I was in this state of mind, when early one morning in the beginning
of summer, soon after I rose, I was startled by the sound of trumpets
in the plain near the château. The bugle at the gate was presently
sounded; the drawbridge was let down; and the Marquis de Villeroy
entered the court-yard, accompanied by about thirty knights in complete
armour. I saluted him with respect, and the tenderness excited by
recent grief. He took me by the hand, after a short repast in the hall,
and led me to my closet.
“My son,” said he, “it is time to throw off the effeminacy of sorrow,
and to prove yourself a true soldier of the standard of France.”
“I trust, my lord,” replied I, with modest earnestness, “that you well
know, there is nothing after which my heart so ardently aspires. There
is nothing that I know worth living for but honour. Show me the path
that leads to it, or rather show me the occasion that affords scope for
the love of honour to display itself, and you shall then see whether
I am backward to embrace it. I have a passion pent up within me, that
feeds upon my vitals: it disdains speech; it burns for something more
unambiguous and substantial.”
“It is well,” rejoined my uncle. “I expected to find you thus. Your
reply to my admonition is worthy of the blood of your ancestors, and of
the maternal instructions of my sister. And, were you as dull as the
very stones you tread on, what I have to tell you might even then rouse
you into animation and ardour.”
After this short preface my uncle proceeded to relate a tale, every
word of which inflamed my spirits, and raised all my passions in arms.
I had heard something imperfectly of the state of my country; but my
mother carefully kept me in ignorance, that my ambition might not be
excited too soon, and that, when excited, it might be with the fullest
effect. While I impatiently longed for an occasion of glory, I was far
from apprehending, what I now found to be true, that the occasion which
at this period presented itself, was such, that all the licence of
fiction could scarcely have improved it.
The Marquis de Villeroy described to me the league now subsisting
against France. He revived in my memory, by terms of the most fervent
loyalty, the accomplishments and talents of my royal master. He spoke
with aversion of the phlegmatic and crafty disposition of his imperial
rival[3]; and, with the language of glowing indignation, inveighed
against the fickleness of the capricious Henry.[4] He described the
train of disasters, which had at length induced the king to take
the field in person. He contrasted, with great effect, the story of
the gallant Chevalier Bayard, _the knight without fear and without
reproach_, whose blood was still fresh in the plains of the Milanese,
with that of the Constable of Bourbon, the stain of chivalry, whom
inglorious resentment and ungoverned ambition had urged to join the
enemies of his country, in neglect of his loyalty and his oath. He
stimulated me by the example of the one, and the infamy of the other;
and assured me that there never was an opportunity more favourable for
acquiring immortal renown.
I wanted no prompter in a passion of this sort; and immediately set
about collecting the whole force of my clients and retainers. I shook
off the inglorious softness of my melancholy, and was all activity and
animation. The lessons of my youth were now called into play. I judged
it necessary to invite the assistance of some person of experience to
assist me in marshalling my men; but I did much of what was to be done
myself, and I did it well. It was my first employment in the morning:
and the last that was witnessed by the setting sun. My excellent mother
had left my revenues in the best order, and I spared no expense in the
gratification of my favourite passion.
However eager I felt myself to take the field, the desire to appear
in a manner worthy of a Count de St. Leon restrained me; and I did
not join the royal army till the Imperialists, having broken up the
siege of Marseilles, and retreated with precipitation into Italy, the
king had already crossed the Alps, entered the Milanese, and gained
uncontested possession of the capital.
From Milan Francis proceeded to Pavia. Glory was the idol of his heart;
and he was the more powerfully excited to the attack of that place,
because it was the strongest and best fortified post in the whole
duchy. The more he displayed of military prowess, the more firmly he
believed he should fix himself in his newly acquired dominions; the
inhabitants would submit to him the more willingly, and the enemy
be less encouraged to enter into a fresh contention for what he had
acquired. Such at least were the motives that he assigned for his
proceedings: in reality perhaps he was principally induced by the
brilliancy which he conceived would attend on the undertaking.
