Nothing can be more evanescent than the impressions of reason on a
small mind. That of Charles VIII. might almost be compared to a
looking-glass; it reflected only that which was before it; and, ere
the conditions of accommodation between himself and the pope were
completely arranged, he had forgotten his desire to march on
speedily--he had forgotten the extreme peril of not doing so.
A whole month passed in fêtes and ceremonies, and found the French
monarch and his army still in Rome; but there were persons in his camp
and court both wiser and more impatient, and at length he was induced
to name the day of departure.
Again he commenced his advance, with troops refreshed, and all the
pageantry of war renewed and brightened. The order of march was made
as it had been before; a few small bodies of cavalry in advance, then
the Swiss and Gascon foot, then the great body of men-at-arms, and
lastly, at some distance in the rear, the household of the king,
escorted by his own guard, and followed by an immense train of
courtiers, servants, and attendants.
In this part of the cavalcade appeared two groups of peculiar
interest. Mounted on a splendid charger, and attired more like a
warrior than a churchman, came the Cardinal Borgia, the hostage for
the pope. An enormous train followed him, more in number, indeed, than
that which attended upon the king. Led horses, with their grooms,
mules and pack-saddles, litters, with curtains of crimson and gold, in
which, it was whispered, were some of the flowers of the cardinal's
seraglio, an immense quantity of baggage drawn slowly on in ox-carts,
and a number of men on foot, tolerably well armed for the attendants
of a cardinal, followed him in the march, and made his part of the
cavalcade as brilliant as any other.
Still farther in the rear appeared a somewhat lugubrious troop, at the
head of which was borne a square black banner on a gilded pole. Then
came litter after litter with black curtains, followed by a small body
of mounted men, whose turbans and cimiters betokened the race from
which they sprang.
In the front litter, the curtains of which were in part drawn back,
might be seen a man about the middle age, somewhat large and heavy in
figure, but with a mild, intelligent face. This was the unfortunate
Zizim, the brother of Bajazet, who followed the King of France rather
as a guest than a prisoner, but who well knew that he was no more the
master of his own actions than if there had been manacles on his
wrists. Yet there was hope in his heart--hope which had not tenanted
it for many a long month. He knew, indeed, that he was to be
subservient to the will of a powerful monarch, but he knew also that,
in the coming struggle, when, supported by French troops, he was to
shake the throne of his brother, there was a chance, and a good one,
of recovering what he rightly or wrongly considered as his own. His
family followed in the litters behind him; and a few faithful servants
and attendants who shared his fortunes in good and evil, made up the
rest of the band.
With drums, and trumpets, and banners flying, and nodding plumes, and
all-the pomp and pageantry of war, the French army marched forward,
while the first breath of spring was felt in the air, and a slight
filmy cloud here and there in the sky promised, like the hopes of
youth, an early enjoyment of summer long before, in reality, it
approached. Mirth and laughter reigned in the ranks of the French
army, and the expedition seemed more like an excursion of pleasure
than a great military enterprise.
The day's march was somewhat long, although it did not commence very
early; but Charles had suddenly re-awakened to the necessity of
reaching Naples speedily; and even the sluggish Duke of Montpensier,
who rarely rose before noon-day, was eager to get forward, and had
been in the saddle by nine.
At length the halt was ordered; lodgings were found in a small village
for the king and the principal personages who attended him; tents were
pitched in the fields and groves around; and, after one of those
scenes of indescribable bustle and confusion which always attend the
first night's encampment of an army, the gay French soldiery gave
themselves up to revelry and merriment.
Couriers came from Rome during the evening, bringing delicious wines
and delicacies as presents from Pope Alexander to the king; and,
although it was somewhat dangerous to eat of his meat or drink of his
cup, let it be said, none of the French court was injured that day by
the bounties he provided.
On the following morning the march recommenced in the same order; the
encampment again took place at night; the night passed away; but,
while the army was getting under arms in the early morning, it was
found that two of the king's honoured guests were gone.
