The letters which had made Murat resolve to leave Corsica had been
brought to him by a Calabrian named Luidgi. He had presented himself to
the king as the envoy of the Arab, Othello, who had been thrown into
prison in Naples, as we have related, as well as the seven recipients of
the letters.
The answers, written by the head of the Neapolitan police, indicated the
port of Salerno as the best place for Joachim to land; for King
Ferdinand had assembled three thousand Austrian troops at that point,
not daring to trust the Neapolitan soldiers, who cherished a brilliant
and enthusiastic memory of Murat.
Accordingly the flotilla was directed for the Gulf of Salerno, but
within sight of the island of Capri a violent storm broke over it, and
drove it as far as Paola, a little seaport situated ten miles from
Cosenza. Consequently the vessels were anchored for the night of the 5th
of October in a little indentation of the coast not worthy of the name
of a roadstead. The king, to remove all suspicion from the coastguards
and the Sicilian scorridori, [Small vessels fitted up as ships-of-war.]
ordered that all lights should be extinguished and that the vessels
should tack about during the night; but towards one o'clock such a
violent land-wind sprang up that the expedition was driven out to sea,
so that on the 6th at dawn the king's vessel was alone.
During the morning they overhauled Captain Cicconi's felucca, and the
two ships dropped anchor at four o'clock in sight of Santo-Lucido. In
the evening the king commanded Ottoviani, a staff officer, to go ashore
and reconnoitre. Luidgi offered to accompany him. Murat accepted his
services. So Ottoviani and his guide went ashore, whilst Cicconi and his
felucca put out to sea in search of the rest of the fleet.
Towards eleven o'clock at night the lieutenant of the watch descried a
man in the waves swimming to the vessel. As soon as he was within
hearing the lieutenant hailed him. The swimmer immediately made himself
known: it was Luidgi. They put out the boat, and he came on board. Then
he told them that Ottoviani had been arrested, and he had only escaped
himself by jumping into the sea. Murat's first idea was to go to the
rescue of Ottoviani; but Luidgi made the king realise the danger and
uselessness of such an attempt; nevertheless, Joachim remained agitated
and irresolute until two o'clock in the morning.
At last he gave the order to put to sea again. During the manoeuvre
which effected this a sailor fell overboard and disappeared before they
had time to help him. Decidedly these were ill omens.
On the morning of the 7th two vessels were in sight. The king gave the
order to prepare for action, but Barbara recognised them as Cicconi's
felucca and Courrand's lugger, which had joined each other and were
keeping each other company. They hoisted the necessary signals, and the
two captains brought up their vessels alongside the admiral's.
While they were deliberating as to what route to follow, a boat came up
to Murat's vessel. Captain Pernice was on board with a lieutenant. They
came to ask the king's permission to board his ship, not wishing to
remain on Courrand's, for in their opinion he was a traitor.
Murat sent to fetch him, and in spite of his protestations he was made
to descend into a boat with fifty men, and the boat was moored to the
vessel. The order was carried out at once, and the little squadron
advanced, coasting along the shores of Calabria without losing sight of
them; but at ten o'clock in the evening, just as they came abreast of
the Gulf of Santa-Eufemia, Captain Courrand cut the rope which moored
his boat to the vessel, and rowed away from the fleet.
Murat had thrown himself on to his bed without undressing; they brought
him the news.
He rushed up to the deck, and arrived in time to see the boat, which was
fleeing in the direction of Corsica, grow small and vanish in the
distance. He remained motionless, not uttering a cry, giving no signs of
rage; he only sighed and let his head fall on his breast: it was one
more leaf falling from the exhausted tree of his hopes.
General Franceschetti profited by this hour of discouragement to advise
him not to land in Calabria, and to go direct to Trieste, in order to
claim from Austria the refuge which had been offered.
The king was going through one of those periods of extreme exhaustion,
of mortal depression, when courage quite gives way: he refused flatly at
first, and there at last agreed to do it.
Just then the general perceived a sailor lying on some coils of ropes,
within hearing of all they said; he interrupted himself, and pointed him
out to Murat.
The latter got up, went to see the man, and recognised Luidgi; overcome
with exhaustion, he had fallen asleep on deck. The king satisfied
himself that the sleep was genuine, and besides he had full confidence
in the man. The conversation, which had been interrupted for a moment,
was renewed: it was agreed that without saying anything about the new
plans, they would clear Cape Spartivento and enter the Adriatic; then
the king and the general went below again to the lower deck.