It was a few weeks after the opening of the siege, that I presented
myself to my royal master. He received me with those winning and
impressive manners by which he was so eminently distinguished. He
recollected immediately all that had passed at our interview in the
Vale of Ardres, and warmly expressed the obligations which France had
at various times owed to my ancestors. He spoke with earnest respect
of the virtues and wisdom of my mother, and commended the resolution
by which she had in former instances held me back from the public
theatre. “Young gentleman,” said the king, “I doubt not the gallantry
of your spirit; I see the impatience of a martial temper written in
your face: I expect you to act in a manner worthy of your illustrious
race, and of the instructions of a woman who deserved to be herself
a pattern to all the matrons of France. Fear not that I shall suffer
your accomplishments to rust in obscurity. I shall employ you. I shall
assign you the post of danger and of renown. Fill it nobly; and from
that hour I shall rank you in the catalogue of my chosen friends.”
The siege of Pavia proved indeed to be a transaction, in the course
of which military honour might well be acquired. It was defended by a
small, but veteran garrison, and by one of the ablest captains that
Europe at that time possessed.[5] He interrupted the approaches of
the besiegers by frequent and furious sallies. In vain, by the aid of
our excellent artillery, did we make wide and repeated breaches in
the fortifications. No sooner did we attempt to enter by the passage
we had opened, than we found ourselves encountered by a body composed
of the choicest and bravest soldiers of the garrison. The governor of
the city, who, though grey-headed and advanced in years, was profuse
of every youthful exertion, was ordinarily at the head of this body.
If we deferred our attack, or, not having succeeded in it, proposed
to commence it anew with the dawn of the following day, we were sure
to find a new wall sprung up in the room of the other, as if by
enchantment. Frequently the governor anticipated the success of our
batteries; and the old fortification was no sooner demolished, than we
beheld, to our astonishment and mortification, a new wall, which his
prudence and skill had erected at a small interval within the line of
the former.
One of these attacks took place on the second day after my arrival at
the camp of our sovereign. Every thing that I saw was new to me, and
inflamed me with ardour. The noise of the cannon, which had preceded
the attack, and which was now hushed; the inspiring sounds of martial
music which succeeded that noise; the standards floating in the air;
the firm and equal tread of the battalion that advanced; the armour of
the knights; the rugged, resolute, and intrepid countenances of the
infantry;--all swelled my soul with transport hitherto unexperienced.
I had beheld the smoke of the artillery, in the midst of which every
thing was lost and confounded; I had waited in awful suspense till
the obscurity should be dissipated; I saw with pleasure and surprise
the ruin of the wall, and the wideness of the breach. All that had
been recorded of the military feats of Christian valour seemed then to
stand crowded in my busy brain; the generosity, the condescension, the
kindness, with which the king had addressed me the day before, urged
me to treble exertion. I was in the foremost rank. We surmounted the
ditch. We were resisted by a chosen body of Spaniards. The contention
was obstinate; brave men, generous and enterprising spirits, fell on
the one side and the other. I seized the cloth of a standard, as, in
the playing of the wind, it was brought near to my hand. Between me
and the Spaniard that held it there ensued an obstinate struggle. I
watched my opportunity, and with my sword severed the flag from its
staff. At this moment the trumpets of the king sounded a retreat. I had
received two severe wounds, one in the shoulder and the other in the
thigh, in the contest. I felt myself faint with the loss of blood. A
French officer, of a rude appearance and gigantic stature, accosting
me with the appellation of boy; commanded me to surrender the standard
to him. I refused; and, to convince him I was in earnest, proceeded
to wrap it round my body, and fastened it under my arm. Soon after I
became insensible, and in this situation was accidentally found by my
uncle and his companions, who immediately took me and my prize under
their care. As soon as I was a little recovered of my wounds, the king
seized an opportunity, after having bestowed loud commendations upon my
gallantry, of conferring the honours of knighthood upon me in the face
of the whole army.