Cardinal Borgia, the pope's hostage, was nowhere to be found; litters
and rosy curtains, attendants on foot and on horseback, pack-horses
and mules, had all disappeared, and it became very evident that Cæsar,
not liking the position he occupied in the French army, had quitted
it, and taken himself back to Rome.
Zizim also, the unfortunate Ottoman prince, had departed, but on a
longer journey, and to a more distant land. He had been taken ill
during the night; symptoms of poison had shown themselves at an early
hour; the disease, whatever it was, had a rapid course, and ere day
dawned the eyes of Zizim were closed in the night of death. It was
shown that messengers from his friend Pope Alexander had visited him
during the preceding evening, and a thousand vague stories ran through
the camp not at all complimentary to the moral character of the pope;
but Charles VIII., whatever might be his suspicions, sent back the
family and the corpse of the Turkish prince to Alexander. The latter,
indeed, was a valuable present, perhaps more so than any corpse ever
was before or since; for, on delivering it to the agents of Bajazet,
the messengers of the pope received three hundred thousand ducats of
gold, as compensation for some act faithfully performed.
These events created much surprise and some uneasiness in the court of
Charles VIII. The graces, the exceeding beauty, and the winning
eloquence of Cæsar Borgia had dissipated all the doubts and suspicions
which, even at that early period of his life, hung about him. At a
distance, men abhorred and condemned him; once within the magic circle
of his influence, fear and hatred passed away, and friendship and
confidence succeeded in even the most cautious. But now, when he fled
from the post he had voluntarily undertaken, when he set at nought the
engagements which he had been the first to propose, suspicion was
re-awakened; couriers were sent off in haste to the towns which
Alexander had surrendered as securities to the king, and the officers
commanding the garrisons were strictly enjoined to keep guard
carefully against a surprise.
Before that day's march was ended, new causes of apprehension were
added to those which already existed. Intelligence was received that
Alphonzo, King of Naples, who had merited and won the hatred of his
people, had abdicated in favour of his son Ferdinand, a prince
universally beloved and respected. Gallant in the field, courteous and
kind in his personal demeanour, constant and firm, as well as gentle,
he boasted at an after period that he had never inflicted an injury
upon any of his own or his father's subjects, and there were none
found to contradict.
Such a prince might be naturally expected to rally round him all that
was noble, generous, and gallant among the Neapolitan people; and
whatever Charles himself might think, there were many in his council
who knew well how difficult a task it is to conquer a united and
patriotic nation.
They heard that he had assumed the crown amidst shouts and rejoicings,
that voluntary levies were swelling his forces, and that he himself
had advanced to the frontier of his kingdom, and had taken up a
commanding position ready to do battle in defence of his throne.
The march of the King of France became much more circumspect; parties
were thrown out in different directions to obtain intelligence, and no
longer with gay and joyous revelry, but with compact array and rigid
discipline, the host moved forward, and passed the Neapolitan
frontier.
Where was the army which was to oppose its progress? Where the
numerous and zealous friends of the young sovereign? Nowhere.
Some turbulent proceedings in the city of Naples, instigated, it is
supposed, by French emissaries, recalled Ferdinand for a few days to
his capital. When he returned to the army, he found it nearly
disbanded, terror in the hearts of those who remained, and perhaps
treachery also.
There was no possibility of keeping the troops together; and with
disappointment, but not with despair, Ferdinand returned to Naples, in
the hope of defending the city against the invader. Vain was the hope;
misfortune dogged him still.
The volatile people, who had shouted so loudly as his succession,
received him in dull and ominous silence; and he soon learned that he
could neither depend upon their support nor upon the fidelity of the
mercenary troops with which his father had garrisoned the two great
citadels. Day by day from the various fortresses of the kingdom came
warnings of what might be expected of the people of Naples.
Terrified at the approach of the French, the inhabitants of the
various cities on Charles's line of march clamoured for immediate
surrender even before they were summoned; and the governors and
garrisons only delayed that surrender till they could make a bargain
with the counsellors of the French monarch, not for safety and
immunity, but for payment and reward.
