entirely defeated.

"A rude obelisk raised on the brow of the hill marks

the spot where the deadliest struggle occurred."

Elizabeth of England was not indifferent to the fortunes of Henry of Navarre. She saw her old enemy, Philip of Spain, bent on crushing the liberal spirit in France, as he had striven to do in the Netherlands, and to make France but a stepping-stone towards the desire of his heart-the seizure of England. Twenty thousand pounds in gold, and four thousand troops under Lord Wallingbury, arrived immediately after the victory of Arques. Thus reinforced Henry marched on Paris, made himself master of the suburbs on the left bank of the Seine, and continued to act on the offensive during the remainder of the year.

But the most decisive victory gained by Henry over the League was on the plains of Ivry—a site marked by a monumental obelisk. The engagement took place on the 4th of March, 1590. The troops under the command of Mayenne were enormously superior to those attached to the cause of Henry, but the battle was not decided. It was fought, and fought bravely-the monarch himself setting a noble, chivalrous example of devotion and heroism.

The spirit-stirring lines of Macaulay tell the story better than any prose description:

"The king is come to marshal us, in all his armour drest,

And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest.
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye;

He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high.
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing,
Down all our line, a deafening shout, 'God save our lord the king!'
'An if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may-

For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray—

Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war,
And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre.

"Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din,
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin!
The fiery duke is pricking fast across St. André's plain,
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.
Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge for the golden lilies-upon them with the lance!'
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest,
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest;
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star,
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

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"Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein!
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter; the Flemish count is slain.

Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale;
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail.
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van,
'Remember St. Bartholomew,' was passed from man to man.
But out spake gentle Henry, 'No Frenchman is my foe:
Down, down with every foreigner! but let your brethren go.'
Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war,
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre ?”

Immediately on the victory of Ivry, Henry marched on Paris; but he was unable to capture it, and settled down before its walls to starve it into subjection. Of all forms of siege, perhaps, that of the blockade is the most horrible. The miserable beings within the city are simply left to die or to surrender-all hope of help is cut off; the old, and the weak, and the very young suffer the most. There is a famine-a famine within sight of plenty. Nothing can be more horrible than the details which are left to us of the condition of beleaguered cities. And Paris would have fared no better than others but for the generosity of the king.

It is worth while to look at this beleaguered city-a city divided into three cities-the City, the University, the Ville. Victor Hugo, describing Paris as it appeared not long before the time to which we refer, tells us : "The city, which occupied the island, was the most ancient, the teaster and mother of the others, placed like a little old woman between two handsome daughters. The district of the University covered the left bank of the Seine, from the Tournelle to the Tower of Nesle, points which correspond to the Halle aux Vieux and the Mint of Paris at this time. Its enclosures usurped a large portion of the fields where Julian erected his warm baths. The hill of St. Genevieve was within it. The farthest curve of the wall was that extending to the Papal gate, that is near to the present pantheon. The Ville, the largest division of the city, was on the right bank of the river; it extended from the Tower of Billi to the Tower of Bois; that is, from the present Griever d'Abondance to the Tuileries. The Ville extended farther into the fields than the district of the University. These three divisions were of a very different character: the Ville abounded with palaces, the University with colleges, and the City with churches. The island might be said to be under the jurisdiction (putting aside minor powers) of the bishop; the City, of the provost of the merchants, and the University of the rector. A large and

deep ditch surrounded the city wall, the Seine supplying the water which filled it; at night they closed the gates, put four iron chains across the streets, and then Paris slept tranquilly."

But Paris, with its walls and gates and iron chains, could not be supposed to be sleeping tranquilly when those who stood on Notre Dame looked out as hopelessly and as helplessly for succour as shipwrecked mariners for friendly sail. The prices of provisions rose rapidly as the army of Henry of Navarre arrived and settled down before the walls of Paris. The famine fell on the poorest first; only the rich could buy bread and meat, and the rations served out were scanty. As the summer advanced the sufferings of the citizens became more terrible. Horses, dogs, asses, cats, and even rats, were ravenously eaten. The Duchess de Montpensier refused gold and jewellery to the amount of two thousand crowns for a favourite dog, saying she would reserve it for herself when her stores were exhausted. No less than thirteen thousand persons are estimated to have died of hunger during the blockade.

