Soon afterwards Farnese laid siege to Corbeil.  This little place—­owing to the extraordinary skill and determination of its commandant, Rigaut, an old Huguenot officer, who had fought with La Noue in Flanders—­resisted for nearly four weeks.  It was assaulted at last, Rigaut killed, the garrison of one thousand French soldiers put to the sword, and the town sacked.  With the fall of Corbeil both the Seine and Marne were re-opened.

Alexander then made a visit to Paris, where he was received with great enthusiasm.  The legate, whose efforts and whose money had so much contributed to the successful defence of the capital had returned to Italy to participate in the election of a new pope.  For the “Huguenot pope,” Sixtus V., had died at the end of August, having never bestowed on the League any of his vast accumulated treasures to help it in its utmost need.  It was not surprising that Philip was indignant, and had resorted to menace of various kinds against the holy father, when he found him swaying so perceptibly in the direction of the hated Bearnese.  Of course when he died his complaint was believed to be Spanish poison.  In those days, none but the very obscure were thought capable of dying natural deaths, and Philip was esteemed too consummate an artist to allow so formidable an adversary as Sixtus to pass away in God’s time only.  Certainly his death was hailed as matter of great rejoicing by the Spanish party in Rome, and as much ignominy bestowed upon his memory as if he had been a heretic; while in Paris his decease was celebrated with bonfires and other marks of popular hilarity.

To circumvent the great Huguenot’s reconciliation with the Roman Church was of course an indispensable portion of Philip’s plan; for none could be so dull as not to perceive that the resistance of Paris to its heretic sovereign would cease to be very effective, so soon as the sovereign had ceased to be heretic.  It was most important therefore that the successor of Sixtus should be the tool of Spain.  The leading confederates were well aware of Henry’s intentions to renounce the reformed faith, and to return to the communion of Rome whenever he could formally accomplish that measure.  The crafty Bearnese knew full well that the road to Paris lay through the gates of Rome.  Yet it is proof either of the privacy with which great public matters were then transacted, or of the extraordinary powers of deceit with which Henry was gifted, that the leaders of protestantism were still hoodwinked in regard to his attitude.  Notwithstanding the embassy of Luxembourg, and the many other indications of the king’s intentions, Queen Elizabeth continued to regard him as the great champion of the reformed faith.  She had just sent him an emerald, which she had herself worn, accompanied by the expression of her wish that the king in wearing it might never strike a blow without demolishing an enemy, and that in his farther progress he might put all his enemies to rout and confusion.  “You will remind the king, too,” she added, “that the emerald has this virtue, never to break so long as faith remains entire and firm.”