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Table of Contents

WAR WITH FRANCE.

England joins in the War.—Philip's Preparations.—Siege of St. Quentin.—French Army routed.—Storming of St. Quentin.—Successes of the Spaniards.

1557.

While the events related in the preceding chapter were passing in Italy, the war was waged on a larger scale, and with more important results, in the northern provinces of France. As soon as Henry had broken the treaty, and sent his army across the Alps, Philip lost no time in assembling his troops, although in so quiet a manner as to attract as little attention as possible. His preparations were such as enabled him, not merely to defend the frontier of the Netherlands, but to carry the war into the enemy's country.

He despatched his confidential minister, Ruy Gomez, to Spain, for supplies both of men and money; instructing him to visit his father, Charles the Fifth, and, after acquainting him with the state of affairs, to solicit his aid in raising the necessary funds.[187]

Philip had it much at heart to bring England into the war. During his stay in the Low Countries, he was in constant communication with the English cabinet, and took a lively interest in the government of the kingdom. The minutes of the privy council were regularly sent to him, and as regularly returned with his remarks, in his own handwriting, on the margin. In this way he discussed and freely criticized every measure of importance; and, on one occasion, we find him requiring that nothing of moment should be brought before parliament until it had first been submitted to him.[188]

In March, 1557, Philip paid a second visit to England, where he was received by his fond queen in the most tender and affectionate manner. In her letters she had constantly importuned him to return to her. On that barren eminence which placed her above the reach of friendship, Mary was dependent on her husband for sympathy and support. But if the channel of her affections was narrow, it was deep.

Philip found no difficulty in obtaining the queen's consent to his wishes with respect to the war with France. She was induced to this, not merely by her habitual deference to her husband, but by natural feelings of resentment at the policy of Henry the Second. She had put up with affronts, more than once, from the French ambassador, in her own court; and her throne had been menaced by repeated conspiracies, which, if not organized, had been secretly encouraged by France. Still, it was not easy to bring the English nation to this way of thinking. It had been a particular proviso of the marriage treaty, that England should not be made a party to the war against France; and subsequent events had tended to sharpen the feeling of jealousy rather towards the Spaniards than towards the French.

The attempted insurrection of Stafford, who crossed over from the shores of France at this time, did for Philip what possibly neither his own arguments nor the authority of Mary could have done. It was the last of the long series of indignities which had been heaped on the country from the same quarter; and parliament now admitted that it was no longer consistent with its honor to keep terms with a power which persisted in fomenting conspiracies to overturn the government and plunge the nation into civil war. On the seventh of June, a herald was despatched, with the formality of ancient and somewhat obsolete usages, to proclaim war against the French king in the presence of his court and in his capital. This was done in such a bold tone of defiance, that the hot old constable, Montmorency, whose mode of proceeding, as we have seen, was apt to be summary, strongly urged his master to hang up the envoy on the spot.[189]

The state of affairs imperatively demanded Philip's presence in the Netherlands, and, after a residence of less than four months in London, he bade a final adieu to his disconsolate queen, whose excessive fondness may have been as little to his taste as the coldness of her subjects.

Nothing could be more forlorn than the condition of Mary. Her health wasting under a disease that cheated her with illusory hopes, which made her ridiculous in the eyes of the world; her throne, her very life, continually menaced by conspiracies, to some of which even her own sister was supposed to be privy; her spirits affected by the consciousness of the decline of her popularity under the gloomy system of persecution into which she had been led by her ghostly advisers; without friends, without children, almost it might be said without a husband—she was alone in the world, more to be commiserated than the meanest subject in her dominions. She has had little commiseration, however, from Protestant writers, who paint her in the odious colors of a fanatic. This has been compensated, it may be thought, by the Roman Catholic historians, who have invested the English queen with all the glories of the saint and the martyr. Experience may convince us that public acts do not always furnish a safe criterion of private character—especially when these acts are connected with religion. In the Catholic Church the individual might seem to be relieved, in some measure, of his moral responsibility, by the system of discipline which intrusts his conscience to the keeping of his spiritual advisers. If the lights of the present day allow no man to plead so humiliating an apology, this was not the case in the first half of the sixteenth century—the age of Mary—when the Reformation had not yet diffused that spirit of independence in religious speculation, which, in some degree at least, has now found its way to the darkest corner of Christendom.