Henry of Navarre, well advised of what was going on within the city, was deeply affected by the recital of the sufferings the poor people were called upon to undergo. In order to relieve them, he opened a free passage for such of the starving inhabitants as chose to depart; and forth they came, the mere semblance of humanity, many of them so exhausted as to be carried out, utterly unable to move hand or foot. But a few only, comparatively, accepted the royal grace, the rest preferred to take the chances of war-to die-but not to surrender. With a tenderness of heart which certainly militated against his own interests, Henry permitted a good store of provisions to be smuggled into the city; he could not bear the thought of his people suffering while he had it within his power to relieve them. In the meantime the arquebus and crucifix worked on the religious sentiment of the multitude. This Henry, they said, was a heretic, accursed of God and man—an outcast from both heaven and earth—and unworthy of either. They did not forget to eat of his bread, however, nor to avail themselves of all the advantages which his generosity placed within their reach; but they reviled him in church and market, and promised the people speedy help from Spain.

And the help they predicted was really at hand. Alexander Farnese was rapidly approaching. He who had laboured so zealously in the cause of the King of Spain and Pope of Rome in the Netherlands was hastening to relieve Paris and support the Catholic cause. Henry of Navarre was in

no condition to withstand the superior forces of the Spanish general, and the siege was raised.

While Philip of Spain was lending his assistance to the Catholic party in France, Elizabeth of England was supporting-if not with equal energy, at least with some pretension-the claims of the Protestants. When the Spaniards invaded France the queen advanced a loan and sent over three thousand men to act with Navarre against the hated foe of England and Holland. The Earl of Essex was anxious to have the command of this force, but Elizabeth bestowed it on Sir John Norris. This disappointment to the earl was afterwards compensated, as fresh troops

were soon ordered to France and the command bestowed upon him. In August he landed at Dieppe, and finding Henry engaged at a distance pitched his camp at Arques, near the scene of Henry's triumph, doing nothing but knighting his officers to keep them contented. His whole force consisted only of three hundred horse, three hundred gentlemen volunteers, and three thousand infantry. On the king's arrival the siege of Rouen was begun, where the English suffered terrible hardships; and in the spring of 1592, the siege having been raised on the approach of the Prince of Parma, Essex left his troops with Roger Williams, having lost his brother, Walter Devereux, in the campaign.

Throughout the spring and summer of the ensuing year (1593) the

fortunes of Henry of Navarre were very gloomy. He had strong foes in the French Catholics, men who hated the Protestant Bernese with a good Catholic hatred, and still stronger foes in the tried veterans of Spain. The help rendered by England was not so great as Henry had been led to expect. Such as it was, it occasioned serious squabbles among the royal councillors, Burleigh and other statesmen of the parsimonious school not clearly seeing the advantage to be gained by fresh advances and fresh troops, especially as both were employed not only against the Spaniards but against the Catholics of France. Against the use of the means placed at his disposal an express stipulation had been made with Henry. The queen and her ministers were prepared, "for a consideration," to baffle and, if possible, overthrow the Spaniards; but they were not prepared to make war on the French. Still it was beyond their power to control Navarre. He employed men and money as he would—if the men were withdrawn, the Spaniards would probably triumph, and England once again be threatened with invasion. The dreaded Parma had not entirely resigned his contemplated "London Fury," and the conquest of the Protestant party in France would bring him so much nearer to the realization of his plan.

Never was Queen Elizabeth more sorely puzzled how to deal with that merry and brave Bernese. She was in the worst of tempers and, says our historian, "for this cause not only dealt sharp words but heavy blows about her on her attendants." Still there was the comforting assurance that Henry was of the true faith, and that, like herself, he was excommunicated by the Holy See-accursed of Rome.

Gradually rumours reached the ears of Elizabeth that Henry of Navarre was wavering in his religion-nay, that he was positively treating with the Catholics, and would probably abjure his own creed. The whole country was a prey to anarchy: the Catholic factions could agree upon nothing; the cardinal whom they had dubbed king was dead; Philip of Spain was demanding the crown for his daughter Isabella, whose mother was a French princess; the Duke of Mayenne wanted to grasp it for himself, and the people were becoming conscious that the objects of their leaders were selfish. One terribly dangerous foe to Henry of Navarre and Elizabeth of England had, indeed, been removed; but this only rendered it the more imperative—in the opinion of Elizabeth-that Henry should prosecute the war. The great Duke Parma was dead, and who should stand in his place? Henry, however, saw very plainly that