The next day, the 8th October, they found themselves abreast of Pizzo,
when Joachim, questioned by Barbara as to what he proposed to do, gave
the order to steer for Messina. Barbara answered that he was ready to
obey, but that they were in need of food and water; consequently he
offered to go on, board Cicconi's vessel and to land with him to get
stores. The king agreed; Barbara asked for the passports which he had
received from the allied powers, in order, he said, not to be molested
by the local authorities.
These documents were too important for Murat to consent to part with
them; perhaps the king was beginning to suspect: he refused. Barbara
insisted; Murat ordered him to land without the papers; Barbara flatly
refused.
The king, accustomed to being obeyed, raised his riding-whip to strike
the Maltese, but, changing his resolution, he ordered the soldiers to
prepare their arms, the officers to put on full uniform; he himself set
the example. The disembarkation was decided upon, and Pizzo was to
become the Golfe Juan of the new Napoleon.
Consequently the vessels were steered for land. The king got down into a
boat with twenty-eight soldiers and three servants, amongst whom was
Luidgi. As they drew near the shore General Franceschetti made a
movement as if to land, but Murat stopped him.
"It is for me to land first," he said, and he sprang on shore.
He was dressed in a general's coat, white breeches and riding-boots, a
belt carrying two pistols, a gold-embroidered hat with a cockade
fastened in with a clasp made of fourteen brilliants, and lastly he
carried under his arm the banner round which he hoped to rally his
partisans. The town clock of Pizzo struck ten. Murat went straight up to
the town, from which he was hardly a hundred yards distant. He followed
the wide stone staircase which led up to it.
It was Sunday. Mass was about to be celebrated, and the whole population
had assembled in the Great Square when he arrived. No one recognised
him, and everyone gazed with astonishment at the fine officer. Presently
he saw amongst the peasants a former sergeant of his who had served in
his guard at Naples. He walked straight up to him and put his hand on
the man's shoulder.
"Tavella," he said, "don't you recognise me?"
But as the man made no answer:
"I am Joachim Murat, I am your king," he said. "Yours be the honour to
shout 'Long live Joachim!' first."
Murat's suite instantly made the air ring with acclamations, but the
Calabrians remained silent, and not one of his comrades took up the cry
for which the king himself had given the signal; on the contrary, a low
murmur ran through the crowd. Murat well understood this forerunner of
the storm.
"Well," he said to Tavella, "if you won't cry 'Long live Joachim!' you
can at least fetch me a horse, and from sergeant I will promote you to
be captain."
Tavella walked away without answering, but instead of carrying out the
king's behest, went into his house, and did not appear again.
In the meantime the people were massing together without evincing any of
the sympathy that the king had hoped for. He felt that he was lost if he
did not act instantly.
"To Monteleone!" he cried, springing forward towards the road which led
to that town.
"To Monteleone!" shouted his officers and men, as they followed him.
And the crowd, persistently silent, opened to let them pass.
But they had hardly left the square before a great disturbance broke
out. A man named Giorgio Pellegrino came out of his house with a gun and
crossed the square, shouting, "To your arms!"
He knew that Captain Trenta Capelli commanding the Cosenza garrison was
just then in Pizzo, and he was going to warn him.
The cry "To arms!" had more effect on the crowd than the cry "Long live
Joachim!"
Every Calabrian possesses a gun, and each one ran to fetch his, and when
Trenta Capelli and Giorgio Pellegrino came back to the square they found
nearly two hundred armed men there.
They placed themselves at the head of the column, and hastened forward
in pursuit of the king; they came up with him about ten minutes from the
square, where the bridge is nowadays. Seeing them, Murat stopped and
waited for them.
Trenta Capelli advanced, sword in hand, towards the king.
"Sir," said the latter, "will you exchange your captain's epaulettes for
a general's? Cry 'Long live Joachim!' and follow me with these brave
fellows to Monteleone."
"Sire," said Trenta Capelli, "we are the faithful subjects of King
Ferdinand, and we come to fight you, and not to bear you company. Give
yourself up, if you would prevent bloodshed."
