Instant measures were now taken to cannonade the city.  Egmont, at the hazard of his life, descended into the foss, to reconnoitre the works, and to form an opinion as to the most eligible quarter at which to direct the batteries.  Having communicated the result of his investigations to Noircarmes, he returned to report all these proceedings to the Regent at Brussels.  Certainly the Count had now separated himself far enough from William of Orange, and was manifesting an energy in the cause of tyranny which was sufficiently unscrupulous.  Many people who had been deceived by his more generous demonstrations in former times, tried to persuade themselves that he was acting a part.  Noircarmes, however—­and no man was more competent to decide the question distinctly—­expressed his entire confidence in Egmont’s loyalty.  Margaret had responded warmly to his eulogies, had read with approbation secret letters from Egmont to Noircarmes, and had expressed the utmost respect and affection for “the Count.”  Egmont had also lost no time in writing to Philip, informing him that he had selected the most eligible spot for battering down the obstinate city of Valenciennes, regretting that he could not have had the eight or ten military companies, now at his disposal, at an earlier day, in which case he should have been able to suppress many tumults, but congratulating his sovereign that the preachers were all fugitive, the reformed religion suppressed, and the people disarmed.  He assured the King that he would neglect no effort to prevent any renewal of the tumults, and expressed the hope that his Majesty would be satisfied with his conduct, notwithstanding the calumnies of which the times were full.

Noircarmes meanwhile, had unmasked his batteries, and opened his fire exactly according to Egmont’s suggestions.

The artillery played first upon what was called the “White Tower,” which happened to bear this ancient, rhyming inscription: 

       “When every man receives his own,
        And justice reigns for strong and weak,
        Perfect shall be this tower of stone,
        And all the dumb will learn to speak.”

       “Quand chacun sera satisfaict,
        Et la justice regnera,
        Ce boulevard sera parfaict,
        Et—­la muette parlera.”—­Valenciennes Ms.

For some unknown reason, the rather insipid quatrain was tortured into a baleful prophecy.  It was considered very ominous that the battery should be first opened against this Sibylline tower.  The chimes, too, which had been playing, all through the siege, the music of Marot’s sacred songs, happened that morning to be sounding forth from every belfry the twenty-second psalm:  “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”