to the ambassador of Spain, that “this pretended council was only a scarecrow which he had no idea of employing save for the purpose of bringing the pope to reason.”  Amidst these vain attempts at ecclesiastical influence the war was continued with passionateness on the part of Julius II., with hesitation on the part of Louis XII., and with some disquietude on the part of the French commanders, although with their wonted bravery and loyalty.  Chaumont d’Amboise, the cardinal’s nephew, held the command-in-chief in the king’s army.  He fell ill:  the pope had excommunicated him; and Chaumont sent to beg him, with instance, to give him absolution, which did not arrive until he was on his death-bed.  “This is the worst,” says Bossuet, “of wars against the Church; they cause scruples not only in weak minds, but even, at certain moments, in the very strongest.”  Alphonso d’ Este, Duke of Ferrara, was almost the only great Italian lord who remained faithful to France.  Julius II., who was besieging Ferrara, tried to win over the duke, who rejected all his offers, and, instead, won over the negotiator, who offered his services to poison the pope.  Bayard, when informed of this proposal, indignantly declared that he would go and have the traitor hanged, and warning sent to the pope.  “Why,” said the duke, “he would have been very glad to do as much for you and me.”  “That is no odds to me,” said the knight; “he is God’s lieutenant on earth, and, as for having him put to death in such sort, I will never consent to it.”  The duke shrugged his shoulders, and spitting on the ground, said, ’Od’s body, Sir Bayard, I would like to get rid of all my enemies in that way; but, since you do not think it well, the matter shall stand over; whereof, unless God apply a remedy, both you and I will repent us.”  Assuredly Bayard did not repent of his honest indignation; but, finding about the same time (January, 1511) an opportunity of surprising and carrying off the pope, he did not care to miss it; he placed himself in ambush before day-break, with a hundred picked men-at-arms, close to a village from which the pope was to issue.  “The pope, who was pretty early, mounted his litter, so soon as he saw the dawn, and the clerics and officers of all kinds went before without a thought of anything.  When the good knight heard them he sallied forth from his ambush, and went charging down upon the rustics, who, sore dismayed, turned back again, pricking along with loosened rein and shouting, Alarm! alarm!  But all that would have been of no use but for an accident very lucky for the holy father, and very unfortunate for the good knight.  When the pope had mounted his litter, he was not a stone’s throw gone when there fell from heaven the most sharp and violent shower that had been seen for a hundred years.  ‘Holy father,’ said the Cardinal of Pavia to the pope, ’it is not possible to go along this country so long as this lasts; meseems you must turn back again; ’to which the pope agreed; but, just