PHILIP'S PREPARATIONS.

A larger examination of contemporary documents, especially of the queen's own correspondence, justifies the inference, that, with all the infirmities of a temper soured by disease, and by the difficulties of her position, she possessed many of the good qualities of her illustrious progenitors, Katharine of Aragon and Isabella of Castile; the same conjugal tenderness and devotion, the same courage in times of danger, the same earnest desire, misguided as she was, to do her duty—and, unfortunately, the same bigotry. It was, indeed, most unfortunate, in Mary's case, as in that of the Catholic queen, that this bigotry, from their position as independent sovereigns, should have been attended with such fatal consequences as have left an indelible blot on the history of their reigns.[190]

On his return to Brussels, Philip busied himself with preparations for the campaign. He employed the remittances from Spain to subsidize a large body of German mercenaries. Germany was the country which furnished, at this time, more soldiers of fortune than any other; men who served indifferently under the banner that would pay them best. They were not exclusively made up of infantry, like the Swiss, but, besides pikemen—lanzknechts—they maintained a stout array of cavalry, reiters, as they were called—"riders,"—who, together with the cuirass and other defensive armor, carried pistols, probably of rude workmanship, but which made them formidable from the weapon being little known in that day. They were, indeed, the most dreaded troops of their time. The men-at-arms, encumbered with their unwieldy lances, were drawn up in line, and required an open plain to manœuvre to advantage, being easily discomposed by obstacles; and once broken, they could hardly rally. But the reiters, each with five or six pistols in his belt, were formed into columns of considerable depth, the size of their weapons allowing them to go through all the evolutions of light cavalry, in which they were perfectly drilled. Philip's cavalry was further strengthened by a fine corps of Burgundian lances, and by a great number of nobles and cavaliers from Spain, who had come to gather laurels in the fields of France, under the eye of their young sovereign. The flower of his infantry, too, was drawn from Spain; men who, independently of the indifference to danger, and wonderful endurance, which made the Spanish soldier inferior to none of the time, were animated by that loyalty to the cause which foreign mercenaries could not feel. In addition to these, the king expected, and soon after received, a reinforcement of eight thousand English under the earl of Pembroke. They might well fight bravely on the soil where the arms of England had won two of the most memorable victories in her history.

The whole force, exclusive of the English, amounted to thirty-five thousand foot and twelve thousand horse, besides a good train of battering artillery.[191] The command of this army was given to Emanuel Philibert, prince of Piedmont, better known by his title of duke of Savoy. No man had a larger stake in the contest, for he had been stripped of his dominions by the French, and his recovery of them depended on the issue of the war. He was at this time but twenty-nine years of age; but he had had large experience in military affairs, and had been intrusted by Charles the Fifth, who had early discerned his capacity, with important commands. His whole life may be said to have trained him for the profession of arms. He had no taste for effeminate pleasures, but amused himself, in seasons of leisure, with the hardy exercise of the chase. He strengthened his constitution, naturally not very robust, by living as much as possible in the open air. Even when conversing, or dictating to his secretaries, he preferred to do so walking in his garden. He was indifferent to fatigue. After hunting all day he would seem to require no rest, and in a campaign had been known, like the knights-errant of old, to eat, drink, and sleep in his armor for thirty days together.

He was temperate in his habits, eating little, and drinking water. He was punctual in attention to business, was sparing of his words, and, as one may gather from the piquant style of his letters, had a keen insight into character, looking below the surface of men's actions into their motives.[192]

His education had not been neglected. He spoke several languages fluently, and, though not a great reader, was fond of histories. He was much devoted to mathematical science, which served him in his profession, and he was reputed an excellent engineer.[193] In person the duke was of the middle size; well-made, except that he was somewhat bow-legged. His complexion was fair, his hair light, and his deportment very agreeable.