Murat looked at the captain with an expression which it would be
impossible to describe; then without deigning to answer, he signed to
Cagelli to move away, while his other hand went to his pistol. Giotgio
Pellegrino perceived the movement.
"Down, captain, down!" he cried. The captain obeyed. Immediately a
bullet whistled over his head and brushed Murat's head.
"Fire!" commanded Franceschetti.
"Down with your arms!" cried Murat.
Waving his handkerchief in his right hand, he made a step towards the
peasants, but at the same moment a number of shots were fired, an
officer and two or three men fell. In a case like this, when blood has
begun to flow, there is no stopping it.
Murat knew this fatal truth, and his course of action was rapidly
decided on. Before him he had five hundred armed men, and behind him a
precipice thirty feet high: he sprang from the jagged rock on which he
was standing, and alighting on the sand, jumped up safe and sound.
General Franceschetti and his aide-de-camp Campana were able to
accomplish the jump in the same way, and all three went rapidly down to
the sea through the little wood which lay within a hundred yards of the
shore, and which hid them for a few moments from their enemies.
As they came out of the wood a fresh discharge greeted them, bullets
whistled round them, but no one was hit, and the three fugitives went on
down to the beach.
It was only then that the king perceived that the boat which had brought
them to land had gone off again. The three ships which composed the
fleet, far from remaining to guard his landing, were sailing away at
full speed into the open sea.
The Maltese, Barbara, was going off not only with Murat's fortune, but
with his hopes likewise, his salvation, his very life. They could not
believe in such treachery, and the king took it for some manoeuvre of
seamanship, and seeing a fishing-boat drawn up on the beach on some
nets, he called to his two companions, "Launch that boat!"
They all began to push it down to the sea with the energy of despair,
the strength of agony.
No one had dared to leap from the rock in pursuit of them; their
enemies, forced to make a detour, left them a few moments of liberty.
But soon shouts were heard: Giorgio Pellegrino, Trenta Capelli, followed
by the whole population of Pizzo, rushed out about a hundred and fifty
paces from where Murat, Franceschetti, and Campana were straining
themselves to make the boat glide down the sand.
These cries were immediately followed by a volley. Campana fell, with a
bullet through his heart.
The boat, however, was launched. Franceschetti sprang into it, Murat was
about to follow, but he had not observed that the spurs of his
riding-boots had caught in the meshes of the net. The boat, yielding to
the push he gave it, glided away, and the king fell head foremost, with
his feet on land and his face in the water. Before he had time to pick
himself up, the populace had fallen on him: in one instant they had torn
away his epaulettes, his banner, and his coat, and would have torn him
to bits himself, had not Giorgio Pellegrino and Trenta Capelli taken him
under their protection, and giving him an arm on each side, defended him
in their turn against the people. Thus he crossed the square as a
prisoner where an hour before he had walked as a king.
His captors took him to the castle: he was pushed into the common
prison, the door was shut upon him, and the king found himself among
thieves and murderers, who, not knowing him, took him for a companion in
crime, and greeted him with foul language and hoots of derision.
A quarter of an hour later the door of the gaol opened and Commander
Mattei came in: he found Murat standing with head proudly erect and
folded arms. There was an expression of indefinable loftiness in this
half-naked man whose face was stained with blood and bespattered with
mud. Mattei bowed before him.
"Commander," said Murat, recognising his rank by his epaulettes, "look
round you and tell me whether this is a prison for a king."
Then a strange thing happened: the criminals, who, believing Murat their
accomplice, had welcomed him with vociferations and laughter, now bent
before his royal majesty, which had not overawed Pellegrino and Trenta
Capelli, and retired silently to the depths of their dungeon.
Misfortune had invested Murat with a new power.
Commander Mattei murmured some excuse, and invited Murat to follow him
to a room that he had had prepared for him; but before going out, Murat
put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of gold and let it
fall in a shower in the midst of the gaol.
"See," he said, turning towards the prisoners, "it shall not be said
that you have received a visit from a king, prisoner and crownless as he
is, without having received largesse."
"Long live Joachim!" cried the prisoners.
Murat smiled bitterly. Those same words repeated by the same number of
voices an hour before in the public square, instead of resounding in the
prison, would have made him King of Naples.
The most important events proceed sometimes from such mere trifles, that
it seems as if God and the devil must throw dice for the life or death
of men, for the rise or fall of empires.
