hurch; none were dreaming of an attack, as men rarely
do--for otherwise how should they ever be surprised--and in half an hour
Amiens was the property of Philip of Spain. There were not very many
lives lost, for the resistance was small, but great numbers were tortured
for ransom and few women escaped outrage. The sack was famous, for the
city was rich and the captors were few in number, so that each soldier
had two or three houses to plunder for his own profit.

When the work was done, the faubourgs were all destroyed, for it was the
intention of the conquerors to occupy the place, which would be a most
convenient basis of operations for any attack upon Paris, and it was
desirable to contract the limits to be defended. Fifteen hundred houses,
many of them beautiful villas surrounded with orchards and pleasure
gardens,--were soon in flames, and afterwards razed to the ground. The
governor of the place, Count St. Pol, managed to effect his escape. His
place was now supplied by the Marquis of Montenegro, an Italian in the
service of the Spanish king. Such was the fate of Amiens in the month of
March, 1597; such the result of the refusal by the citizens to accept the
garrison urged upon them by Henry.

It would be impossible to exaggerate the consternation produced.
throughout France by this astounding and altogether unlooked for event.
"It seemed," said President De Thou, "as if it had extinguished in a
moment the royal majesty and the French name." A few nights later than
the date of this occurrence, Maximilian de Bethune (afterwards Duke of
Sully, but then called Marquis de Rosny) was asleep in his bed in Paris.
He had returned, at past two o'clock in the morning, from a magnificent
ball given by the Constable of France. The capital had been uncommonly
brilliant during the winter with banquets and dances, tourneys and
masquerades, as if to cast a lurid glare over the unutterable misery of
the people and the complete desolation of the country; but this
entertainment--given by Montmorency in honour of a fair dame with whom he
supposed himself desperately in love, the young bride of a very ancient
courtier--surpassed in splendour every festival that had been heard of
for years. De Bethune had hardly lost himself in slumber when he was
startled by Beringen, who, on drawing his curtains in this dead hour of
the night, presented such a ghastly visage that the faithful friend of
Henry instantly imagined some personal disaster