Such is the portrait of Emanuel Philibert, to whom Philip now intrusted the command of his forces, and whose pretensions he warmly supported as the suitor of Elizabeth of England. There was none more worthy of the royal maiden. But the duke was a Catholic; and Elizabeth, moreover, had seen the odium which her sister had incurred by her marriage with a foreign sovereign. Philip, who would have used some constraint in the matter, pressed it with such earnestness on the queen as proved how much importance he attached to the connection. Mary's conduct on the occasion was greatly to her credit; and, while she deprecated the displeasure of her lord, she honestly told him that she could not in conscience do violence to the inclinations of her sister.[194]

The plan of the campaign, as determined by Philip's cabinet,[195] was that the duke should immediately besiege some one of the great towns on the northern borders of Picardy, which in a manner commanded the entrance into the Netherlands. Rocroy was the first selected. But the garrison, who were well provided with ammunition, kept within their defences, and maintained so lively a cannonade on the Spaniards, that the duke, finding the siege was likely to consume more time than it was worth, broke up his camp, and resolved to march against St. Quentin. This was an old frontier town of Picardy, important in time of peace as an entrepôt for the trade that was carried on between France and the Low Countries. It formed a convenient place of deposit, at the present period, for such booty as marauding parties from time to time brought back from Flanders. It was well protected by its natural situation, and the fortifications had been originally strong; but, as in many of the frontier towns, they had been of late years much neglected.

SIEGE OF ST. QUENTIN.

Before beginning operations against St. Quentin, the duke of Savoy, in order to throw the enemy off his guard, and prevent his introducing supplies into the town, presented himself before Guise, and made a show of laying siege to that place. After this demonstration he resumed his march, and suddenly sat down before St. Quentin, investing it with his whole army.

Meanwhile the French had been anxiously watching the movements of their adversary. Their forces were assembled on several points in Picardy and Champagne. The principal corps was under the command of the duke of Nevers, governor of the latter province, a nobleman of distinguished gallantry, and who had seen some active service. He now joined his forces to those under Montmorency, the constable of France, who occupied a central position in Picardy, and who now took the command, for which his rash and impetuous temper but indifferently qualified him. As soon as the object of the Spaniards was known, it was resolved to reinforce the garrison of St. Quentin, which otherwise, it was understood, could not hold out a week. This perilous duty was assumed by Gaspard de Coligni, admiral of France.[196] This personage, the head of an ancient and honored house, was one of the most remarkable men of his time. His name had gained a mournful celebrity in the page of history, as that of the chief martyr in the massacre of St. Bartholomew. He embraced the doctrines of Calvin, and by his austere manners and the purity of his life well illustrated the doctrines he embraced. The decent order of his household, and their scrupulous attention to the services of religion, formed a striking contrast to the licentious conduct of too many of the Catholics, who, however, were as prompt as Coligni to do battle in defence of their faith. In early life he was the gay companion of the duke of Guise.[197] But as the Calvinists, or Huguenots, were driven by persecution to an independent and even hostile position, the two friends, widely separated by opinion and by interest, were changed into mortal foes. That hour had not yet come. But the heresy that was soon to shake France to its centre was silently working under ground.

As the admiral was well instructed in military affairs, and was possessed of an intrepid spirit and great fertility of resource, he was precisely the person to undertake the difficult office of defending St. Quentin. As governor of Picardy he felt this to be his duty. Without loss of time, he put himself at the head of some ten or twelve hundred men, horse and foot, and used such despatch that he succeeded in entering the place before it had been entirely invested. He had the mortification, however, to be followed only by seven hundred of his men, the remainder having failed through fatigue, or mistaken the path.

The admiral found the place in even worse condition than he had expected. The fortifications were much dilapidated; and in many parts of the wall the masonry was of so flimsy a character, that it must have fallen before the first discharge of the enemy's cannon. The town was victualled for three weeks, and the magazines were tolerably well supplied with ammunition. But there were not fifty arquebuses fit for use.

St. Quentin stands on a gentle eminence, protected on one side by marshes, or rather a morass of great extent, through which flows the river Somme, or a branch of it. On the same side of the river with St. Quentin lay the army of the besiegers, with their glittering lines extending to the very verge of the morass. A broad ditch defended the outer wall. But this ditch was commanded by the houses of the suburbs, which had already been taken possession of by the besiegers. There was, moreover, a thick plantation of trees close to the town, which would afford an effectual screen for the approach of an enemy.

