I. HOW FRANÇOIS I. SET OUT FOR ITALY, AND HOW HE ENTERED MILAN.
|There is now no hindrance to my proposed campaign in Italy,” remarked
François I. to Bonnivet, when tidings of Bourbon's retreat were brought
him. “Milan will speedily be regained, Genoa will follow, and then let
the Emperor look well to Naples, if he would keep it. By Saint Louis!
I will pluck that jewel from his crown, and place it on my own. I sent
word to the Pope, that before the autumn was over I would cross the Alps
at the head of thirty thousand men. His holiness was incredulous, but he
will find it was no rash assertion. I will be in Milan within a month.”
“Your majesty overlooks one impediment,” remarked Bonnivet. “Your
gracious mother, the Duchess d'Angoulême, is averse to the expedition,
and may prevent it. She is now at Lyons, and will start for Aix as soon
as she learns that Bourbon has evacuated Provence. If you desire to
execute your project, avoid an interview with her.”
“The advice is good,” said François. “My plan is fixed, but I do not
wish to be importuned. I will despatch a messenger to the duchess with
a letter, bidding her adieu, and at the same time appointing her Regent
during my absence in Italy. Let immediate preparations be made for the
march. Two days hence we will set out for Lombardy.”
“Well resolved, sire,” rejoined Bonnivet. “I am convinced that you have
but to appear before Milan to compel its surrender.”
“We shall see,” said the king. “At all events, I do not think it will
hold out as long as Marseilles.”
“A propos of Marseilles, sire,” said Bonnivet, “you must not forget that
the principal citizens will be here to-morrow. No doubt they expect to
receive your majesty's thanks for their gallant defence of the city.”
“They shall have a worthy reception,” returned François. “A grand fête
shall be given in their honour. Give orders to that effect at once, and
see that all is done to gratify these loyal citizens.”
Next day, as had been anticipated, a numerous company arrived from
Marseilles. The cavalcade was headed by the viguier, the magistrates,
and many of the principal citizens, and was, moreover, accompanied
by the band of Amazons. Peals of ordnance were fired, bells rung and
trumpets brayed, as the procession entered Aix. The houses were hung
with banners, and the streets filled with people eager to give them
welcome. The Amazons were everywhere greeted with acclamations.
François received the party in the great hall of the palace. He was
surrounded by a brilliant assemblage, comprising the chief personages of
his army, and including, among others, the young King Henri of Navarre,
the Duc d'Alençon, the Grand Master of France, the Comte de Saint-Paul,
the Marshal de Montmorency, the Marshal de Foix, and the Seneschal
d'Armagnac. Near to the king, on the left, stood the lovely Diane de
Poitiers, and close behind them was a train of demoiselles and pages.
The viguier and the magistrates were presented to the king by Bonnivet,
who, with a band of young nobles, had met them at the gates, and
conducted them to the palace. François gave them a most cordial
reception, thanking them in the warmest terms for the courage and zeal
they had displayed. But his chief commendations were bestowed upon the
Amazons; and he presented two gems to Marphise and Marcelline, bidding
them wear them as tokens of his approval.
“I trust that my faithful city of Marseilles will never be placed in
the like strait again, so that it may need the defence of its dames,”
he said; “but should it be so, I doubt not your noble example will be
followed.”
“We have shown our fellow-citizens what women can do in the hour of
need, sire,” said Marphise; “but now that our services are no longer
required, we shall lay aside the arms we have borne, and resume our
customary avocations. This is the last occasion on which we shall appear
in these accoutrements--unless your majesty should think fit to call
upon us again. In that case, we shall be ready to resume them.”
“Foi de gentilhomme!” exclaimed François, smiling. “I am half inclined
to take you with me to Italy, where you would earn as much distinction
as you have done at Marseilles. How say you, fair damsels? Will you go
with us? Such a corps would prove irresistible.”
“Nay, sire,” interposed Diane. “They have done enough. Marseilles cannot
spare its heroines.”
“You are right,” said François. “I was but jesting. Women are not like
our ruder sex. They do not love war for its own sake. Our camp would be
no place for them.”
“The Amazons of old fought as well as men, sire--better, if all reports
be true,” said Marphise, boldly. “We have something of their spirit.”
“You ought to be soldiers' wives,” said François, smiling, “and on
my return from Italy--if you be not meanwhile wedded--I must find you
husbands among my bravest captains. It greatly rejoices me to see you
here to-day, for I had heard--much to my grief--that you perished during
the explosion of a mine.”
“We narrowly escaped being crushed to death, sire,” replied Marcelline.
“But after lying beneath the ruins for some hours, we were fortunately
extricated.”
“Heaven designed you for a better fate,” said the king. “I have but
imperfectly discharged my obligations to you. Whenever you have a favour
to solicit, hesitate not to come to me. Foi de gentilhomme! the request
shall be granted.”
“At some future time I may claim fulfilment of your royal promise,
sire,” returned Marcelline.
The whole party then retired, charmed with their gracious reception. A
sumptuous repast awaited them in the banqueting-chamber, and the rest of
the day was spent in festivity and rejoicing.
“Are you prepared to brave the difficulties of the march and accompany
me to Italy?” said François to Diane, as the Amazons withdrew.
“No, sire,” she replied; “and I would fain dissuade you from the
expedition. You have now an opportunity of making an advantageous peace
with the Emperor. Why not profit by it?”
“Honour forbids me,” he rejoined. “My own inclinations prompt me to
remain here. But I must requite the affront offered me by Bourbon. I
must win back the duchy I have lost.”
“And for this you will quit France--you will quit me?” she added, in a
lower tone.
“I must,” he replied. “I have been attacked, and I owe it to myself to
chastise the insolent aggressor.”
At this moment a letter was handed to him by Bonnivet.
“From the Duchess d'Angoulême, sire,” he said, in a significant tone, as
he delivered it.
“What says your royal mother, sire?” demanded Diane, who had watched his
countenance as he perused the letter. “I will wager she is of my mind,
and urges you to abandon the expedition.”
“You are right, ma mie,” replied the king. “She tells me she is coming
in all haste to Aix, having a secret of great importance to reveal to
me, and she entreats me to delay my departure till her arrival.”
“And you will comply with the request, sire?” said Diane. “No doubt she
has some state secret to communicate. You will wait?”
“I shall rather hasten my departure,” rejoined the king. “I can guess
the nature of her secret. It is a pretext to detain me--but I will not
yield. Make ready, messeigneurs,” he added to the leaders near him. “We
shall set forth to Italy to-morrow.”
“Why do you not dissuade his majesty from this expedition,
messeigneurs?” said Diane to Saint-Paul and Montmorency. “I know you
disapprove of it.”
“If your majesty would listen to me,” said Saint-Paul, “I would urge you
to delay the campaign till the spring. The season is too far advanced.
You will have to pass the winter in your tent, in the midst of snow and
water.”
“On the contrary, I shall pass the winter in the ducal palace at
Milan, which is as large and pleasant as the Château de Blois,” replied
François. “What think you of the expedition, Montmorency?” he added to
the marshal.
“Since you ask me, sire, I must say frankly that I am opposed to it,” he
replied. “I look upon the plains of Lombardy with dread. They are rife
with all ailments. Agues and fever abound there, and pestilence reigns
in the cities. I regard Lombardy as one vast sepulchre in which we are
all to be engulfed.”
“You had the plague at Abbiate-Grasso, and have not forgotten the
attack,” remarked the king.
“Ay, and the plague is now raging at Milan,” said Montmorency. “Beware
of it, sire. 'Tis a more deadly enemy than Bourbon.”
“Oh, do not venture into that infected city, sire,” implored Diane. “I
have a presentiment that this expedition will be disastrous.”
“Bah! I go to win another Marignan,” rejoined François.
“We have more than a month of fine weather before us now,” remarked
Bonnivet to Diane. “Long before winter has set in his majesty will be
master of Milan.”
“But the plague!--the plague!” cried Diane. “How is he to avoid that? Be
advised by me, sire, and stay in France, where you incur no risk.”
“I laugh at all danger,” rejoined the king. “My sole regret is that I
must perforce leave you behind. To those who cannot brave the rigours of
winter, or who are afraid of the pestilence,” he added, glancing at
Montmorency and Saint-Paul, “the roads of France will be open.”
“Nay, sire, as long as you remain in Italy I shall stay--even if I find
a tomb there,” said Montmorency.
“It is well,” rejoined François. “To-morrow we start on the
expedition.”
Seeing that her royal lover was inflexible, Diane made no further
effort to turn him from his purpose. Her only hope was that the Duchess
d'Angoulême might arrive before his departure. But in this she was
disappointed. François had taken his measures too well. A messenger
met the duchess on the way, and telling her the king was on the eve of
departure, she turned back.
