His ordinary penetration did not deceive him:  the great lords intrusted with commands saw with anxiety the increasing power of Richelieu.  “You will see,” said Bassompierre, “that we shall be mad enough to take La Rochelle.”  “His Majesty had just then many of his own kingdom and all his allies sworn together against him, and so much the more dangerously in that it was secretly.  England at open war, and with all her maritime power but lately on our coasts; the King of Spain apparently united to his Majesty, yet, in fact, not only giving him empty words, but, under cover of the emperor’s name, making a diversion against him in the direction of Germany.  Nevertheless the king held firm to his resolve; and then the siege of La Rochelle was undertaken with a will.”

The old Duchess of Rohan (Catherine de Parthenay Larcheveque) had shut herself up in La Rochelle with her daughter Anne de Rohan, as pious and as courageous as her mother, and of rare erudition into the bargain; she had hitherto refused to leave the town; but, when the blockade commenced, she asked leave to retire with two hundred women.  The town had already been refused permission to get rid of useless mouths.  “All the Rochellese shall go out together,” was the answer returned to Madame de Rohan.  She determined to undergo with her brethren in the faith all the rigors of the siege.  “Secure peace, complete victory, or honorable death,” she wrote to her son the Duke of Rohan:  the old device of Jeanne d’Albret, which had never been forgotten by the brave chief of the Huguenots.

At the head of the burgesses of La Rochelle, as determined as the Duchess of Rohan to secure their liberties or perish, was the president of the board of marine, soon afterwards mayor of the town, John Gutton, a rich merchant, whom the misfortunes of the times had wrenched away from his business to become a skilful admiral, an intrepid soldier, accustomed for years past to scour the seas as a corsair.  “He had at his house,” says a narrative of those days, “a great number of flags, which he used to show one after another, indicating the princes from whom he had taken them.”  When he was appointed mayor, he drew his poniard and threw it upon the council-table.  “I accept,” he said, “the honor you have done me, but on condition that yonder poniard shall serve to pierce the heart of whoever dares to speak of surrender, mine first of all, if I were ever wretch enough to condescend to such cowardice.”  Of indomitable nature, of passionate and proud character, Guiton, in fact, rejected all proposals of peace.  “My friend, tell the cardinal that I am his very humble servant,” was his answer to insinuating speeches as well as to threats; and he prepared with tranquil coolness for defence to the uttermost.  Two municipal councillors, two burgesses, and a clergyman were commissioned to judge and to punish spies and traitors; attention was concentrated upon getting provisions into the town; the country was already devastated, but reliance was placed upon promises of help from England; and religious exercises were everywhere multiplied.  “We will hold out to the last day,” reiterated the burgesses.