One of the admiral's first acts was to cause a sortie to be made. The ditch was crossed, and some of the houses were burned to the ground. The trees on the banks were then levelled, and the approach to the town was laid open. Every preparation was made for a protracted defence. The exact quantity of provision was ascertained, and the rations were assigned for each man's daily consumption. As the supplies were inadequate to support the increased population for any length of time, Coligni ordered that all except those actively engaged in the defence of the place should leave it without delay. Many, under one pretext or another, contrived to remain, and share the fortunes of the garrison. But by this regulation he got rid of seven hundred useless persons, who, if they had staid, must have been the victims of famine; and "their dead bodies," the admiral coolly remarked, "would have bred a pestilence among the soldiers."[198]

He assigned to his men their several posts, talked boldly of maintaining himself against all the troops of Spain, and by his cheerful tone endeavored to inspire a confidence in others which he was far from feeling himself. From one of the highest towers he surveyed the surrounding country, tried to ascertain the most practicable fords in the morass, and sent intelligence to Montmorency, that, without relief, the garrison could not hold out more than a few days.[199]

That commander, soon after the admiral's departure, had marched his army to the neighborhood of St. Quentin, and established it in the towns of La Fère and Ham, together with the adjoining villages, so as to watch the movements of the Spaniards, and coöperate, as occasion served, with the besieged. He at once determined to strengthen the garrison, if possible, by a reinforcement of two thousand men under Dandelot, a younger brother of the admiral, and not inferior to him in audacity and enterprise. But the expedition miserably failed. Through the treachery or the ignorance of the guide, the party mistook the path, came on one of the enemy's outposts, and, disconcerted by the accident, were thrown into confusion, and many of them cut to pieces or drowned in the morass. Their leader, with the remainder, succeeded, under cover of the night, in making his way back to La Fère.

BATTLE OF ST. QUENTIN.

The constable now resolved to make another attempt, and in the open day. He proposed to send a body, under the same commander, in boats across the Somme, and to cover the embarkation in person with his whole army. His force was considerably less than that of the Spaniards, amounting in all to about eighteen thousand foot and six thousand horse, besides a train of artillery consisting of sixteen guns.[200] His levies, like those of his antagonist, were largely made up of German mercenaries. The French peasantry, with the exception of the Gascons, who formed a fine body of infantry, had long since ceased to serve in war. But the chivalry of France was represented by as gallant an array of nobles and cavaliers as ever fought under the banner of the lilies.

On the ninth of August, 1557, Montmorency put his whole army in motion; and on the following morning, the memorable day of St. Lawrence, by nine o'clock, he took up a position on the bank of the Somme. On the opposite side, nearest the town, lay the Spanish force, covering the ground, as far as the eye could reach, with their white pavilions; while the banners of Spain, of Flanders, and of England, unfurled in the morning breeze, showed the various nations from which the motley host had been gathered.[201]

On the constable's right was a windmill, commanding a ford of the river which led to the Spanish quarters. The building was held by a small detachment of the enemy. Montmorency's first care was to get possession of the mill, which he did without difficulty; and, by placing a garrison there, under the prince of Condé, he secured himself from surprise in that quarter. He then profited by a rising ground to get his guns in position, so as to sweep the opposite bank, and at once opened a brisk cannonade on the enemy. The march of the French had been concealed by some intervening hills, so that, when they suddenly appeared on the farther side of the Somme, it was as if they had dropped from the clouds; and the shot which fell among the Spaniards threw them into great disorder. There was hurrying to and fro, and some of the balls striking the duke of Savoy's tent, he had barely time to escape with his armor in his hand. It was necessary to abandon his position, and he marched some three miles down the river, to the quarters occupied by the commander of the cavalry, Count Egmont.[202]

Montmorency, as much elated with this cheap success as if it had been a victory, now set himself about passing his troops across the water. It was attended with more difficulty than he had expected. There were no boats in readiness, and two hours were wasted in procuring them. After all, only four or five could be obtained, and these so small that it would be necessary to cross and recross the stream many times to effect the object. The boats, crowded with as many as they could carry, stuck fast in the marshy banks, or rather quagmire, on the opposite side; and when some of the soldiers jumped out to lighten the load, they were swallowed up and suffocated in the mud.[203] To add to these distresses, they were galled by the incessant fire of a body of troops which the Spanish general had stationed on an eminence that commanded the landing.

While, owing to these causes, the transportation of the troops was going slowly on, the duke of Savoy had called a council of war, and determined that the enemy, since he had ventured so near, should not be allowed to escape without a battle. There was a practicable ford in the river, close to Count Egmont's quarters; and that officer received orders to cross it at the head of his cavalry, and amuse the enemy until the main body of the Spanish army, under the duke, should have time to come up.