It was a glorious day on which François, after taking a tender farewell
of Diane, set forth with his host from Aix--and it was a gallant sight
to see the king, arrayed in his splendid armour, and mounted on his
war-horse, issue from the gates accompanied by the flower of the French
chivalry. Proceeding by forced marches along the valley of the Durance
to Briançon, he crossed the Alps without difficulty by the Pass of Susa.
Enthusiastic was his delight at finding himself once more in Italy at
the head of an army which he deemed irresistible. Without encountering
any obstruction he pressed on to Vercelli, where he ascertained the
movements of the enemy.
The Imperial army, it appeared, had been greatly reduced by the forced
march from Marseilles, and had also sustained heavy losses of baggage
and artillery. Two thousand men had been thrown into Alexandria. Lodi,
Pizzighettone, and Como were also strongly garrisoned, but by far the
most formidable preparations had been made at Pavia, the defence of
which had been committed, as during Bonnivet's campaign in the previous
year, to Antonio de Leyva. The garrison of Pavia was now augmented by
five thousand German lanz-knechts under De Hohenzollern, five hundred
Spanish soldiers, and three hundred lances.
Bourbon and Pescara, accompanied by Lannoy, had marched with the rest of
the army to Milan, and thither François determined to follow them.
Two days after quitting Vercelli the king appeared before the city. His
approach could not, of course, be concealed from the Imperialists, and
a long counsel was held by Bourbon and the other chiefs as to the
possibility or prudence of holding the place against him. It was decided
that, considering the enfeebled condition of the troops and the infected
state of the city, there was no alternative but to abandon it. Defence
under such circumstances was, indeed, impossible, and had the Imperial
generals attempted to sustain a siege, the whole army would probably
have been destroyed by the pestilence.
Accompanied by Sforza, Pescara, and the others, Bourbon therefore
quitted the city, and proceeded to Lodi. Just as the last of the
Imperialists marched out of Milan by the Porta Romana, a detachment
of the French army, under La Trémouille, entered the city by the Porta
Vercellina.
The satisfaction which François would have felt at this easy conquest
was marred by the dismal aspect of the plague-stricken city. Ghastly
evidences of the presence of the Destroyer met his eye at every turn.
The deserted streets, the closed houses, the mournful air of the
populace--all conspired to cast a gloom over him.
Just then the pestilence was at its height. On the very day on which he
entered Milan with his host, several hundreds of persons had died, and
as many more were sick. The hospitals and lazar-houses were filled to
overflowing, and the pits surcharged with dead. No remedies could be
found to arrest the progress of the scourge. Almost all who were seized
by it perished, and the city was more than half depopulated.
No wonder that François blamed himself for his rashness in exposing his
army to so much peril. But he resolved that his stay in Milan should
be brief--no longer than was absolutely necessary to resume his
authority--and that all possible precautions should be taken against
contagion. With this view he secluded himself within the ducal palace,
and ordered the army to encamp without the walls.
II. BONNIVET'S LAST INTERVIEW WITH THE COMTESSA DI CHIERI.
|There was a fair dame in Milan, to behold whom Bonnivet had urged the
king, at all risks, to march on to the city. This was the Comtessa di
Chieri. Had it been possible, he would have flown to her immediately
on his arrival. But he was detained throughout the day at the ducal
palace, partly in immediate attendance upon the king, and partly in the
discharge of other duties that devolved upon him, for he was obliged to
confer with the civic officials and others whom François would not admit
to his presence. But he had despatched a messenger to the countess, with
a letter informing her that he would visit her in the evening, and had
received an answer saying she expected him.
When night came, and he was free, he flew to her palace in the Corso
Romano, and was instantly admitted. He found her in the superb saloon
where he had last seen her, surrounded with objects of luxury, and
looking beautiful as ever. But her appearance was somewhat changed.
There was a flush in her cheeks, and a preternatural brilliancy in her
dark eyes. A rapturous meeting took place between them, and the pain of
their long separation seemed forgotten in the bliss of the moment.
“I did not think I should ever behold you again,” she murmured.
“You doubted my love for you, or you could never have entertained that
notion,” he replied, passionately, “Hear what I have done to obtain this
interview. To pass an hour with you, Beata, I have prevailed upon the
king to undertake a new campaign in Italy. To throw myself at your feet,
I have induced him to march on Milan.”
“You should not have come now,” she rejoined. “Had I been able to do so,
I would have warned you to avoid this infected city.”
“I have no fear of the pestilence,” said Bonnivet. “And I would brave
any danger to be near you. But why have you exposed yourself to so much
risk? Why have you remained here?”
“I could not leave,” she rejoined. “And I have an excellent physician,
Doctor Nardi, who watches over me. Ah! here he is,” she added, as a
grave-looking personage, attired in a black silk doublet and hose, and
wearing a black silk skull-cap, entered the saloon.
After respectfully saluting Bonnivet, Doctor Nardi seated himself beside
the countess, and kept his eyes upon her for some moments. Bonnivet, who
watched him closely, thought he detected anxiety in his looks.
“You have not been quite well to-day, I think, countess?” remarked
Doctor Nardi.
“I had a severe headache this morning,” she replied. “But it has
passed.”
“Any feverish symptoms?” inquired the doctor.
“Yes,” she replied. “About an hour ago, I felt stifled with heat, and
then had a shivering fit. But there is nothing to be alarmed at?” she
added, nervously.
“Nothing--nothing,” he replied. “But you must retire to rest
immediately. The fever has not quite left you, and may return.”
“But why should I retire to rest, dear doctor?” appealed the countess.
“I do not feel ill. Ah! I see you are alarmed about me,” she continued,
gazing eagerly at him. “Tell me what is the matter?”
“Do not agitate yourself, signora,” he returned. “You will soon
be better--but you must attend to my directions. I will send you a
febrifuge presently, and will see you in the morning. Good night,
countess.”
He then bowed and departed, and Bonnivet, feeling very uneasy, followed
him out of the room.
“I trust the countess is not seriously ill, doctor?” inquired Bonnivet.
“A passing indisposition,” replied Nardi, evasively. “But you must not
stay, monseigneur. Take leave of the countess. At this awful season
there is no security that they who part at night may meet again on the
morrow.”
The last words were uttered with a significance that increased
Bonnivet's uneasiness.
“Do not conceal the truth from me, doctor,” he said. “The certainty,
however dreadful, would be more tolerable than suspense.”
“What purpose will it answer to tell you what I think?” rejoined Nardi.
“Be advised by me, and leave the palace without delay. Every moment you
remain here increases the risk.”
“Ha!” ejaculated Bonnivet, horror-stricken. “I now understand. But I
will not leave her.”
“As you please, monseigneur,” said Nardi. “I have warned you.”
“Stay, I implore of you,” cried Bonnivet, detaining him. “Is there any
means of saving her?”
“Alas! none,” replied Nardi. “She is beyond the power of medicine. I
have seen too many fatal cases lately to be mistaken. She has all
the worst symptoms about her. Before to-morrow morning she will be a
corpse.”
“Oh! say not so, doctor!” cried Bonnivet, distractedly.
“You are never content,” rejoined Nardi, petulantly, “You try to extract
the truth from me, and when I yield to your importunities, you are
dissatisfied. You now know the worst. Act as you think proper; but if
you would not yourself fall a victim to the pestilence, you will leave
the palace as expeditiously as possible. I will send a nurse to attend
upon the countess, and a priest to minister to her soul's welfare.”
“I cannot, will not, leave her,” rejoined Bonnivet, rushing back to the
saloon.
“Then share her fate,” muttered Nardi, shrugging his shoulders as he
departed.
Even in this brief interval a marked change had taken place in the
countess's looks. The flush in her cheeks had given way to deathly
pallor, but the fire in her large black eyes burnt yet more fiercely. As
Bonnivet re turned, she started up from the couch on which she had sunk,
and caught hold of his arm.
“What has he told you?” she demanded, gazing at him as if to search
into his soul. “I know he thinks me ill--very ill--but he does not
suspect--ha!” And she paused.
“No, no; calm yourself,” rejoined Bonnivet, endeavouring to reassure
her. “There is no danger. But he charged me to reiterate his order that
you should retire to rest immediately.”
“But I do not choose to obey him,” she rejoined. “I do not want to
part with you. I feel better--much better. Come and sit beside me,” she
added, returning to the couch, “and let us renew the discourse which the
doctor interrupted. I will leave Milan to-morrow. If you march to Lodi
or Pavia, I may accompany you--may I not?”
Bonnivet made no reply.
“You do not seem pleased by the proposition,” she continued. “Do you not
wish to have me near you?”
“Oh! this is more than I can bear!” exclaimed Bonnivet, unable to
repress his emotion.
