On the night of May 14, 1674, urgent messages summoned the rulers of Besançon to an emergency war council at the hôtel de ville. As they hurried through the darkened streets, a heavy rain fell from the skies. But above the pounding downpour, they could hear the threatening booms of a man-made thunder: French siege artillery at work. Over the past two weeks, that thunder had drawn ominously closer and closer.

The four companies of the Magistrat, the archbishop, the cathedral canons, and the judges of the Chamber of Justice gathered in the main meeting hall of the hôtel de ville. To the assembled notables, the prince de Vaudémont, commander of the city's troops, described a dire military situation. For nineteen days, Besançon had mounted a valiant defense against the French. The city's cannons–some served by crews of brown-hooded Capuchins–and the numerous sorties of its garrison had taken a heavy toll of the besiegers. Despite these efforts, the siege trenches had continued to advance. The enemy's guns had now broken the Gate of Arènes and opened so many breaches in the walls that an infantry assault was inevitable. When the French stormed the city, the people of Besançon would suffer all the horrors of a sack. As a soldier, Vaudémont preferred to fight on; as a man of honor, he had to advise the leaders of the city to do whatever they believed was reasonable.