Lamoral, Count Egmont, and prince of Gavre, a person who is to occupy a large space in our subsequent pages, was a Flemish noble of an ancient and illustrious lineage. He had early attracted the notice of the emperor, who had raised him to various important offices, both civil and military, in which he had acquitted himself with honor. At this time, when thirty-five years old, he held the post of lieutenant-general of the horse, and that of governor of Flanders.

Egmont was of a lofty and aspiring nature, filled with dreams of glory, and so much elated by success, that the duke of Savoy was once obliged to rebuke him, by reminding him that he was not the commander-in-chief of the army.[204] With these defects he united some excellent qualities, which not unfrequently go along with them. In his disposition he was frank and manly, and, though hasty in temper, had a warm and generous heart. He was distinguished by a chivalrous bearing, and a showy, imposing address, which took with the people, by whom his name was held dear in later times for his devotion to the cause of freedom. He was a dashing officer, prompt and intrepid, well fitted for a brilliant coup-de-main, or for an affair like the present, which required energy and despatch; and he eagerly undertook the duty assigned him.

The light horse first passed over the ford, the existence of which was known to Montmorency; and he had detached a corps of German pistoleers, of whom there was a body in the French service, to defend the passage. But the number was too small, and the Burgundian horse, followed by the infantry, advanced, in face of the fire, as coolly and in as good order as if they had been on parade.[205] The constable soon received tidings that the enemy had begun to cross; and, aware of his mistake, he reinforced his pistoleers with a squadron of horse under the duc de Nevers. It was too late; when the French commander reached the ground, the enemy had already crossed in such strength that it would have been madness to attack him. After a brief consultation with his officers, Nevers determined, by as speedy a countermarch as possible, to join the main body of the army.

BATTLE OF ST. QUENTIN.

The prince of Condé, as has been mentioned, occupied the mill which commanded the other ford, on the right of Montmorency. From its summit he could descry the movements of the Spaniards, and their battalions debouching on the plain, with scarcely any opposition from the French. He advised the constable of this at once, and suggested the necessity of an immediate retreat. The veteran did not relish advice from one so much younger than himself, and testily replied, "I was a soldier before the prince of Condé was born; and, by the blessing of Heaven, I trust to teach him some good lessons in war for many a year to come." Nor would he quit the ground while a man of the reinforcement under Dandelot remained to cross.[206]

The cause of this fatal confidence was information he had received that the ford was too narrow to allow more than four or five persons to pass abreast, which would give him time enough to send over the troops, and then secure his own retreat to La Fère. As it turned out, unfortunately, the ford was wide enough to allow fifteen or twenty men to go abreast.

The French, meanwhile, who had crossed the river, after landing on the opposite bank, were many of them killed or disabled by the Spanish arquebusiers; others were lost in the morass; and of the whole number not more than four hundred and fifty, wet, wounded, and weary, with Dandelot at their head, succeeded in throwing themselves into St. Quentin. The constable, having seen the last boat put off, gave instant orders for retreat. The artillery was sent forward in the front, then followed the infantry, and, last of all, he brought up the rear with the horse, of which he took command in person. He endeavored to make up for the precious time he had lost by quickening his march, which, however, was retarded by the heavy guns in the van.

The duc de Nevers, as we have seen, declining to give battle to the Spaniards who had crossed the stream, had prepared to retreat on the main body of the army. On reaching the ground lately occupied by his countrymen, he found it abandoned; and joining Condé, who still held the mill, the two officers made all haste to overtake the constable.

Meanwhile, Count Egmont, as soon as he was satisfied that he was in sufficient strength to attack the enemy, gave orders to advance, without waiting for more troops to share with him the honors of victory. Crossing the field lately occupied by the constable, he took the great road to La Fère. But the rising ground which lay between him and the French prevented him from seeing the enemy until he had accomplished half a league or more. The day was now well advanced, and the Flemish captain had some fears that, notwithstanding his speed, the quarry had escaped him. But, as he turned the hill, he had the satisfaction to descry the French columns in full retreat. On their rear hung a body of sutlers and other followers of the camp, who, by the sudden apparition of the Spaniards, were thrown into a panic, which they had wellnigh communicated to the rest of the army.[207] To retreat before an enemy is in itself a confession of weakness sufficiently dispiriting to the soldier. Montmorency, roused by the tumult, saw the dark cloud gathering along the heights, and knew that it must soon burst on him. In this emergency, he asked counsel of an old officer near him as to what he should do. "Had you asked me," replied the other, "two hours since, I could have told you; it is now too late."[208] It was indeed too late, and there was nothing to be done but to face about and fight the Spaniards. The constable, accordingly, gave the word to halt, and made dispositions to receive his assailants.