Murat followed Commander Mattei: he led him to a little room which the
porter had put at his disposal. Mattei was going to retire when Murat
called him back.
"Commander," he said, "I want a scented bath."
"Sire, it will be difficult to obtain."
"Here are fifty ducats; let someone buy all the eau de Cologne that can
be obtained. Ah--and let some tailors be sent to me."
"It will be impossible to find anyone here capable of making anything
but a peasant's clothes."
"Send someone to Monteleone to fetch them from there."
The commander bowed and went out.
Murat was in his bath when the Lavaliere Alcala was announced, a General
and Governor of the town. He had sent damask coverlets, curtains, and
arm-chairs. Murat was touched by this attention, and it gave him fresh
composure. At two o'clock the same day General Nunziante arrived from
Santa-Tropea with three thousand men. Murat greeted his old acquaintance
with pleasure; but at the first word the king perceived that he was
before his judge, and that he had not come for the purpose of making a
visit, but to make an official inquiry.
Murat contented himself with stating that he had been on his way from
Corsica to Trieste with a passport from the Emperor of Austria when
stormy weather and lack of provisions had forced him to put into Pizzo.
All other questions Murat met with a stubborn silence; then at least,
wearied by his importunity--
"General," he said, "can you lend me some clothes after my bath?"
The general understood that he could expect no more information, and,
bowing to the king, he went out. Ten minutes later, a complete uniform
was brought to Murat; he put it on immediately, asked for a pen and ink,
wrote to the commander-in-chief of the Austrian troops at Naples, to the
English ambassador, and to his wife, to tell them of his detention at
Pizzo. These letters written, he got up and paced his room for some time
in evident agitation; at last, needing fresh air, he opened the window.
There was a view of the very beach where he had been captured.
Two men were digging a hole in the sand at the foot of the little
redoubt. Murat watched them mechanically. When the two men had finished,
they went into a neighbouring house and soon came out, bearing a corpse
in their arms.
The king searched his memory, and indeed it seemed to him that in the
midst of that terrible scene he had seen someone fall, but who it was he
no longer remembered. The corpse was quite without covering, but by the
long black hair and youthful outlines the king recognised Campana, the
aide-decamp he had always loved best.
This scene, watched from a prison window in the twilight, this solitary
burial on the shore, in the sand, moved Murat more deeply than his own
fate. Great tears filled his eyes and fell silently down the leonine
face. At that moment General Nunziante came in and surprised him with
outstretched arms and face bathed with tears. Murat heard him enter and
turned round, and seeing the old soldier's surprise.
"Yes, general," he said, "I weep; I weep for that boy, just twenty-four,
entrusted to me by his parents, whose death I have brought about. I weep
for that vast, brilliant future which is buried in an unknown grave, in
an enemy's country, on a hostile shore. Oh, Campana! Campana! if ever I
am king again, I will raise you a royal tomb."
The general had had dinner served in an adjacent room. Murat followed
him and sat down to table, but he could not eat. The sight which he had
just witnessed had made him heartbroken, and yet without a line on his
brow that man had been through the battles of Aboukir, Eylau, and
Moscow! After dinner, Murat went into his room again, gave his various
letters to General Nunziante, and begged to be left alone. The general
went away.
Murat paced round his room several times, walking with long steps, and
pausing from time to time before the window, but without opening it.
At last he overcame a deep reluctance, put his hand on the bolt and drew
the lattice towards him.
It was a calm, clear night: one could see the whole shore. He looked for
Campana's grave. Two dogs scratching the sand showed him the spot.
The king shut the window violently, and without undressing threw himself
onto his bed. At last, fearing that his agitation would be attributed to
personal alarm, he undressed and went to bed, to sleep, or seem to sleep
all night.
On the morning of the 9th the tailors whom Murat had asked for arrived.
He ordered a great many clothes, taking the trouble to explain all the
details suggested by his fastidious taste. He was thus employed when
General Nunziante came in. He listened sadly to the king's commands. He
had just received telegraphic despatches ordering him to try the King of
Naples by court-martial as a public enemy. But he found the king so
confident, so tranquil, almost cheerful indeed, that he had not the
heart to announce his trial to him, and took upon himself to delay the
opening of operation until he received written instructions. These
arrived on the evening of the 12th. They were couched in the following
terms: