A.D. 1372.

The English having made themselves masters of La Rochelle, the inhabitants of that important city did not endure the yoke without impatience. They were only restrained by their fear of the military who garrisoned the castle, which dominated over both the port and the city. Jean Candorier, mayor of La Rochelle, proposed gaining possession of it by a stratagem. “We shall easily do so, and to our honour,” said he, “for Philip Monsel (the English commander) is not over cunning.” Candorier invited Monsel to dine with him, and took the opportunity of showing him an order which desired him, in his quality of mayor, to review the garrison and the armed burgesses. This order was a fiction. The English commander, like most warriors of the time, could neither read nor write. Candorier showed the order so openly, and read it with a confidence that might have imposed upon any one. On the day appointed for the review, Monsel marched all his garrison out of the castle, with the exception of about twelve men. Scarcely had he passed the fortifications, than a body of armed citizens, placed in ambuscade behind an old wall, got between him and the citadel, whilst a body of two hundred men met him, in good order, in front. The English, finding themselves surrounded, yielded at discretion. The inhabitants then summoned the few left in the citadel to place it immediately in their power. Their number was so small that they complied without hesitation. Charles V. rewarded the Rochellois with great privileges.

SECOND SIEGE, A.D. 1573.

During the various religious wars in France, the Reformers had no more formidable rampart or place of refuge than La Rochelle. Readers not well acquainted with French history, and accustomed to look upon France as one kingdom ruled by a despotic king, can form no idea of the real state of that country quite up to the middle of the reign of Louis XIV. In all the provinces of France there were strongly fortified cities, mostly attached to the governments of these provinces. It was the object of princes of the blood and of the high nobles to obtain a government; after that, upon receiving offence at court, or taking umbrage at even an imaginary insult, they would retire to their fortified city, and set even royalty at defiance. La Rochelle, Sedan, and some other cities, were the great rallying-points of the Huguenots, and, in them, the power of the monarchs was merely nominal. In 1573, they were besieged in La Rochelle by the duke of Anjou, afterwards the infamous Henry III., the most inveterate enemy they ever had to encounter. The massacre of St. Bartholomew has fixed an indelible stain upon the reign of Charles IX.; but more of its horrors were due to this, his successor, than to him. Henry of Anjou was more after Catherine de Medici’s own heart than her second son Charles. This prince could boast of having in his army the flower of the French nobility. In the course of eight months they gave nine general assaults, and formed more than twenty useless attacks. An English fleet endeavoured to throw succours into the city, but it was repulsed, and forced to renounce the enterprise. The Rochellois, notwithstanding, continued to signalize their valour by the most intrepid resistance. The duke of Anjou, returning from visiting a mine, passed by a place within gun-shot of the city. A soldier, recognising him, took a deliberate aim at him, and would have ridded the world of a monster, but for the intervention of his squire, Hubert Devins, who, seeing the danger of the prince, rushed forward, and received the ball instead of him. He was cured of his wound, and lived a long time to enjoy the glory of such an action. Upon the duke being chosen king of Poland, a general assault was given; but it succeeded no better than its predecessors. The prince, who had already lost more than twenty-four thousand men, then resolved to terminate the siege by making peace. The conduct of the royalists during the siege was the height of extravagance, injustice, and ferocity: “They sported there with the lives of men,” says Matthieu the historian; “and I have heard those say who were near the duke of Anjou, that to pass away the time, when they were at a loss what to do, they sent soldiers to the breach.” It is not to be wondered at that an enterprise so conducted should have had a bad end, and that the Rochellois, pretending to submit, to save the honour of the court, should have really remained masters of their city. Near the counterscarp, there was a mill, called Labrande, of which Captain Normand had obtained the proprietorship, upon condition that he should have it guarded. He thought at first of fortifying it; but finding he could not put it in a state of defence, he satisfied himself with keeping a few soldiers in it in the daytime, who retired at night, with the exception of one sentinel. Strozzi, one of the Catholic generals, who fancied he could derive some advantage from this mill, fixed upon a moonlight night to attack it with a detachment and two culverins. A soldier from the Isle of RhÉ, named Barbot, sole defender of this bad post, stood his ground, fired, with incredible celerity, many arquebuse-shots at the assailants, and, by varying the inflexions of his voice, made them believe that he had a considerable number of comrades. Captain Normand kept encouraging him from the top of a cavalier, speaking as if there were an entire company in the mill, and telling them to hold out bravely, and they should soon have assistance. Barbot’s artillery being exhausted, he came forward and demanded quarter for himself and his comrades; and, the defence having been so respectable, it was granted. He immediately laid down his arms, and revealed the whole garrison in his own person. Strozzi, enraged at what he ought to have thought heroic, wanted to have him hung for his act of gallantry; but Biron, who was more moderate, satisfied himself with condemning him to the galleys. These men prided themselves upon fighting in a religious cause, and in civilized times: the pagans of old Greece or Rome would not have punished such a man at all. The soldier was fortunate enough to escape by flight a punishment he did not deserve.13

THIRD SIEGE, A.D. 1627.