It was an observation of the cunning Breconnel, that golden bullets
shattered down more walls in the kingdom of Naples than any of the
bombards of the army; but, as the finances of Charles were not very
flourishing, he was obliged to be lavish of promises when he could not
pay in money.
But I must follow a little farther the history of the gallant
prince whom the French monarch came to dethrone. Left almost alone in
his palace, Ferdinand saw nothing around him but desertion and
treachery--heard of nothing but plots against his person or his power.
Calmly, deliberately he took his resolution. He selected several
vessels in the harbour, manned them with persons on whom he could
rely, and then addressed the people of Naples, telling them, in a
speech which may be apocryphal, but which is full of calm dignity and
noble courage, that it was his intention to leave the capital.
He told them that he was ready to fight with them and for them, but
that the cowardice of the soldiery and treachery of their leaders
deprived him of the hope of success. He advised them, as soon as he
was gone, to treat with France; he set them free from their allegiance
to him; he exhorted them to live peacefully under their new lord. But
he told them that he would ever be near them, and promised that,
should the yoke of the stranger ever become insupportable, they would
find him by their side, ever ready to shed his last drop of blood for
their deliverance.
"In my exile," he said, "it will be some consolation to me if you
allow that since my birth I have never injured any one of you, that I
have done my best to render you happy, and that it is not by my own
fault that I have lost a throne."
Some of the people wept, we are told, but the rest stole away to the
palace, and at once commenced the work of pillage. Ferdinand drove
them out at the point of the sword; but, finding that the garrison of
Castel Nuovo had already conspired to seize his person and sell him to
the French, he hurried on board his ships with a few friends, set fire
to the rest of the vessels in the harbour, and sailed for the Island
of Ischia.
There a new trait of human baseness awaited him. The governor of the
island and of an old castle, built, as is said, by the Saracens, which
then stood on the island, attempted to parley with the prince to whom
he owed all, refusing to receive him with more than one attendant.
Ferdinand sprang ashore alone, seized the villain by the throat, and,
casting him under his feet, trampled upon him in presence of his own
forces and the garrison. The castle was soon in his possession, but he
remained not long in Ischia.
On the 21st February, 1495, the French monarch approached the city of
Naples. The gates were thrown open, the streets hung with tapestry,
the windows crowded with admiring groups, and Charles entered, as if
in triumph, with an imperial crown upon his head, a sceptre in one
hand, and a globe in the other, while heralds proclaimed him emperor,
though it does not appear that they said of what empire.
The mercurial population went half wild with excitement, and shouted,
and danced, and screamed before his horse's feet; and had Charles been
St. Januarius himself, Naples could not have roared with more lusty
joy.
Yet the two castles still held out, the one merely to make conditions
for the benefit of the garrison, the other from nobler motives. The
Castel Nuovo was bought and sold without a shot being fired; but in
the Ovo was Frederick, the uncle of the dethroned king, and a faithful
garrison. The French artillery advanced and opened fire; the guns of
the castle replied boldly. Some damage was done in the city, and it
became evident that many of the finest buildings might be destroyed.
Negotiation was then commenced, and to Frederick's high honour be it
said, that he sought no terms for himself, although he knew that the
castle could not hold out many days. It was his nephew alone that he
thought of; and he strove hard to persuade the King of France to
bestow upon Ferdinand the duchy of Calabria on condition of his
abdicating the throne: but the council of the king would not consent
to leave so popular a competitor in Italy. They offered large
possessions in France, and drew out the negotiations to such a length,
that Frederick, finding the Ovo could hold out no longer, withdrew
with a small body of men, and, joining his nephew, took refuge with
him in Ischia.
The city of Naples was now completely in the power of the French, but
the kingdom was not so. Scattered over its various provinces were many
strong places. Brindisi, Otranto, Regio, Galliopoli, held out for the
house of Arragon, and the governors, too honest or too wise, would not
suffer themselves to be corrupted. The French army, holding already
several fortresses in Naples and the States of the Church, could not
afford men enough either to form the regular siege of any of those
places, or to garrison them if taken; and Charles and his court gave
themselves up to all those enjoyments for which the city of the Siren
has always been renowned.