The countess gazed at him bewildered,
“Your looks affright me,” she said, “I am sure Doctor Nardi has told you
more about me than you are----
PAGE 282-283 OF THE PRINTED TEXT IS MISSING
SEARCH OF LIBRARIES FAILED TO FIND ANOTHER COPY OF THIS BOOK
----authority over the garrison, which consists almost exclusively of
German lanz-knechts, who have been badly paid, and are known to be
discontented.”
“That may be true,” remarked Montmorency, “but De Leyva is a very
skilful commander, full of energy and resources, and will make a long
and vigorous defence. When the Imperial army quitted Milan on our
approach it was in a state of great disorder. The men had suffered
greatly by their march, and were in many cases without arms, and almost
without accoutrements. Again, the plague has thinned their ranks, and
those who are left are disheartened. They can soon be starved out at
Lodi, where provisions are scanty. Lodi ours--Bourbon, Pescara, Lannoy,
and Sforza captives--Pavia and all the other cities and fortresses
of the duchy must inevitably surrender. From these considerations,
I counsel your majesty to march on the Adda and not to encamp on the
Ticino.”
All the other leaders, except Saint-Marsault, concurred with
Montmorency; but Bonnivet would not give up his point.
“The king's honour is concerned in the matter,” he said. “A war waged
by his majesty in person ought not to be conducted according to the
ordinary rules of military tactics.”
“No successful war can be conducted otherwise,” remarked Montmorency,
contemptuously. “Such advice would not have been tendered by Bayard,
were he alive.”
“It comports not with the king's dignity to attack a small fortress
while an important city holds out,” restarted Bonnivet. “Pavia captured,
his majesty will be master of the Milanese, and can then proceed to the
invasion of Naples.”
“Foi de gentilhomme! you are right,” exclaimed the king. “Honour calls
us to Pavia and not to Lodi, and we will obey the summons. Seigneur de
la Trémouille,” he added to that general, “I entrust to you the defence
of this city of Milan. I will leave with you eight thousand fantassins
and three hundred lances--a force amply sufficient in the event of an
attack on the part of the Imperialists. As to you, messeigneurs,” he
continued to the others, “you will make ready. Tomorrow we set out for
Pavia.”
Towards evening, on the following day, François appeared before Pavia
with the whole of his army, excepting that portion of it which had been
left with La Trémouille for the defence of Milan.
The king was in excellent spirits, confident in his army, which was in
splendid condition, and well supplied with cavalry and artillery, and he
had entire faith in Bonnivet's representations that Pavia would be an
easy conquest, and its possession ensure him the mastery of the duchy.
It was therefore in a blithe mood that he approached the ancient capital
of the Longobardi kingdom, and gazed at its numerous towers and spires,
its proud Duomo and stern castello, rising from out its walls, and now
empurpled by the rays of the setting sun.
“Is not yon city better worth fighting for than Lodi, sire?” remarked
Bonnivet, who was riding near him, and saw what was passing in his
breast.
“Ay, marry is it,” rejoined the king. “I should almost be sorry if it
were to surrender. A week's siege will be pleasant pastime.”
“I do not think your majesty will be disappointed,” replied Bonnivet.
“De Leyva is obstinate, and will not yield without giving us some
trouble. But the city _must_ fall when you choose to take it, and
you can therefore proceed as leisurely as you will. As I have already
explained to your majesty, the garrison, which consists almost entirely
of German lanz-knechts, under the command of the Comte de Hohenzollern,
is discontented and even mutinous, and, if need be, can be easily
corrupted.”
“I would rather conquer with steel than gold,” rejoined François,
laughing. “But let us consider where I shall establish my quarters. I
must have access to yon charming park of Montibello, which, with its
woods and glades, reminds me of the forest of Fontainebleau.”
And, as he spoke, he pointed to a vast park, several miles in extent,
and very thickly wooded, lying to the north of the city. In the midst
of this park, which, extensive as it was, was completely surrounded by
strong and lofty walls, stood a large palace, which had been built as a
hunting-seat by Gian Galeazzo Visconti, Duke of Milan.
The palace, though merely designed to enable its princely owner to
pursue the pleasures of the chase, was strongly fortified, moated, and
approached by a drawbridge. As may well be imagined, the close vicinity
of this vast and noble park to the city was a great embellishment to
its appearance. But, in truth, Pavia was extremely beautiful and
picturesque, full of splendid edifices, and boasting numerous churches,
convents, and stately mansions.
At the same time, the extraordinary number of strong and lofty towers by
which it was guarded, together with its huge and frowning citadel, gave
it a very formidable! appearance, which was further increased by its
walls and bastions, now abundantly garnished with ordnance. But it was
not merely to its walls and towers that Pavia owed its strength. On the
side on which it was weakest it was protected by a deep and rapid river,
which formed an impassable moat.
About a league above Pavia the Ticino divides itself into two arms, one
of which bathes the walls in the manner just described, while the lesser
arm, after describing a wide curve, rejoins the main stream below the
city, forming an island near its point of junction, on which the suburb
of Sant Antonio was built. A stone bridge, erected by Gian Galeazzo
Visconti, covered by a gallery and defended by a strong tower, connected
this suburb with the city.
Between the banks of the lesser arm of the Ticino and the walls, and
contiguous to the park of Mirabello, stood the stately abbey of San
Lanfranco and the church of San Salvator, and it was towards these
structures that Bonnivet now directed the king's attention.
“Your majesty observes yonder abbey and church,” he said, pointing them
out. “There you can conveniently establish your quarters during the
siege. Openings can easily be made in the walls so as to give you access
to the park of Mirabello, and, if you are so minded, you can occupy the
château of Gian Galeazzo Visconti.”
“I like the situation of the abbey best, and will take up my quarters
near it,” said the king. “I will have you and the Grand Master with
me, and the main part of the army shall encamp there. The Marshal de
la Palisse shall post himself on yon hills on the east of the city,”
pointing in that direction. “The Duke d'Alençon shall occupy the park of
Mirabello, and take possession of the chateau of Gian Galeazzo.”
“Possession of the little island on which stands the suburb of Sant
Antonio is important,” said Bonnivet. “If your majesty will allow me, I
will take it.”
“No, that shall be Montmorency's task,” rejoined François. “He is
angry that we have come hither in preference to Lodi. I must find him
employment.”
These arrangements were carried out. Next morning François fixed his
quarters near the abbey of San Lan-franco, while his generals posted
themselves as he had directed.
On the same day, the Marshal de Montmorency with a large force,
consisting of more than five thousand men, crossed the lesser arm of
the Ticino by a bridge of boats, and took possession of the island. Then
turning to the tower, at the head of the bridge communicating with the
city, he summoned the little garrison to surrender, and meeting with a
determined refusal from the officer in command, immediately attacked the
tower and took it. Most of the garrison had fallen during the
assault, but the survivors--amongst whom was the captain, a valiant
man-at-arms--were brought before the marshal.
“How dared you resist the king's army in a paltry shed like that?” he
demanded.
“It was our duty to guard the bridge, monseigneur,” replied the captain,
boldly.
“You are false traitors, and shall serve as an example to your fellows,
who will learn the fate they may expect if they hold out,” rejoined
Montmorency, furiously. “Away with them!” he added to the guard. “Hang
them at once from the summit of the tower, in face of the city, so that
the whole garrison may behold them.”
The ruthless mandate was immediately carried into effect, and the brave
soldiers were ignominiously put to death.
Unable to stay the execution, which he witnessed from the walls of the
city, De Leyva vowed to make terrible reprisals on the first prisoners
he should take, and he kept his word. By partially destroying the
bridge, he prevented Montmorency from following up his success in that
direction.
Pavia being now invested at all points, François determined to commence
the assault without delay, and his batteries being placed and mounted
with powerful artillery, he opened fire simultaneously on the eastern
and western sides of the city, continuing the cannonade for three days,
when a sufficient breach in either portion of the walls was effected.
Next day, the assault was made on both points at the same time, and at
each encountered a vigorous resistance.
One party of the besiegers was led on by Bonnivet, who gallantly mounted
the breach, but on gaining its summit he was checked by the pikes of
the Spanish soldiers, and discovered, at the same time, that within the
walls there was a deep trench, of the existence of which he had been
ignorant, while from its parapets a company of arquebusiers, commanded
by De Leyva, poured a murderous fire upon him. His armour alone saved
him--all those near him being struck down. As it was impossible to force
the breach under such circumstances, he was compelled to retire.
Nor did better success attend the Marshal de la Palisse, by whom the
assault was made on the other side of the city. He was repulsed with
heavy loss by the Comte de Hohenzollern.
It was then found that such preparations had been made by De Leyva that
it was impossible to take the place by assault, and that recourse must
be had to the tedious operations of sap and mine. However, the king
reconciled himself without difficulty to the delay, and his troops, so
far from being dissatisfied, were well pleased. There was plenty of good
cheer in the camp, abundance of provisions were brought from the country
round, and a market was held in the park of Mirabello, where these were
sold.
Thus the besiegers led a joyous life, interrupted only by an occasional
skirmish. As to François, he amused himself by hunting daily in the vast
park, and while engaged in the chase almost forgot the object that
had brought him thither. His nights were spent in festivity, and the
attraction of female society was not wanting, for bands of fair dames
came over from Piacenza. A bridge of boats across the Ticino connected
the king's camp with the island on which Montmorency was stationed, and
a similar bridge at another part of the river made communication easy
with La Palisse. The Duke d'Alençon, as we have mentioned, was quartered
in the Castle of Mirabello.
IV. OF THE STRATAGEM PRACTISED BY ANTONIO DE LEYVA.
|But while abundance was to be found in the camp of the besiegers, and
while the French army was contented and even joyous, severe privation
was already experienced in Pavia.
Disappointed in the succours he expected to receive from Lodi, De Leyva
had already put the garrison on short allowance, and provisions had
become so scarce, that the horrors of famine began to be anticipated.
Occasionally supplies were obtained by skirmishing parties, but these
were inefficient for a populous city like Pavia, and were speedily
exhausted.
But De Leyva appeared wholly unconcerned by the distress he saw around
him. Harsh and inflexible, resolute in the performance of his duty, and
callous to the sufferings of others, he looked on the people around him
with a cold, unpitying eye. So long as the garrison could be fed, he
cared not what became of the citizens.
His worst apprehensions were caused by the mutinous spirit which on
several occasions of late had been evinced by the German lanz-knechts
under De Hohenzollern.
He had tried to allay their discontent by promising them their pay, but
as he could not make good his word, his assurances were treated with
derision, and the men even threatened, if not paid, to deliver the city
to the enemy.
That this would be carried out, De Leyva became convinced by discovering
that a secret correspondence existed between the Comte d'Azarnes, one
of the German leaders, and Bonnivet. The knowledge of the secret thus
obtained he prudently kept to himself, resolving to punish the treachery
of Azarnes at a fitting season. As gold, however, must be obtained
at whatever risk, he carefully thought over the matter, and at last
conceived a stratagem by which he hoped that a supply of money might be
safely passed through the French army. During a sortie which he made
for the purpose into the park of Mirnbello, he despatched an emissary in
whom he could confide, with instructions to Lannoy and Pescara, both of
whom were at Lodi.
While François, unable to take the city by assault, was proceeding by
slower means, a plan was suggested to him by an officer belonging to the
Duke d'Alençon, which promised success, and gave great uneasiness to the
besieged. This was no less than to divert the main arm of the Ticino,
which flowed past Pavia, into the lesser channel. If the plan could be
accomplished, the city, being entirely undefended on this side, must
necessarily fall.
Every exertion, therefore, was used by the king to carry the scheme into
effect. An enormous number of men were employed in damming up the main
arm of the river, and in deepening and widening the channel of the
lesser arm so as to receive its waters, and as the work progressed
François was greatly elated by the prospect of success, while De Leyva
attempted, though vainly, to fortify the exposed part of the city,
which, when the bed of the river was laid dry, would be open to attack.
On both sides the opinion now prevailed that Pavia was doomed, but its
resolute commander held stoutly on, and would not listen to any terms of
capitulation.
Another day, and all would have been over, when just at the critical
moment, while prayers were offered in the Duomo for the preservation
of the city, torrents of rain began to fall, and continued to pour down
without intermission for several hours, until the swollen waters of
the Ticino could no longer be restrained, but, bursting the embankments
reared against them, returned to their original channel.
Pavia was saved. Fervent thanksgivings were offered up by the citizens,
who regarded the occurrence as providential, and a _Te Deum_ was chanted
in the Duomo. Discouraged by the ill success of the scheme, François
made no attempt to renew it.
Just after this event, which Antonio de Leyva looked upon as a good
omen, another incident of a very different nature occurred.
We have said that a large market was held in the park of Mirabello, at
which provisions of all kinds were sold by country-folk to the soldiers.
One morning, two tall and robust young men, with handsome and sunburnt
visages, and clad like peasants, were allowed to pass through the French
camp, there being nothing either in their looks or deportment calculated
to excite suspicion. Each led a mule charged with a couple of large
casks, apparently filled with wine, and as the two young peasants strode
along they laughed and jested with the soldiers.
On arriving at the place where the market was held, they were speedily
surrounded by eager customers, and while chaffering with them moved
gradually nearer and nearer to the city walls, until it became evident
that they had attracted the notice of the sentinels, and they were
cautioned by the soldiers with them not to go any farther. The peasants,
however, treated the warning as a joke, and went on.
All at once, a troop of cavalry, headed by De Leyva, issued from a
sallyport, and dashing at the party, seized the peasants and their
mules, and carried them off into the city before any attempt at rescue
could be made by the troops of the Duke d'Alençon, who had witnessed the
affair.
As soon as De Leyva was safe within the walls of the city, he gave
vent to a hearty fit of laughter, and the two peasants joined in his
merriment.
“Admirably executed, by my fay!” exclaimed the governor. “The stratagem
has succeeded to a miracle, little do the enemy dream what rare wine
they have allowed to escape them. 'Tis a vintage fit for the king's
table--ha! ha! But whom have I to thank for the important service thus
rendered me?” he added to the foremost of the peasants. “Unless I am
mistaken, it is the Seigneur Pomperant.”
“Your excellency is right,” replied the other. “Lan-noy and Pescara
could find no better messenger than myself, so I have come hither
disguised, as you see, with my attendant Hugues. Each of those casks
contains a thousand golden ducats--a rich prize for the king, if it had
fallen into his hands.”
“A good sum, in truth, and if it will not pay the lanz-knechts in full,
it will at least stop their mouths for a time,” rejoined De Leyva,
laughing. “Again I thank you for the service, though I am sorry you will
have to remain in this city. There is plenty of revelry, I am told, each
night in the king's camp, but there is none here. All we do in Pavia is
to fast, pray, and fight.”
“I am familiar with beleaguered cities,” said Pomperant. “I was in
Marseilles during the siege.”
“Marseilles endured no privations,” rejoined De Leyva. “The port was
open, and supplies could be sent in by the fleet. But here we are cut
off from everything. May I count on speedy succour from Lannoy and
Pescara?”
“I fear not,” replied Pomperant. “They are not in a condition to march
upon the king's army. But they expect reinforcements.”
“Where is the Duke de Bourbon?” demanded De Leyva.
“In Suabia collecting an army,” replied Pomperant. “From what I have
heard from his highness he will get together a large force, and, when he
returns, I doubt not he will fly to your succour.”
“I hope he may not come too late,” remarked De Leyva.
“Before setting out, the duke told me that he knew full well your
excellency would hold out, and that most assuredly he would be back in
time to relieve you.”
“Well, I suppose I must be content,” said De Leyva. “But I am eager to
examine the treasure.”
By the governor's orders the casks were then taken to the castello,
and on being opened were found full of golden pieces, which De Leyva
immediately distributed among the German lanz-lanechts, telling them the
remainder of their pay was safe in the hands of the Viceroy of Naples,
at Lodi, and should be given to them as soon as it could be sent with
safety. By this means confidence was restored, and the tendency to
mutiny checked.
The time had now arrived for the punishment of the traitor. On the day
after the gold had been distributed as above mentioned, De Leyva sent
for Azarnes to the castello, and after conversing with him for some time
in a friendly manner, called for wine. A cup of Cyprus was filled, and
Azarnes drank it unsuspectingly. Another goblet was offered to De Leyva,
but, though he raised it to his lips, he took care not to taste it.
After a while, De Leyva drew from his breast the letter addressed to
Bonnivet which he had intercepted, and, showing it to Azarnes, asked
him sternly if it was his writing. With such evidence against him, the
unfortunate man did not dare to attempt denial.
“Your silence proclaims your guilt,” said De Leyva. “You deserve death,
but act as I enjoin, and I will pardon you.”
“I am ready to obey your excellency,” rejoined Azarnes.
“Write, then, to Bonnivet that the men are firm, and refuse to deliver
up the city,” said De Leyva. “Add that pay has been sent them by the
Viceroy of Naples, and that succour is daily expected.”
Azarnes wrote as commanded, and when the letter was finished, De Leyva
took it.
“I will send the letter off at once,” he said. “Remain here till I
return. I shall not be long absent. I have more to say to you.”
And, with a singular look at Azarnes, he quitted the room.