We come now to the most important siege of La Rochelle, a siege which is likewise the great event of the life of so remarkable a man as the Cardinal de Richelieu. Of all the actions of this able, selfish, cruel minister, his policy in subduing the Huguenots is, perhaps, the most defensible. The Huguenots were not only what they pretended to be, a religious party,—they were a political party; and many men carried on their schemes of rebellion or aggrandizement under the shadow of their standard, who cared nothing for religion of any kind. That this is the case in all religious wars we are willing to admit, but it was particularly so in France in the reign of Louis XIII. Louis himself was superstitious enough; as most weak men are; but it would have puzzled the Sorbonne itself to have told what was the heart religion of Louis’ minister.

Cardinal de Richelieu, who governed France and its king, being very desirous to signalize his ministry by the conquest of La Rochelle, ordered the siege of it to be prepared. In the year 1627, an army of twenty-three thousand men, with Louis XIII. at their head, presented itself before this last asylum of the Protestants. The warlike cardinal conducted all the operations in the name of the king. The city was vast, well fortified, well situated, provided with numerous artillery, full of munitions of all kinds, and defended by inhabitants animated by religious zeal. They elected as mayor, governor, and general of their city, Jean Guiton, a man of great firmness and valour. He was scarcely clothed with these important but perilous dignities, than he assembled the inhabitants, and drawing a poniard, said: “I will be your mayor, since you insist upon my being so, but only upon condition that I may be permitted to plunge this poniard into the heart of the first man who shall speak of surrendering. I consent that it shall be employed in the same manner upon me, if I should propose to capitulate; and I require that this poniard shall remain for that purpose upon the table of the chamber in which we assemble.” Richelieu in the mean time continued his works for the blockade of the place. A circumvallation of three leagues was formed, protected by thirteen forts, flanked with redoubts, and bristling with artillery. But the great object was to close the ports, in order to exclude succour. Piles were sunk to embarrass the entrance; a chain of immense force was stretched across the mouth: but all these means proved useless. At length the cardinal resolved to make a dyke. We beg our readers to remember that whenever a grand national operation is successful, the king or minister under whom it is effected is almost sure to have the credit of it, although, perhaps, perfectly innocent of any idea of the kind. This, we have reason to believe, was the fact with respect to Richelieu and his famous dyke, which might have been planned by any soldier in the army. It will not bear a comparison with Alexander’s dyke at the siege of Tyre. Everybody, as is usual in such cases, exclaimed against the project as absurd. Louis MÉtÉzeau and Jean Tiriot alone ventured to undertake the execution of it, and they were kindly set down by their contemporaries as madmen. It was necessary to form a canal of seven hundred and forty toises in width, in a place where the current of the sea was very strong. Long posts were sunk in the sea, at twelve feet distance from each other, from the point of Coreille to Fort Louis: other posts, quite as strong, connected them crosswise. Immense dry stones were thrown into the intervals, to which the slime and mud acted as cement. This dyke was so elevated, that in the highest tides the soldiers were dry upon it; its thickness was proof against cannon. It was, towards the bottom, about twelve toises wide, and only about four at the top, so that it resembled a glacis. At each extremity a fort was built; an opening was left in the middle to allow passage for the tides; but, in order to prevent the enemy’s vessels from entering by this opening, forty vessels, filled with hewn stones, were sunk, and a vast number of huge piles were driven. This great and wonderful work, which required the incessant labour of six months, was defended by several batteries erected on firm ground, and by two hundred vessels of all sizes, well armed, which lined the shore. The advantage of this dyke was soon perceived: La Rochelle, which till then had received all its munitions and provisions by sea, became destitute in a very short time. The English made two attempts to deliver or revictual the place, but were obliged to renounce their undertaking. After a year’s blockade, the Rochellois, for some time reduced to subsist upon grass, herbs, and shell-fish, began to be carried off in great numbers by famine. Twelve thousand men had already perished; whole houses were filled with dead bodies. One day the mayor met a person attenuated by famine. “He has but one breath of life left,” said some one to him. “Are you surprised at that?” replied he; “you and I must soon come to that, if we are not relieved.” “But,” added another, “hunger carries off so many daily, that we shall soon have no inhabitants left.” “Well,” rejoined the brave old man, “never mind, so long as there is one left to keep the gates shut.” Such was what Catholic historians call the obstinacy, and Protestant ones the firmness, of the commander of the Rochellois and his soldiers. Although scarcely able to carry their muskets, they preferred death to surrendering. They really had “but one breath of life left,” when, on the 28th of October, 1628, they were compelled to capitulate. The royal troops took possession on the 30th, and on the 1st of November the king made his public entrance. The fortifications were demolished, the ditches filled up, the inhabitants disarmed and made taxable; echevinage and the corporation of the city were abolished for ever. For nearly two hundred years, La Rochelle had scarcely acknowledged any sovereigns but its magistrates. This conquest cost Louis forty millions of francs, but not so many lives as might have been expected.

It is impossible to give an account of the siege of La Rochelle in a work like this, proportioned to the means at command; with half what we have at hand, we could compose a volume. But this very abundance removes the necessity for our going into detail: there are so many interesting accounts of it before the public, that a longer one from us is not required. Whilst Richelieu, Buckingham, and Louis XIII.; whilst the religious wars between Catholics and Huguenots, shall occupy—we were going to say stain—the page of history, the siege of La Rochelle must be familiar to most readers.