Egmont, seeing him thus prepared, formed his own squadron into three divisions. One, which was to turn the left flank of the French, he gave to the prince of Brunswick and to Count Hoorne—a name afterwards associated with his own on a sadder occasion than the present. Another, composed chiefly of Germans, he placed under Count Mansfeldt, with orders to assail the centre. He himself, at the head of his Burgundian lances, rode on the left against Montmorency's right flank. Orders were then given to charge, and, spurring forward their horses, the whole column came thundering on against the enemy. The French met the shock like well-trained soldiers, as they were; but the cavalry fell on them with the fury of a torrent sweeping everything before it, and for a few moments it seemed as if all were lost. But the French chivalry was true to its honor, and, at the call of Montmorency, who gallantly threw himself into the thick of the fight, it rallied, and, returning the charge, compelled the assailants to give way in their turn. The struggle, now continued on more equal terms, grew desperate; man against man, horse against horse—it seemed to be a contest of personal prowess, rather than of tactics or military science. So well were the two parties matched, that for a long time the issue was doubtful; and the Spaniards might not have prevailed in the end, but for the arrival of reinforcements, both foot and heavy cavalry, who came up to their support. Unable to withstand this accumulated force, the French cavaliers, overpowered by numbers, not by superior valor, began to give ground. Hard pressed by Egmont, who cheered on his men to renewed efforts, their ranks were at length broken. The retreat became a flight; and, scattered over the field in all directions, they were hotly pursued by their adversaries, especially the German schwarzreiters—those riders "black as devils,"[209]—who did such execution with their fire-arms as completed the discomfiture of the French.

Amidst this confusion, the Gascons, the flower of the French infantry, behaved with admirable coolness.[210] Throwing themselves into squares, with the pikemen armed with their long pikes in front, and the arquebusiers in the centre, they presented an impenetrable array, against which the tide of battle raged and chafed in impotent fury. It was in vain that the Spanish horse rode round the solid masses bristling with steel, if possible, to force an entrance, while an occasional shot, striking a trooper from his saddle, warned them not to approach too near.

It was in this state of things that the duke of Savoy, with the remainder of the troops, including the artillery, came on the field of action. His arrival could not have been more seasonable. The heavy guns were speedily turned on the French squares, whose dense array presented an obvious mark to the Spanish bullets. Their firm ranks were rent asunder; and, as the brave men tried in vain to close over the bodies of their dying comrades, the horse took advantage of the openings to plunge into the midst of the phalanx. Here the long spears of the pikemen were of no avail, and, striking right and left, the cavaliers dealt death on every side. All now was confusion and irretrievable ruin. No one thought of fighting, or even of self-defence. The only thought was of flight. Men overturned one another in their eagerness to escape. They were soon mingled with the routed cavalry, who rode down their own countrymen. Horses ran about the field without riders. Many of the soldiers threw away their arms, to fly the more quickly. All strove to escape from the terrible pursuit which hung on their rear. The artillery and ammunition-wagons choked up the road, and obstructed the flight of the fugitives. The slaughter was dreadful. The best blood of France flowed like water.

ARMY ROUTED.

Yet mercy was shown to those who asked it. Hundreds and thousands threw down their arms, and obtained quarter. Nevers, according to some accounts, covered the right flank of the French army. Others state that he was separated from it by a ravine or valley. At all events, he fared no better than his leader. He was speedily enveloped by the cavalry of Hoorne and Brunswick, and his fine corps of light horse cut to pieces. He himself, with the prince of Condé, was so fortunate as to make his escape, with the remnant of his forces, to La Fère.

Had the Spaniards followed up the pursuit, few Frenchmen might have been left that day to tell the story of the rout of St. Quentin. But the fight had already lasted four hours; evening was setting in; and the victors, spent with toil and sated with carnage, were content to take up their quarters on the field of battle.