While our tents were pitched under the walls of Pavia, I was
continually extending the circle of my acquaintance among the young
gentry of France, who, like myself, had attended their sovereign
in this memorable expedition. I had some enemies, made such by the
distinctions I obtained during the siege. But they were few; the
greater part courted me the more, the more I showed myself worthy
of their attachment. Envy is not a passion that finds easy root in a
Frenchman’s bosom. I was one of the youngest of those who attended
on the siege; but my brothers in arms were generous rivals, who in
the field obstinately strove with me for superior glory, but over the
convivial board forgot their mutual competitions, and opened their
hearts to benevolence and friendship. “Let us not,” was a sentiment I
heard often repeated, “forget the object that led us from our pleasant
homes to pour from the heights of the Alps upon the fields of Italy. It
is to humble the imperious Spaniard--to punish the disloyal Bourbon--to
vindicate the honour of our beloved and illustrious monarch. Those
walls cover the enemy; yonder mountains serve to hide them from our
assault; let no Frenchman mistake him who marches under the same
standard for an adversary.”
The trenches had not been opened before Pavia till about the beginning
of November. The winter overtook us, and the siege was yet in progress;
with some apparent advantage indeed to our side of the question, but
by no means promising an instant conclusion. The season set in with
unusual severity; and both officer and soldier were glad, as much as
possible, to fence out its rigour by the indulgences of the genial
board. My finances, as I have said, were at the commencement of the
expedition in excellent order: I had brought with me a considerable
sum; and it was not spared upon the present occasion.
There were however other things to be attended to, beside the demands
of conviviality. The king became impatient of the delays of the siege.
The garrison and the inhabitants were reduced to great extremities;
but the governor discovered no symptoms of a purpose to surrender.
In the mean time intelligence was brought, that Bourbon was making
the most extraordinary exertions in Germany, and promised to lead to
the enemy a reinforcement of twelve thousand men from that country;
while the imperial generals, by mortgaging their revenues, and pawning
their jewels, and still more by their eloquence and influence with
those under their command, were able to keep together the remains of a
disheartened and defeated army in expectation of his arrival. There
was some danger therefore, if the siege were not speedily terminated,
that the king might ultimately be obliged to raise it with ignominy, or
to fight the enemy under every disadvantage. Francis however was not to
be deterred from his undertaking. He swore a solemn oath, that Pavia
should be his, or he would perish in the attempt.
Thus circumstanced, he conceived a very extraordinary project. Pavia is
defended on one side by the Tesino, the scene of the first of the four
famous battles by which Hannibal signalised his invasion of Italy. The
king believed that if this river could by the labour of his army be
diverted from its course, the town must instantly fall into his hands.
He was encouraged to the undertaking, by recollecting a stratagem of
a similar nature by which Cyrus formerly made himself master of the
city of Babylon. It was a thought highly flattering to the grandeur of
his soul, to imagine that posterity would in this instance institute a
parallel between him and Cyrus the Great.
The plan for diverting the course of the Tesino produced a new and
extraordinary scene. It was, as may well be believed, a work of
uncommon labour. A new channel was to be scooped out and deepened; and,
while the stream was turned into this channel, piles were to be sunk,
and an immense mound of earth created, as an effectual impediment to
the waters resuming their former course. This was a heavy burthen to
the soldier, in addition to the disadvantage of being encamped during
the course of a winter remarkably severe for the climate in which we
fought. By any other army the task would have been performed with
cloudiness and discontent, if not complained of with repining and
murmurs. But here the gaiety of the French character displayed itself.
The nobility of France, who attended their sovereign in great numbers,
accompanied the infantry in their labour. We laid aside the indulgence
of the marquée, of tapestry and carpets; we threw off our upper
garments; and each seized a spade, a barrow of earth, or a mattock.
We put our hands to the engines, and refused no effort under pretence
that it was sordid or severe. While the trees were leafless, and nature
appeared bound up in frost, sweat ran down our faces and bedewed our
limbs. The army were encouraged by our example. An employment which,
under other circumstances, would have been regarded as rigid, was thus
made a source of new hilarity and amusement. It was a memorable sight
to behold the venerable and grey-headed leaders of the French army
endeavouring to exert the strength and activity of their early years.