De Leyva had not been gone many minutes, when the unfortunate man was
seized with a mortal sickness, and a frightful suspicion crossing him,
he examined the other goblet, and found it untouched. He then knew that
he was poisoned, and made for the door, but ere he could reach it his
strength utterly forsook him, and he fell on the ground. At this moment
De Leyva entered the chamber.
“What! my wine is too potent for you--ha?” he exclaimed.
“You have poisoned me,” groaned the dying man.
“I have been compelled to become your executioner,” rejoined De Leyva.
“I would rather have put you to death publicly, but since justice might
have been defeated, I have elected this plan.”
The action of the terrible poison was so swift, that ere many minutes
Azarnes had ceased to exist.
V. GEORGE VON FRUNDSBERG.
|On quitting Milan on the approach of François I., Bourbon proceeded
with Lannoy and Pescara to Lodi, where he remained for a few days, and
then announced his intention of proceeding to Germany to raise a fresh
army for the Emperor.
“Your highness has my best wishes for the success of your project, but I
fear you will fail,” said Lannoy.
“If we have to wait till you bring back an army from Germany, we shall
wait long enough,” remarked Pescara, sarcastically.
“In less than two months I will be back, and will bring with me ten or
twelve thousand men,” said Bourbon, confidently.
Counting upon the friendship always professed for him by the Duke of
Savoy, and upon the disposition lately shown by that potentate to attach
himself zealously to the Imperial cause, Bourbon first directed his
course to Turin, and was received as cordially by the prince as he had
been after the victory of Romagnano.
Bourbon told the prince his design, frankly explaining to him the
enfeebled condition of the Imperial army, and the absolute necessity
that existed for its prompt reinforcement.
“I am now going to Suabia,” he said, “and with the assistance of the
Archduke Ferdinand, I hope to be able to get together a sufficient
number of men, but to do this I must have money, for the Germans will
not fight without pay. Herein lies the grand difficulty, and I know not
where to turn for aid, unless to your highness. It is in vain to apply
to the Emperor. Apparently he has no money to send, for he is terribly
in arrear with his own army. Time will not allow application to be
made to Henry VIII., even if he should be disposed to yield further
subsidies. How say you, prince? Will you generously help me in my need?
It will be an incalculable favour to the Emperor as well as to myself,
for, unless you aid him at this juncture, he will lose Lombardy, and
possibly Naples.”
“You shall not sue in vain, prince,” returned the Duke of Savoy,
graciously. “I will aid you as much for your own sake as for that of the
Emperor. Not merely will I empty my treasure for you, but you shall have
all my jewels. It shall not be my fault if you do not raise an army.”
“By Sainte Barbe!” cried Bourbon, overjoyed, “I did right to come to
your highness. You are a true friend. If François de Valois is compelled
to leave Italy, it will be you who will drive him out.”
Next day, Bourbon quitted Turin loaded with gold and jewels, and
shaped his course at once towards Germany. After visiting the Archduke
Ferdinand, by whose aid he was enabled, in an incredibly short space
of time, to raise five hundred Burgundian lances and six thousand
lanz-knechts, he proceeded to Memmingen, for the purpose of obtaining
the assistance of the renowned George von Frundsberg.
Of this remarkable personage, who claims a place in our history, it will
be necessary to offer a brief preliminary description.
Of gigantic stature, endowed with prodigious strength, truculent in
aspect, ferocious in manner and disposition, George von Frundsberg, lord
of Mindelheim, more resembled a robber-chief than a military leader.
His appearance was at once formidable and grotesque. His features were
large, bloated and inflamed by intemperance, his nose aquiline, his eyes
fierce and bloodshot, and overshadowed by black beetling brows. His hair
was grizzled, and shorn close to the skull; but his beard was shaggy,
and his immense moustaches stuck out like the whiskers of a tiger,
imparting an extraordinarily savage character to his physiognomy. His
powerful frame had been originally well proportioned, but he had now
acquired an ungainly corpulence, which his armour could not conceal.
Von Frundsberg was a furious Lutheran, and, in his zeal for propagating
the new doctrines, had perpetuated the Romish priesthood without being
seized by an access of rage; and bore at his girdle a gold chain, with
which he had vowed to strangle the Sovereign Pontiff with his own hands.
Having at his command an army of four or five thousand men, Von
Frundsberg was a very important ally to gain.
Accompanied by Marx Sittich d'Ems, whom he had appointed to the command
of his Burgundian lances, Bourbon visited Von Frundsberg at his
castle of Mindelheim, and was entertained by him with rude but profuse
hospitality. The fierce Lutheran chief astounded his guests by his
capacity for drinking, and he emptied stoup after stoup of Rhenish
during the repast, but though frightful atrocities. He never spoke
of the Pope or they did not follow his example, they laughed at his
terrible and impious jests, and Bourbon gained him over by promising
that as soon as the French were driven out of Italy he would march with
him to Rome, and allow his men to sack the city.
“On that understanding I will join your highness,” said Von Frundsberg,
“and will bring with me five thousand of the bravest reiters and
lanz-knechts in Suabia--such soldiers as are not to be found in the
French camp. They will go wherever I choose to take them, because they
know that, if ill paid, they are certain of plunder, and that if they
starve one day they will feast the next. Like myself, they are staunch
Lutherans, all excommunicated by the Pope, and their great delight is to
torture and slay the priests of Baal, to break their idols, and plunder
their temples of their gold and silver ornaments. By my father's bones!
what sanctuaries we have stripped. What tall candlesticks! what weighty
chalices! what splendid cups we have carried off! At Rome there will be
no end of plunder. Every church contains a mine of wealth, and if the
priests hide their plate and vessels we will soon force them to bring
them out--ho! ho! There is no better amusement than torturing a priest.
It is the height of my ambition to plunder Saint Peter's, to rifle the
temple of Antichrist of its treasures, to destroy its altars, and
wash out its abominations in the blood of its priests; and if the
arch-pontiff himself falls into my hands, I have sworn to hang him with
a chain fabricated for the purpose. Here it is,” he added, displaying
it. “One must show respect even to the Pope--à tout seigneur tout
honneur!--ho! ho!”
Though disgusted by the sacrilegious wretch, Bourbon constrained
himself, and led him to believe that he shared his opinions, and was
so lavish in his promises of plunder, that, before the repast was
concluded, Von Frundsberg had engaged to share his fortunes.
“Promise to take me to Rome,” he cried. “Promise me the treasures of
Saint Peter's and the Vatican for my soldiers. Promise me Antichrist for
myself,” he cried, with a ferocious and stunning laugh, “and I am yours,
body and soul.”
“I promise you all you ask,” rejoined Bourbon.
“Then the compact is made,” said Von Frundsberg, striking the table with
his tremendous fist, and making all the goblets upon it rattle. “We
will march for Lombardy to-morrow. Meanwhile, we will drink confusion
to François de Valois. You will pledge me in that toast?” he added,
draining his capacious cup.
Bourbon and Marx Sittich did him reason, and the carouse was continued
to a late hour.
Bourbon did not allow the ardour of his newly-acquired ally to cool,
but held him to his promise to march without delay. When Von Frundsberg
ordered his men to get ready, and told them whither they were going,
they shouted enthusiastically, feeling sure that if they once entered
Italy they would find their way to Rome, whither their leader had
engaged to take them.
Proceeding by forced marches, Bourbon conducted his newly-acquired army
by Lindau and Feldkirch to Coire, and thence, across the Splugen, into
Italy.
When he reappeared at Lodi at the head of this force, Lannoy and Pescara
were filled with amazement, and though they congratulated him on his
extraordinary success with feigned heartiness, it was easy to perceive
they were greatly mortified.
Bourbon laughed secretly at their chagrin. His position was now totally
changed in regard to them, for the army he had raised was his own, and
only recognised him as general.
“I told you I would bring back twelve thousand men with me,” he said to
Pescara. “I have kept my word, as you see.”
“I did not think it possible, I own,” rejoined the other. “You have
employed your time well, whereas we have done little during your
absence. But De Leyva still holds out.'
“I know it,” said Bourbon, “We must march instantly to his relief.”
“With the reinforcement you have brought, we need not hesitate to
attack the king,” rejoined Pescara. “I have carefully prepared a plan of
action, which I feel assured will be crowned with success. I will submit
it to you, and if you approve it, we will act upon it.”
“'Tis a good plan, and well considered,” observed Lannoy.
“Then I will adopt it,” said Bourbon. “Let us fly to victory.”
VI. HOW FRANÇOIS I. REFUSED TO RAISE THE SIEGE OF PAVIA.
|While Bourbon was occupied in collecting a fresh army in Suabia,
renewed efforts were made by Clement VII. to bring about a peace between
the contending powers. The conduct of the negotiations was confided
by the Pope to his datary, Giovan Mattheo Gilberto, and this personage
first addressed himself to Lannoy, proposing a truce of five years, the
terms of which should be arranged by the Supreme Pontiff. But Lannoy
haughtily rejected the proposal, declaring he would never treat with
the King of France so long as that monarch retained a foot of ground in
Italy.