The French, in the mean time, made their way, one after another, to La Fère, and, huddling together in the public squares, or in the quarters they had before occupied, remained like a herd of panic-struck deer, in whose ears the sounds of the chase are still ringing. But the loyal cavaliers threw off their panic, and recovered heart, when a rumor reached them that their commander, Montmorency, was still making head, with a body of stout followers, against the enemy. At the tidings, faint and bleeding as they were, they sprang to the saddles which they had just quitted, and were ready again to take the field.[211]

But the rumor was without foundation. Montmorency was a prisoner in the hands of the Spaniards. The veteran had exposed his own life throughout the action, as if willing to show that he would not shrink in any degree from the peril into which he had brought his followers. When he saw that the day was lost, he threw himself into the hottest of the battle, holding life cheap in comparison with honor. A shot from the pistol of a schwarzreiter, fracturing his thigh, disabled him from further resistance; and he fell into the hands of the Spaniards, who treated him with the respect due to his rank. The number of prisoners was very large—according to some accounts, six thousand, of whom six hundred were said to be gentlemen and persons of condition. The number of the slain is stated, as usual, with great discrepancy, varying from three to six thousand. A much larger proportion of them than usual were men of family. Many a noble house in France went into mourning for that day. Among those who fell was Jean de Bourbon, count d'Enghien, a prince of the blood. Mortally wounded, he was carried to the tent of the duke of Savoy, where he soon after expired, and his body was sent to his countrymen at La Fère for honorable burial. To balance this bloody roll, no account states the loss of the Spaniards at over a thousand men.[212]

More than eighty standards, including those of the cavalry, fell into the hands of the victors, together with all the artillery, ammunition-wagons, and baggage of the enemy. France had not experienced such a defeat since the battle of Agincourt.[213]

King Philip had left Brussels, and removed his quarters to Cambray, that he might be near the duke of Savoy, with whom he kept up daily communication throughout the siege. Immediately after the battle, on the eleventh of August, he visited the camp in person. At the same time, he wrote to his father, expressing his regret that he had not been there to share the glory of the day.[214] The emperor seems to have heartily shared this regret.[215] It is quite certain, if Charles had had the direction of affairs, he would not have been absent. But Philip had not the bold, adventurous spirit of his father. His talent lay rather in meditation than in action; and his calm, deliberate forecast better fitted him for the council than the camp. In enforcing levies, in raising supplies, in superintending the organization of the army, he was indefatigable. The plan of the campaign was determined under his own eye; and he was most sagacious in the selection of his agents. But to those agents he prudently left the conduct of the war, for which he had no taste, perhaps no capacity, himself. He did not, like his rival, Henry the Second, fancy himself a great captain because he could carry away the prizes of a tourney.

Philip was escorted to the camp by his household troops. He appeared on this occasion armed cap-à-pie—a thing by no means common with him. It seems to have pleased his fancy to be painted in military costume. At least, there are several portraits of him in complete mail—one from the pencil of Titian. A picture taken at the present time was sent by him to Queen Mary, who, in this age of chivalry, may have felt some pride in seeing her lord in the panoply of war.

On the king's arrival at the camp, he was received with all the honors of a victor; with flourishes of trumpets, salvos of artillery, and the loud shouts of the soldiery. The duke of Savoy laid at his feet the banners and other trophies of the fight, and, kneeling down, would have kissed Philip's hand; but the king, raising him from the ground, and embracing him as he did so, said that the acknowledgments were due from himself to the general who had won him such a victory. At the same time, he paid a well-deserved compliment to the brilliant part which Egmont and his brave companions had borne in the battle.[216]

FRENCH ARMY ROUTED.

The first thing to be done was to dispose of the prisoners, whose number embarrassed the conquerors. Philip dismissed all those of the common file, on the condition that they should not bear arms for six months against the Spaniards. The condition did no great detriment to the French service, as the men, on their return, were sent to garrison some distant towns, and their places in the army filled by the troops whom they had relieved. The cavaliers and persons of condition were lodged in fortresses, where they could be securely detained till the amount of their respective ransoms was determined. These ransoms formed an important part of the booty of the conqueror. How important, may be inferred from the sum offered by the constable on his own account and that of his son—no less, it is said, than a hundred and sixty-five thousand gold crowns.[217] The soldier of that day, when the penalty was loss of fortune as well as of freedom, must be confessed to have fought on harder conditions than at present.