To me, who had but lately arrived at the stature of manhood, and who
was accustomed to all the exercises which give strength and vigour to
the frame, this new employment was in no degree burdensome. I felt
in it the satisfaction that a swift man experiences when he enters
the lists of the race; I congratulated myself upon the nature of my
education; if it be a sin to covet honour, that guilt was mine; and,
so great was my appetite for it, that I was inexpressibly rejoiced to
observe the various ways in which it might be gratified.
Strange as it may seem, this scene of a winter-camp, in the midst
of blood and sweat, surrounded with dangers, and called on for
unparalleled exertions, appears to me, through the vista of years
that is now interposed between, to have been one of the happiest of
my life. The gay labours and surprises of the day were succeeded by
a convivial evening, in which we did not the less open our hearts,
though frequently liable to be interrupted in our midnight revels by
the inexhaustible activity and stratagems of the enemy. In this various
and ever-shifting scene, I forgot the disasters that occurred, and
the blood that flowed around me. All sense of a large and impartial
morality was, for the time at least, deadened in my breast. I was ever
upon the alert. The diversity of events neither suffered my spirits
to flag, nor reflection to awake. It is only upon such occasions, or
occasions like these, that a man is able fully to feel what life is,
and to revel in its exuberance. Above all, I was delighted with the
society and friendship of my brother-officers. They honoured me; they
loved me. I seemed to feel what sympathy was; and to have conscious
pleasure in making one in a race of beings like myself. Such were my
sensations.
It must not, however, be imagined, that all about me felt in these
respects as I did. I was deeply indebted in this particular to my youth
and my fortune. The old endeavoured to brace themselves in vain; they
sunk under the continual pressure. The poor soldier from the ranks
laboured incessantly, and I laboured as much as he; but he had little
opportunity to recruit his vigour and renovate his strength. There
was yet another class of persons in the camp, whose gaiety was much
less interrupted than mine. These were, the king, and the generals who
commanded under him. They could not be entirely devoid of thought and
consideration. They suffered much anxiety from the length of the siege;
and felt that every period of delay increased the doubtfulness of the
event.
Antonio de Leyva, governor of the city, necessarily felt himself
alarmed at the extraordinary project in which we were engaged, and
made every exertion to prevent it. One evening the king sent for me to
his tent, and told me in confidence that the enemy intended that very
night to make three several attacks upon our mound, one on each side of
the stream, and one by means of boats in the centre. Two of these, he
said, were merely intended as feints; the west bank of the Tesino was
the point against which their principal exertions would be directed.
On that side he was resolved to command in person; the boats with
which he proposed to resist their flota he confided to one of the most
famous and valuable officers of his army; the detachment on the east
bank he purposed to intrust to my uncle and myself. He observed, that
the detachment he could spare for that purpose, after having formed
the other two bodies, and reserved a sufficient number for the defence
of the camp and the works, would be small; and he warned me to the
exertion of a particular vigilance. It would be doubly unfortunate, if
a body, the attack upon which was to be merely a feigned one, should
nevertheless be routed. “Go,” added he, “fulfil my expectations;
deport yourself answerably to the merit of your first achievement; and
depend upon it that you will prove hereafter one of the most eminent
supporters of the martial glory of France.”