Though foiled in the onset, Giber to did not despair of accomplishing
his object, and, proceeding to the French camp, obtained an interview
with the king. Having heard what he had to say, François replied:
“The moment is ill chosen to make this offer to me. Tell his Holiness
that I did not cross the Alps with an army of thirty thousand men to
make a profitless peace with the Emperor. I brought my troops into
Lombardy to retake the duchy of Milan, and I shall not be deterred from
my purpose by promises or threats. I shall speedily be master of Pavia,
and shall then pursue my conquests. You shall hear my plans, for I
calculate upon the Pope's assistance in carrying them out. I am about to
send the Duke of Albany to Naples with six thousand fantassins and six
hundred lances, to be detached from my own army. At Leghorn, Albany will
be reinforced by three thousand men brought thither by my fleet, and
commanded by the valiant Renzo da Ceri. Thus augmented, the army will
march on through the Roman States, where it will be further increased by
four thousand Italian soldiers promised me by Orsini.”
“Sire,” returned the datary, “although I do not approve of the proposed
expedition, I venture to engage that it will not be opposed by his
Holiness, who will, I make no doubt, allow the Duke of Albany a free
passage through the Roman States, and render him other assistance. But
have you well considered the prudence of the step you are about to take?
It is known that the Duke de Bourbon is levying a vast number of troops
in Suabia, and will probably collect together a large army. Is it wise
to reduce your own forces to this extent?”
“My object is to create a diversion, and so weaken the strength of
the Imperial army,” rejoined François. “When Lannoy finds that I have
despatched a force to attack Naples, he will necessarily send back all
the best of the Spanish troops for the defence of the city, and will
thus leave Lombardy unprotected. As soon as the bulk of his forces is
withdrawn, the whole of the Milanese will fall into my hands, and having
garrisoned the chief cities, I shall march on to Naples.”
“It is a bold but hazardous manouvre, sire,” replied Giberto, “and I
trust success may attend it. I grieve to find that my efforts to bring
about a peace, which might be even more advantageous than conquest to
your majesty, have proved ineffectual. But let me assure you that his
Holiness loves you as a son, and will certainly aid you, so far as he
can, without offending the Emperor.”
The plan thus propounded by François to the datary was carried into
effect. When Lannoy was informed that the Duke of Albany had marched
with a large force to Naples, he became seriously alarmed, and his first
impulse, as François had anticipated, was to send baek all his soldiers
tor the defence of the city; but he was earnestly dissuaded from the
step by Peseara.
“The fate of Naples will be decided in Lombardy,” said this astute
general. “If François is victorious, he will march off instantly to the
south of Italy to complete his conquest. If we win, we have nothing to
fear from Albany's expedition.”
Governed by this reasoning, the force of which he acknowledged, Lannoy
remained with his troops at Lodi, thus defeating the king's manouvre,
while Albany was allowed to pursue his march through Italy unmolested.
The army of the King of Franee was still further diminished by the loss
of six thousand Grisons, of whose assistance he was deprived in a very
singular manner, as we shall proceed to relate.
Among the many adventurers brought to the surface during this troublous
time in Italy, one of the most remarkable was Gian Giacomo Medequin. He
had filled the office of secretary to Franeesco Sforza, Duke of Milan,
and while in that capacity betrayed the duke's secrets to the French.
Discovering his treachery, Sforza determined to get rid of him, and,
with this view, charged him with a letter to the governor of Musso, a
small fortified town situated in a remote part of the duchy at the north
of the Lake of Como. Suspecting mischief, the unscrupulous Medequin
opened the letter, and found that it was an order to the governor to
throw him into the lake.
On making this discovery, instead of seeking safety in flight, Medequin
formed a plan of vengeance, and, proceeding to Musso, sought the
lieutenant of the fort, to whom he delivered a letter whieh he had
forged, purporting to eome from Sforza, ordering the lieutenant to
arrest the governor, and commit the custody of the fort to Medequin. The
forged order was obeyed, and Medequin became master of the garrison.
To screen himself from the consequences of this audacious act, it was
necessary that he should render some important service to the Imperial
army. He resolved, therefore, to obtain possession of the Castle of
Chiavenna, an important stronghold belonging to the Grisons, and lying
in ambush with a sufficient force, he succeeded at last in seizing upon
the governor of the place. No sooner had he secured his prey than he
rode towards Chiavenna with a strong escort, and demanded to speak with
the châtelaine. When she appeared on the walls, she beheld her
husband, bound hand and foot, and kneeling before Medequin, who held
an executioner's sword in his hand, ready to smite off the unfortunate
man's head.
“If you would save your husband's life, madame, you will instantly
deliver up the city,” he shouted to her.
“Heed not the threat,” said the captive; “I am ready to die.”
“Be speedy in your decision, madame, or I strike,” cried Medequin,
raising the sword.
“Hold!” exclaimed the affrighted châtelaine. “I cannot see my husband
perish thus. Open the gates.”
So Chiavenna was delivered up.
The loss of this stronghold caused great alarm to the Grisons, who were
not without apprehension of further disasters, as their country was
almost defenceless, the élite of their army being with François I.
before Pavia. Peremptory orders were instantly sent to these men to
return without delay, and in spite of all the efforts made by the king
and his generals to detain them, they at once quitted the French camp.
By this bold device, François was unexpectedly deprived of the services
of six thousand of his troops, and at a moment when he could least spare
them, while Medequin secured the protection of Pescara and Lannoy.
Ill fortune seemed to attend the king at this juncture. The important
and strongly garrisoned fort of Sant Angelo was taken by Pescara.
A Milanese captain, named Palavicini, in the service of the King of
France, had advanced with a strong force towards Cremona, with the
intention of cutting off the communication between that city and Lodi,
when Francesco Sforza, who had retired thither, sallied forth at the
head of fourteen hundred men, attacked Palavicini, and put his troops to
flight.
This disaster was vexatious to François, but he shortly afterwards
sustained a far heavier blow. The valiant Giovanni de' Medici, who, it
will be remembered, had distinguished himself so greatly on the side of
the Imperialists in the previous campaign, had now passed over with his
band, consisting of four thousand men, to the French camp, his motive
for the step being inability to obtain pay for his men from the Emperor.
The defection of so daring and skilful a leader as Medici was sensibly
felt by the Imperialists, but his services were quickly lost by
François.
While engaged in a skirmish with Antonio de Leyva, who had sallied forth
to attack him, and whom he had forced to retreat with heavy loss, the
brave young Italian leader was wounded in the heel by a bullet from an
arquebuss, and was conveyed to Piacenza. On this, his troop immediately
disbanded, refusing to serve under any other leader.
These losses, following each other in rapid succession, were not without
effect upon the king, but he continued firm in his resolution to reduce
Pavia, and would not listen to any suggestion to raise the siege.
When intelligence was brought him that Bourbon had returned from Suabia
at the head of twelve thousand men, and that the Imperial army, thus
powerfully reinforced, was about to march to succour the beleaguered
city, and compel him to give them battle, François held a council of
war, rather for the purpose of acquainting his generals with his designs
than of asking their opinion.
Though the king's sentiments were well known to all the leaders, several
of them gave their opinion stoutly in opposition to his majesty, and
the Marshal de Cha-bannes urged him strongly to raise the siege, avoid a
battle, and retire to the Castle of Binasco.
“It is the interest of the Imperialists to fight,” said the marshal,
“because they cannot afford to wait. They have not wherewithal to pay
their troops, and can only keep them together by promise of a battle.
Your majesty's interest is to avoid an engagement, since by delay you
can accomplish all you desire, without risk and without loss. I will not
venture to point out the disastrous consequences that must ensue, if the
issue of the battle should be adverse to us; but I beseech you to
weigh them before coming to a decision which you may hereafter rue. My
counsel, I know, will be distasteful to your majesty, but it is my duty
to offer it.”
Several of the other leaders concurred with the veteran marshal in
opinion, and recommended delay.
“Were I to follow your advice, marshal,” cried François--“were I to
raise the siege of Pavia, and retire to Binasco, as you suggest, Bourbon
would say I retreated before him.”
“And with reason, sire,” cried Bonnivet, indignantly. “I give you no
such timid counsel, but advise you to remain where you are. Let the
foe attack you if he dares--the inevitable result will be his own
discomfiture. What shameful counsel is this you give to the king,
messeigneurs? Would you have him belie his glorious career? Would you
have him forfeit the laurels won at Marignan? Shall a base soldier like
De Leyva have it in his power to boast that he has compelled our valiant
king to retreat? Shall the traitor Bourbon be allowed to say--as he
_will_ say--that his royal master has fled before him?”
