The army of Savoy approached the St. Antoine gate: it was like a triumphal progress. Monarchy, according to politicians, was about to gain the victory over republicanism. ‘In front marched the Count of Genevois, in complete steel armour,’ say the chronicles, ‘wearing a long plume, and riding on a stout stallion, who curvetted about so that it was pleasant to see.’ He was followed by the cavalry in breast-plates. Then came the main body, to the number of about eight thousand infantry, headed by six Genevan mamelukes. Last appeared the duke, followed by all his guard; he had laid aside his gracious humour, and desired that his entrance should have something warlike and alarming. ‘Montrotier,’ he said to his principal captain, ‘I have sworn that I will only enter Geneva _over_ the gates.’ Montrotier understood him, and, going forward with a body of men, knocked down the St. Antoine gate and the adjoining wall. The satisfied duke now resumed his triumphal march. He was armed from head to foot and rode a handsome hackney: two pages carried before him his lance and his helmet. One of these was J. J. de Watteville, afterwards _avoyer_ of Berne. The weak-minded Charles, inflated with his success, pulled up his courser, and made him paw the rebellious stones. ‘A true Don Quixote,’ says a catholic historian, ‘he showed the same pride as a conqueror loaded with glory who at the cost of much blood and fatigue had reduced a fortress after a long and dangerous siege.’ And if we may believe contemporary documents, ‘Charles advanced more like a Jupiter surrounded with his thunders than a conqueror; his head was bare in order, said his courtiers, that his eyes, flashing with wrath, should blast the audacity of the Genevans who should be rash enough to look in his face.’ All the army having passed the gate after him marched through the city in order to parade its triumph in the streets and defy the citizens.[232]