—it stripped the air from your chest instantly.”

Bodies obstructed the staircase: piled in heaps, some still twitching in agony, others eerily still. “I had to step over people to move forward,” he admitted, tears welling. “Their hands reached out in the dark. I couldn’t help them all.”

Deeper in, the horror escalated. Flames roared along walls, exploding liquor bottles hurled fireballs across the room. The screams were piercing—raw, guttural cries that pierced the inferno’s roar.

Then came the image seared eternally into Ferdinand’s soul: “I saw someone on the floor, so badly burned that their skin was gone. All I could see were their teeth—white against the charred black. Their eyes staring blankly. Death was everywhere, waiting in every shadow.”

He shouted names desperately: “Louis! Elise!” His voice drowned in the cacophony. Strangers’ hands clutched at his legs, pleading silently for salvation he couldn’t provide.

As he pushed toward the dance floor, a door burst open somewhere, sucking in fresh oxygen. A massive fireball erupted overhead like a volcanic surge. “It rolled right over me,” Ferdinand said, wincing at the memory. “Instant agony on my neck and back. I thought, ‘This is how I die.’”

The blast threw him down. Pain overwhelmed him; smoke choked out all hope. For a moment, he nearly surrendered. But love propelled him: visions of his brother’s laugh, Elise’s smile.

Crawling on hands and knees, Ferdinand dragged himself back to the exit, emerging a second time into the alpine night. He collapsed beside arriving rescuers, gasping: “People are still inside! My brother! My girlfriend!”

In those merciless minutes, the screams gradually faded to silence. Forty lives—many young, full of promise—were extinguished.

Survival and Sorrow: The Heavy Price of Heroism

Miraculously, Louis and Elise survived, rescued by firefighters shortly after Ferdinand’s warnings. They suffered severe burns and smoke inhalation but are recovering. Several friends escaped with minor injuries; others were unharmed. “They made it because he guided us to them,” one rescuer later said.

But Ferdinand’s bravery couldn’t save everyone. The 40 victims, now all identified, include teenagers as young as 14, a mix of locals and international visitors. Memorials overwhelm Crans-Montana: flowers, candles, handwritten tributes lining the snow. Skiers formed a giant heart on the slopes; silent marches draw thousands.

Switzerland mourns deeply. French President Emmanuel Macron lauded Ferdinand’s “exceptional valor,” and Swiss officials honored him with a civilian bravery medal. Yet for the young hero, praise feels hollow.

“The scars aren’t just on my skin,” he confessed. “I close my eyes and see those teeth, those reaching hands. I hear the screams stopping—one by one. Nightmares wake me every hour. Survivor’s guilt… why them and not me? Why couldn’t I pull more out?”

Investigations expose alarming failures. The bar hadn’t undergone fire safety inspections since 2019—a “serious lapse” admitted by local authorities. Emergency exits were allegedly blocked; the basement design turned the venue into a trap. Prosecutors launched a manslaughter inquiry targeting owners Jacques and Jessica Moretti, French expats who expressed profound grief but face scrutiny over negligence.

Experts draw parallels to past catastrophes, warning that indoor sparklers near wood remain a hidden danger worldwide.

A Legacy Etched in Flames

Recovering in a Lausanne hospital, Ferdinand battles physical pain and psychological trauma. Therapy helps process the visions, but some wounds may never heal.

Still, his actions undeniably saved lives—alerting responders to trapped victims in critical moments. “He ran back into hell when others ran away,” a firefighter reflected. “That’s the definition of a hero.”

As Crans-Montana grieves and demands accountability, Ferdinand Du Beaudiez’s story illuminates humanity’s brightest spark in darkest hours: the selfless choice to face death for love.

The haunting images he described—the charred faces, silenced pleas—linger as a grim reminder of fragility. And having delved into his chilling, second-by-second ordeal inside the inferno, they may now linger with you too.

Switzerland remembers the lost. The world honors the brave. And Ferdinand, forever altered, carries the eternal weight of that fiery night.

Support resources are available for those affected by trauma. Contact local helplines if needed.