“Never!” exclaimed François. “By Saint Louis! he shall never say that!”
“You overrate our difficulties and dangers,” continued Bonnivet,
addressing the marshals: “but you do not take into account our
resources. Bethink you that the flower of the French chivalry is
here, with the king at its head. Do not let us dishonour ourselves by
precautions unworthy of his majesty and of us. It is upon the plains of
Pavia, and not under shelter of the walls of Binasco, that we must seek
for safety. Such caution is out of place. The king's glory is in our
keeping. Europe will demand a strict account of our charge. We must
answer by victory or death.”
“You have misapprehended me, Bonnivet,” said Cha-bannes. “No one is more
anxious than myself for the glory of the king. But I would not have him
give undue advantage to the foe. Our army is much reduced in number,
and discouraged by this lengthened siege, whereas the enemy is newly
recruited by troops who have endured no hardship, but are stimulated
to fight by promises of plunder. My opinion is shared by all the elder
leaders.”
“You have the wisdom of Nestor, marshal,” rejoined Bonnivet,
sarcastically, “and I listen to every word that falls from you with
respect. But I cannot suffer the king to be guided by your counsel. His
majesty has more need of the valour of his chiefs, at this juncture,
than of their advice. As to yourself, marshal, were you to lose this
chance of distinction, you would ever after regret it. It would be the
first time you have sought to avoid a meeting with the enemy.”
“Enough, Bonnivet,” cried François. “I do not discern the dangers
pointed out to me; but if they exist, I remain unmoved. I will await the
foe in these intrenchments. When the battle comes, despite his age
and prudence, no one, I am well assured, will display more ardour than
Chabannes. Never shall it be said that the King of France fled before
a rebellious subject. Here, on these plains of Pavia, I will punish the
traitor, and I call on you, messeigneurs, to aid me in the task.”
“Your majesty shall not call in vain,” was the general reply.
VII. IN WHAT MANNER POMERRANT PROCURED A SUPPLY OP POWDER FOR THE
GOVERNOR OF PAVIA.
|By this time Pavia was almost reduced to the last extremity. Such
was the vigilance of the besiegers, that no supplies whatever, unless
obtained during a skirmish made by the active governor, could be
introduced.
The horrors of famine were aggravated by the rigours of an unusually
severe winter. Many persons perished from cold, as from inanition.
Pieces of costly furniture and carved wood were broken up, and numerous
habitations were half destroyed in the attempt to procure fuel.
But Antonio de Leyva remained firm as ever--deaf to prayers and
supplications, unmoved by menaces.
Once more the lanz-knechts had begun to clamour for pay, when at last
the governor, driven to his wits' end, resorted to a course often
practised by the Lutheran leaders. Seizing all the gold and silver cups,
vessels, images, and reliquaries belonging to the churches, he caused
them to be melted down and coined into money, which he distributed among
the mutinous lanz-knechts. De Leyva sought to mitigate the wrath of
the priests by solemnly vowing to indemnify them for the loss of their
plate; but he afterwards excused himself by declaring that he had made
the promise in the Emperor's name, and that it was for his majesty,
not for him, to replace the treasures of which the churches had been
despoiled.
But not only did the governor of Pavia want food and money, but his
stock of powder was well-nigh exhausted, and it seemed impossible to
obtain a fresh supply. Pomperant, however, who had remained within the
city, enduring all the privations and hardships to which the garrison
was exposed, undertook to remedy this difficulty.
Having fully explained his design to De Leyva, who approved of it and
engaged to have all in readiness for his return, Pomperant set out at
night-time on the expedition, accompanied only by the faithful Hugues.
They were both fully armed and mounted on the fleetest horses that could
be found in the garrison, and, issuing suddenly from the sallyport,
contrived to gain a wood skirting the wall of the park of Mirabello, and
thence, after narrowly escaping capture, made their way to the Castle of
Sant Angelo, which they knew to be in possession of the Imperialists.
Here Pomperant found Bourbon, and a joyful meeting took place between
the duke and his devoted partisan, who had not met for nearly three
months. On learning Pomperant's errand, Bourbon at once gave him a band
of forty reiters, each of whom was furnished with a large bag of powder.
Attended by this troop, and accompanied by Hugues, who likewise carried
a bag of powder at his saddle-bow, Pomperant quitted Sant Angelo when
it grew dark, and got within a league of Pavia without encountering any
material obstacle.
But danger was now at hand. So completely was Pavia surrounded, that
it was impossible to enter the city without passing through the enemy's
lines. Avoiding the intrenchments thrown around the main body of the
French army, Pomperant approached a point where there were fewest
difficulties in the way, and, dashing past the sentinels, succeeded in
gaining the wood bordering the park.
But the alarm was instantly given, and a mounted picket at once started
in pursuit. The horses of these troopers being fresh, they soon gained
upon the reiters, and a conflict appeared unavoidable.
While Pomperant was straining every nerve to reach Pavia, the horse of
one of the reiters stumbled and fell, and, ere the man could disengage
himself, he was surrounded by the French troopers, several of whom
fired at him as he lay on the ground. During the fray the bag of
powder exploded. Amid the confusion and dismay caused by this incident
Pomperant and his band escaped, and entering the city through the
sallyport, were warmly welcomed by the governor.
VIII. HOW MARCELLINE D'HERMENT CAME TO PAVIA TO SOLICIT HER BROTHER'S
PARDON PROM THE KING.
|A FEW days afterwards, Pomperant, attended by the reiters, made a
sortie from Pavia, and as he was returning, after an unsuccessful quest
for provisions, he descried some half-dozen French men-at-arms advancing
towards him at a rapid pace. No sooner, however, did this little troop
discern their danger, than they galloped back towards the French camp.
It then appeared that they were merely acting as an escort to a lady,
who refused to return with them. Seeing this, Pomperant ordered the
reiters to halt, and rode towards her alone.
The lady was young, attired in a riding-dress of green velvet, and there
was something in her appearance that reminded him of Marcelline. As he
drew nearer, the resemblance seemed to increase, till at last Pomperant,
who scarcely dared to trust the evidence of his senses, could no
longer doubt. It was Marcelline herself. Uttering a cry of surprise and
delight, he pressed towards her, and the next moment was by her side.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” he exclaimed, gazing rapturously at her. “Do I
indeed behold Marcelline d'Herment, whom I have so long mourned as lost!
Speak, and reassure me. I thought you had perished beneath the walls of
Marseilles.”
“Yes, 'tis I, in good truth, Pomperant,” she rejoined. “I was not even
injured by the explosion which you supposed had caused my death, I have
been most anxious to inform you of my escape, but could find no means of
communicating with you.”
“Had you done so, you would have saved me months of grief,” he cried.
“But I will not reproach you. My delight at meeting you again is too
great to allow the presence of any other sentiment. I care not even to
ask by what strange and fortunate chance you are here. Enough that I
behold you.”
“We meet only to part,” she rejoined. “But you shall hear what has
brought me to Pavia. When I explain to you the motive of my journey
your wonder will cease. My brother, the Seigneur d'Herment, has been
condemned to death by the Parliament of Paris, and is now in the
Conciergerie waiting the execution of the sentence. At Aix, where I
had an interview with his majesty after the siege of Marseilles, he
graciously promised that if I had any favour to ask from him, he would
grant it. When I heard that my unfortunate brother had been doomed to
death, I bethought me of the promise. By my entreaties I obtained a
respite from the Chancellor Duprat, and immediately set out for Italy,
and, undeterred by all difficulties and dangers from which one less
resolute than myself might have shrunk, crossed the Alps, and, after
some unavoidable delays, reached the French camp before Pavia yesterday.
I easily obtained an audience of the king, who was in his tent, and when
I threw myself on my knees before him, he said, 'I recollect you well.
You are one of the heroines of Marseilles. I have not forgotten my
promise to you.' 'I have come to claim fulfilment of that promise,
sire,' I replied. But when I explained my errand, he looked very grave,
and said, coldly, 'You ask more than I can perform. I cannot pardon your
brother. As an accomplice of the traitor Bourbon he must die.' 'Sire,' I
rejoined, 'I am equally guilty with my brother, since I accompanied the
Constable de Bourbon in his flight.'”
“'You have made amends by your conduct at Marseilles,' he replied; 'but
your brother's case is different. You too loyal to ask me to spare a
traitor, even though he should be of your own blood.' 'Your royal
word has never yet been broken, sire,' I rejoined. 'I hold you to your
promise.' For a few moments he looked displeased, and I trembled, for
I expected a refusal. Without making a remark, however, he signed a
warrant, which was lying on a table near him, and gave it to me, saying,
as he did so, 'There is the pardon. Deliver that to the Chancellor
Duprat, and your brother will be set free.'”