A council of war was next called, to decide on further operations. When Charles the Fifth received tidings of the victory of St. Quentin, the first thing he asked, as we are told, was "whether Philip were at Paris."[218] Had Charles been in command, he would doubtless have followed up the blow by presenting himself at once before the French capital. But Philip was not of that sanguine temper which overlooks, or at least overleaps, the obstacles in its way. Charles calculated the chances of success; Philip, those of failure. Charles's character opened the way to more brilliant achievements, but exposed him also to severer reverses. His enterprising spirit was more favorable to building up a great empire; the cautious temper of Philip was better fitted to preserve it. Philip came in the right time; and his circumspect policy was probably better suited to his position, as well as to his character, than the bolder policy of the emperor.

When the duke of Savoy urged, as it is said, the expediency of profiting by the present panic to march at once on the French capital, Philip looked at the dangers of such a step. Several strong fortresses of the enemy would be left in his rear. Rivers must be crossed, presenting lines of defence which could easily be maintained against a force even superior to his own. Paris was covered by formidable works, and forty thousand citizens could be enrolled, at the shortest notice, for its protection. It was not wise to urge the foe to extremity, to force a brave and loyal people, like the French, to rise en masse, as they would do for the defence of their capital. The emperor, his father, had once invaded France with a powerful army, and laid siege to Marseilles. The issue of that invasion was known to everybody. "The Spaniards," it was tauntingly said, "had come into the country feasting on turkeys; they were glad to escape from it feeding on roots!"[219] Philip determined, therefore, to abide by his original plan of operations, and profit by the late success of his arms to press the siege of St. Quentin with his whole force.—It would not be easy for any one, at this distance of time, to pronounce on the wisdom of his decision. But subsequent events tend considerably to strengthen our confidence in it.

Preparations were now made to push the siege with vigor. Besides the cannon already in the camp, and those taken in the battle, a good number of pieces were brought from Cambray to strengthen the battering-train of the besiegers. The river was crossed; and the Faubourg d'Ile was carried by the duke, after a stout resistance on the part of the French, who burned the houses in their retreat. The Spanish commander availed himself of his advantage to establish batteries close to the town, which kept up an incessant cannonade, that shook the old walls and towers to their foundation. The miners also carried on their operations, and galleries were excavated almost to the centre of the place.

The condition of the besieged, in the mean time, was forlorn in the extreme; not so much from want of food, though their supplies were scanty, as from excessive toil and exposure. Then it was that Coligni displayed all the strength of his character. He felt the importance of holding out as long as possible, that the nation might have time to breathe, as it were, and recover from the late disaster. He endeavored to infuse his own spirit into the hearts of his soldiers, toiling with the meanest of them, and sharing all their privations. He cheered the desponding, by assuring them of speedy relief from their countrymen. Some he complimented for their bravery; others he flattered by asking their advice. He talked loudly of the resources at his command. If any should hear him so much as hint at a surrender, he gave them leave to tie him hand and foot, and throw him into the moat. If he should hear one of them talk of it, the admiral promised to do as much by him.[220]

The duc de Nevers, who had established himself, with the wreck of the French army and such additional levies as he could muster, in the neighborhood of St. Quentin, contrived to communicate with the admiral. On one occasion he succeeded in throwing a reinforcement of a hundred and twenty arquebusiers into the town, though it cost him thrice that number, cut to pieces by the Spaniards in the attempt. Still the number of the garrison was altogether inadequate to the duties imposed on it. With scanty refreshment, almost without repose, watching and fighting by turns, the day passed in defending the breaches which the night was not long enough to repair. No frame could be strong enough to endure it.

Coligni had, fortunately, the services of a skilful engineer, named St. Rémy, who aided him in repairing the injuries inflicted on the works by the artillery, and by the scarcely less destructive mines of the Spaniards. In the want of solid masonry, every material was resorted to for covering up the breaches. Timbers were thrown across; and boats filled with earth, laid on the broken rampart, afforded a good bulwark for the French musketeers. But the time was come when neither the skill of the engineer nor the courage of the garrison could further avail. Eleven practicable breaches had been opened, and St. Rémy assured the admiral that he could not engage to hold out four-and-twenty hours longer.[221]