The Marquis de Villeroy divided our little force into two bodies: with
the larger he lay in wait for the enemy near the scene of the expected
attack: the smaller he confided to my direction, and placed so that
we might be able to fall upon the rear of the garrison-troops as soon
as they should be fully engaged with our comrades. In the situation
assigned me I took advantage of the skirts of a wood, which enabled
me to approach very near to the expected route of our assailants,
without being perceived by them. The night was extremely dark, yet
the vicinity of my position was such, that I could count the numbers
of the adversary as they passed along before my hiding-place. I was
alarmed to find that they amounted to at least the triple of what we
had been taught to expect. They were no sooner past, than I despatched
to the king a young knight, my particular friend, who happened to be
with me, to urge the necessity of a reinforcement. At the same time I
sent a messenger to my uncle, by a circuitous route, to inform him of
what I had observed, and the step I had taken, and to entreat him to
defer the attack as long as consistently with propriety it should be
possible. The enemy, however, had no sooner arrived at the place of
his destination, than the troops of the marquis, no longer capable of
restraint, rushed to engage. The Spaniards were at first surprised,
but a short time led them to suspect the weakness of their assailants;
nor was the assistance I brought to my uncle sufficient to turn the
fortune of the fight. We lost many of our men; the rest apparently gave
ground; and it was a vain attempt, amidst the darkness of the night,
to endeavour to restore order and rally them to the assault. We were
already almost completely overpowered, when the succours we expected
reached us. They were, however, unable to distinguish friend from
enemy. A storm of mingled rain and snow had come on, which benumbed our
limbs, drove fiercely in our faces, and rendered every object alike
viewless. The carnage which in this situation took place was terrible.
Our blows were struck at random. A Frenchman was not less dreadful than
a Spaniard. When the battle ceased, scarcely one of the enemy was left
alive; but we observed with astonishment and horror the number of the
besiegers who had probably, in the midst of the confusion, been cut to
pieces by their own countrymen.
I am now arrived at the period which put an end to the festivity and
jocundness of the campaign. All after this was one continued series
of disaster. About the close of January, our work, though not wholly
interrupted, was considerably retarded by a succession of heavy rains.
This was injurious to us in many ways; our project, which was executed
in the midst of waters, rendered additional damp a matter of serious
consideration. We were also seized with an apprehension of still
greater magnitude, which was speedily realised. The snows being at
length completely dissolved, and the quantity of water continually
increasing, we perceived one afternoon strong symptoms that our
mound, the principal subject of our labour and source of our hope,
was giving way in various places. The next morning at daybreak, it
rushed down every where at once with wonderful violence and noise. It
is difficult to describe the sensation of anguish which was instantly
and universally diffused. The labour of many weeks was overthrown in
a moment. As we had proceeded in our work, we every day saw ourselves
nearer the object to which we aspired. At this time our project was
almost completed, and Pavia was in imagination already in our hands,
to gain possession of which had cost us such unremitted exertions, the
display of so much gallantry, and the loss of so many soldiers. We were
confounded at the catastrophe we saw. We gazed at each other, each in
want of encouragement, and every one unable to afford it.
Still, however, we were not destitute of advantages. The garrison began
to be in want both of ammunition and provisions. They were in a general
state of discontent, almost of mutiny, which scarcely all the address
and authority of the governor were able to suppress. If the town
continued longer unrelieved, it was sure to fall into our hands. But
even this our last hope was considerably diminished by the intelligence
we received the very day after the destruction of our mound, that
the imperial army, after having received large reinforcements, was
approaching in considerable force. The king had some time before, in
the height of his confidence, and elation of his heart, sent off a
detachment of six thousand men to invade the kingdom of Naples; for
upon that, as well as the Milanese, he had inherited pretensions from
his immediate predecessors.
But, though the enemy was superior in numbers, and a part perhaps of
their forces better disciplined than ours, they laboured under several
disadvantages to which we were not exposed. The Emperor, though his
dominions were more extensive, did not derive from them a revenue
equal to that of Francis. As he did not take the field in person, the
war appeared to his subjects only a common war, proceeding upon the
ordinary motives of war. But my countrymen were led by their sovereign,
were fresh from the recent insolence of an invasion of their own
territory, and fought at once for personal glory and their country’s
honour. The king, who commanded them, seemed expressly formed to obtain
their attachment and affection. His nobles became enthusiastic by the
example of his enthusiasm, and willingly disbursed their revenues to
give prosperity and éclat to the campaign.
The first question that arose upon the approach of the enemy was,
whether we should break up the siege, and attend in some strong post
the slow, but sure, effect of their want of money, and the consequent
dispersion of their troops, or wait their attack in our present
posture. The former advice was safe; but to the gallant spirit of
Francis it appeared ignominious. He was upon all occasions the partisan
of rapid measures and decisive proceedings; and his temper, with the
exception of a few wary and deliberate counsellors, accorded with
that of our whole army. For some days we congratulated ourselves upon
the wisdom of our choice; we presented to the enemy so formidable an
appearance, that, notwithstanding the cogent motives he had to proceed,
he hesitated long before he ventured to attack us. At length, however,
the day came that was pregnant with so momentous expectation.
If through the whole limits of our camp there was not a man that did
not feel himself roused upon this glorious occasion, to me it was
especially interesting. The scene accorded with the whole purpose of
my education, and novelty made it impressive. I lived only in the
present moment. I had not a thought, a wish, a straggling imagination,
that wandered beyond the circuit of the day. My soul was filled; at one
minute wild with expectation, and at another awed into solemnity. There
is something indescribably delicious in this concentration of the mind.
It raises a man above himself; and makes him feel a certain nobleness
and elevation of character, of the possession of which he was to that
hour unconscious. Fear and pain were ideas that could find no harbour
in my bosom: I regarded this as the most memorable of days, and myself
as the most fortunate of mortals. Far indeed was I from anticipating
the disgraceful event, in which this elation of heart speedily
terminated.
The sun rose bright in a cloudless sky. The cold of the season was
such, as only to give new lightness and elasticity to the muscles and
animal spirits. I saw few of those objects of nature, which in this
delightful climate gave so sacred a pleasure to the human soul. But
in my present temper there was no object of sight so ravishing, as
the firm and equal steps of the martial bands, the impatience of the
war-horse, and the display of military standards; nor any music so
enchanting, as the shrillness of the pipe, the clangor of the trumpet,
the neighing of steeds, and the roaring of cannon. It is thus that man
disguises to himself the real nature of his occupation; and clothes
that which is of all things the most nefarious or most to be lamented,
with the semblance of jubilee and festival.
The Imperialists were at first unable to withstand the efforts of
French valour. They gave way on every side; we pursued our advantage
with impetuosity. To the slaughter of whole ranks mowed down with
tremendous celerity, to the agonies of the dying, I was blind; their
groans had no effect on my organ, for my soul was occupied in another
direction. My horse’s heels spurned their mangled limbs, and were red
with their blood. I fought not merely with valour, but with fury; I
animated those around me by my example and my acclamations. It may seem
contrary to delicacy to speak with this freedom of my own praises;
but I am at my present writing totally changed and removed from what
I was, and I write with the freedom of a general historian. It is
this simplicity and ingenuousness that shall pervade the whole of my
narrative.
The fortune of the day speedily changed. The cowardice and desertion
of our Swiss allies gave the first signal of adversity. The gallant
commander of the garrison of Pavia sallied out in the midst of the
fight, and suddenly attacked us in the rear. A stratagem of the
Imperial general effected the rout of our cavalry. The whole face of
the field was utterly reversed.
It would be in vain for me to attempt to describe even the small part
that I beheld of the calamity and slaughter of the French army. At
this distance of time, the recollection of it opens afresh the almost
obliterated wounds of my heart. I saw my friends cut down, and perish
on every side. Those who, together with myself, had marched out in the
morning, swelled with exultation and hope, now lay weltering in their
blood. Their desires, their thoughts, their existence, were brought to
a fatal termination. The common soldiers were hewed and cut to pieces
by hundreds, without note and observation. Many of the first nobility
of France, made desperate by the change of the battle, rushed into the
thickest of the foe, and became so many voluntary sacrifices; choosing
rather to perish, than to turn their backs with dishonour.
In the battle I had two horses killed under me. The first of them
suffered a sort of gradual destruction. He had already received one
wound in the nostrils, and another in the neck, when a third shot
carried away two of his feet, and laid him prostrate on the earth.
Bernardin, my faithful attendant, observed what was passing, and
immediately brought me a fresh charger; but I had not long mounted him,
when he received a wound which killed him on the spot. I was myself
hurt in several places, and at length the stroke of a sabre brought
me to the ground. Here I remained for a long time insensible. When I
recovered, and looked around me, I found myself in entire solitude,
and could at present perceive no trace either of the enemy or of my
own people. Soon, however, I recollected what had passed, and was but
too well assured of the defeat my countrymen had sustained. Weak
and battered as I was, I attempted to retire to a place of greater
security. I had scarcely changed my ground, before I saw a trooper
of the enemy rushing towards me, with the intention to take away my
life. Fortunately I observed a tree at hand, to the shelter of which I
hastened; and, partly by moving the branches to and fro, and partly by
shifting my position, I baffled my adversary, till he became weary of
the attempt. A moment after, I saw one of my most intimate and familiar
companions killed before my eyes. It was not long, however, before a
party of fugitive French came up to the spot where I stood, and I, like
the rest, was hurried from the field. My uncle perished in the battle.
It is wonderful how men can harden their hearts against such scenes as
I then witnessed. It is wonderful how they can be brought to co-operate
in such demoniac fury, and more than demoniac mischief, barbarity, and
murder. But they are brought to it; and enter, not from a deplorable
necessity, but as to a festival, in which each man is eager to occupy
his place, and share the amusements. It seemed to me at that time, as
it seems to me now, that it should be enough for a man to contemplate
such a field as I saw at Pavia, to induce him to abjure the trade of
violence for ever, and to commit his sword once more to the bowels of
the earth, from which it was torn for so nefarious a purpose.
These sensations, though now finally established in my mind, were, at
the time of which I am writing, but of fleeting duration. The force of
education, and the first bent of my mind, were too strong. The horror
which overwhelmed me in the first moments of this great national defeat
subsided; and the military passion returned upon me in its original
ardour. My convictions, and the moral integrity of my soul, were
temporary; and I became myself a monument of that inconstancy and that
wonder, to which I have just alluded.
Various circumstances, however, prevented this passion from its direct
operation. The character of France was altered by the battle of Pavia,
though mine remained the same. It was in the fullest degree decisive
of the fortune of the war. Milan, and every other place in the
duchy, opened their gates to the conqueror; and, in a fortnight, not
a Frenchman was left in the fields of Italy. Of the whole army only a
small body effected an orderly retreat, under the command of the Duke
of Alençon. Many persons of the highest distinction perished in the
battle: many were made prisoners by the enemy. France by this event
found the list of her noblesse considerably reduced in numbers; add to
which, those whose loss she sustained, were almost all of them taken
from among the most distinguished and meritorious in the catalogue.
But what constituted the principal feature in this memorable event
was, that the king himself was found in the number of the prisoners;
nor was he released by his ungenerous competitor till after more
than a twelvemonth’s confinement. During this period Francis tasted
of the dregs of adversity. Inclined in the first instance to judge
of his rival by himself, he expected a liberal treatment. In this
he was deeply disappointed. After a detention of many months in the
Milanese, the scene of his former successes, he was transferred to
Madrid. He was personally neglected by the emperor, while his disloyal
subject[6] was treated with singular distinction. The most rigorous
terms were proposed to him. All this had the effect, in one instance,
of sinking him into a disease of languor and dejection which he was not
expected to survive; and, in another, of inducing him to execute an
instrument by which he abdicated the crown, and declared his resolution
of remaining a prisoner for life. His confinement was at length
terminated by his solemnly engaging to compulsory articles, which he
was determined to break as soon as he found himself at liberty; an
alternative peculiarly grating to the liberality of his spirit. This
reverse of fortune materially changed his character. The fine spirit
of his ambition was from this time evaporated; and, while he still
retained the indefeasible qualities of his soul, and was gallant,
kind-hearted, and generous, he bartered, as far as was compatible
with his disposition, the enterprising and audacious temper he had
previously manifested, for the wary and phlegmatic system of his
more fortunate competitor. His genius cowered before that of Charles;
and the defeat of Pavia may, perhaps, be considered as having given a
deadly wound to the reign of chivalry, and a secure foundation to that
of craft, dissimulation, corruption, and commerce.