“Nobly done!” exclaimed Pomperant.
“Nobly done indeed!” cried Marcelline. “And I shall ever bless him for
his clemency. Oh! Pomperant, how could you draw sword against such a
king?”
“Because I have sworn to follow Bourbon, and shall stand by him to the
last,” he rejoined. “Hear me, Marcelline. We are now on the eve of a
decisive battle, which will either result in the downfal of François de
Valois, or in the utter destruction of Bourbon and his followers. Have I
not your good wishes for success?”
“Pomperant, I have told you that I am loyal to the king. After his great
generosity towards me, can I nourish any treasonable sentiments against
him? My prayer will be that you may escape, but I shall also pray that
the king may be the victor.”
“If you so pray, you will pray for my death, Marcelline. Bourbon has
told me that if François should ever give him battle, he will conquer or
die on the field. If he falls, I shall not survive.”
“You have done wrong in thus attaching yourself to a rebel, Pomperant.
If you persist in your treason, I must tear you from my heart, whatever
the effort may cost me.”
“Oh! say not so, Marcelline! Better we had never met than you should use
such cruel language towards me. Better I should have thought you lost
for ever than find you changed.”
“I am not changed, Pomperant. But I will not continue to love a traitor
and rebel. Quit the service of the king's enemies. Seek some place of
safety, and when I have obtained my brother's pardon, I will return and
join you. Will you do this? Will you fly with me now? Come! come! you
shall have all my love. But if you stay here, you will behold me no
more.”
“You tempt me sorely, Marcelline. But I cannot--must not--yield. I
cannot sacrifice my honour even to my love. I am vowed to Bourbon, as
I have told you, and shall follow him to the last. Think you I could
desert him now?”
“Then you must forget me, for I shall hold you unworthy of my love, and
tear you from my heart. Farewell!”
“We have not yet parted,” cried Pomperant. “Fortune has placed you in my
hands. You must go with me to Pavia.”
“To Pavia!” she exclaimed. “Never!”
And she turned with the intention of galloping back to the French camp,
but Pomperant seized her bridle and detained her.
“You are my prisoner,” he said.
“You cannot mean this, Pomperant?” she rejoined, in alarm. “You will not
detain me against my will. My brother's life is at stake. You will be
answerable for his fate should he be put to death.”
“Have no fears about your brother,” said Pomperant. “I will find a
faithful messenger to take the warrant to Duprat.”
“Pomperant,” said Marcelline, “you will not dishonour your knightly
character by detaining me against my will?”
“No,” he replied, after a great effort, “Ï will not hinder you. You are
free. But do not return to the French camp,” he added, perceiving she
was about to ride in that direction. “I will send Hugues with you. He is
amongst yon troop of reiters. Take him with you to France.”
“I have a servant at Novara, and shall be safe when I arrive there,” she
rejoined. “This conduct is worthy of you, Pomperant.”
“It has been a misfortune to me that I have ever loved you, Marcelline,”
he rejoined, sadly. “I must try to banish all thoughts of you in the
strife. If I fall, bestow a tear on me. If I escape, we may meet again.”
“Perhaps so,” she replied. “Heaven only knows what is in store for us.”
Without a word more, Pomperant called to Hugues, who instantly obeyed
the summons and rode towards them.
“Attend this lady to Novara,” he said, “and then return as best you can
to Pavia.”
Hugues bowed assent, and Pomperant, drawing near to Marcelline, said, in
a low, deep voice, “Are we to part thus?”
“We must,” she rejoined in the same tone. “Farewell!--forget me!”
“Would I could forget her!” ejaculated Pomperant, as he rode back with
the reiters to Pavia.
IX. HOW PESCARA CAUSED A BREACH TO BE MADE IN THE WALLS OF THE PARK. OF
MIRABELLO.
|On quitting Lodi, the Imperial army consisted of upwards of twenty-one
thousand men, more than half of whom had been raised by Bourbon, The
lanz-knechts were commanded by Von Frundsberg, the reiters by Marx
Sittich d'Ems, and the Burgundian light horse by the Comte de Salms.
Pescara's chief reliance was upon a corps of Basque arquebussiers,
whom he had trained to rush upon the enemy, discharge their pieces,
and retreat with extraordinary rapidity. These Basques formed a corps
fifteen hundred strong, and were all unerring marksmen. Moreover, they
were armed with short sharp swords, which they could fix on the top of
their arquebusses, and use with terrible effect against cavalry.
During its march the army extended for nearly three leagues. The
vanguard was commanded by Pescara, with whom were the best of the
Spanish cavalry, and the before-mentioned Basque arquebussiers. Then
came the Marquis del Vasto with his battalion, and after him Lannoy
with the Neapolitan soldiers. Then came five hundred light horse under
Castrioto, then the lanz-knechts under Von Frundsberg, and lastly the
reiters and Burgundian cavalry. The rear-guard was commanded by Bourbon.
The whole of the army was in excellent condition, and though the men
were unpaid, they were content with the promises of plunder held out
to them by their leaders. Under such circumstances, however, it was
incumbent that a battle should take place with as little delay as
possible, and on this point both Bourbon and Pescara were agreed.
Instead of marching direct upon Pavia, the Imperial generals proceeded
towards Milan, as if designing to attack that city, hoping by the device
to draw François from his intrenched camp, but the king was either too
well informed of their design or too wary, for he would not quit his
position.
Finding he did not move, they altered their course and gradually
approached Pavia, and as they drew near to the French camp frequent
skirmishes took place between troops of cavalry on either side, in
which, owing to the address and daring of Pescara and Del Vasto, the
advantage generally remained with the Imperialists.
By the king's command Bonnivet had been despatched with four hundred
light horse to watch the movements of the enemy, and while thus employed
in the neighbourhood of Belgiojoso, he was surprised by Pescara, and
after a sharp skirmish compelled to retreat.
On learning that the enemy were now close at hand, the king quitted
his quarters at San Lanfranco, and removed to the neighbourhood of the
Certosa, a magnificent convent situated at the northern extremity of the
park of Mirabello.
By this time the whole of the Imperial army had come up, and was
encamped upon a plain, between two canals, on the east of Pavia, about
a league from the walls of the city, and about half a league from the
advanced guard of the French army. The hostile camps were separated by
the Vernacula, a small but deep river, with steep banks. The spot chosen
for their camp by the Imperialists was protected by a rising ground from
the French artillery, while the Vernacula served them as a trench.
After carefully studying the position of the French army, Pescara
became convinced that it would be impossible to force them in their
intrenchments, and as all attempts to draw them forth had proved
ineffectual, some new expedient must be adopted. At last he hit upon a
plan, which he proposed to Bourbon.
“Since all other means have failed,” he said, “I propose to proceed in
this manner. The attack must be made to-night. My design is to make a
breach in the walls of the park of Mirabello sufficiently large to allow
the passage of our whole army. This can be readily accomplished in a few
hours, and without artillery, if we are undiscovered. The walls can be
battered down by rams and other engines, and while the operations are
going on, false attacks must be made at two or three different points
of the French camp, so as to distract their attention. Once within the
park, we shall have nothing between us and the king, whose quarters are
now near the Certosa. If we cannot compel him to give us battle, we can
at least succour Pavia.”
“I like the plan, and doubt not it will succeed,” remarked Bourbon. “But
De Leyva must be informed of it, that he may hold himself in readiness
to sally forth with the garrison.”
“I will engage to take a message to him,” said Pomperant, who was
standing by.
“Tell him go make ready to-night,” said Pescara; “and when he hears
cannon fired in the park to come forth with his men.”
“It shall be done,” replied Pomperant. “It is well you have resolved to
execute your plan without delay, for Pavia is reduced almost to the last
extremity.”
About an hour before midnight Pescara put his battalion in motion,
and after making a wide circuit, so as to avoid the French pickets,
he approached the farther side of the park of Mirabello. Del Vasto
followed. Next came Castrioto, with his squadron of five hundred
light horse. Then came Lannoy, with his Neapolitan soldiers. Then the
Burgundian cavalry under the Comte de Salms; and lastly Bourbon, Von
Frundsberg, and Marx Sittich d'Ems, with the German lanz-knechts
and reiters. The night was so dark, and the movement so noiselessly
executed, that no suspicion was entertained by the French.
As the mighty host thus silently collected upon a plain on the north
side of the park, they were concealed from the French sentinels by a
thick intervening wood. From this plain the dark outline of Pavia, with
its numerous lofty towers, its Duomo and castle, could be discerned, and
the sounds that disturbed the silence of the night proclaimed that the
garrison were astir.
No sooner did Pescara reach that portion of the walls which he had
selected for his purpose, than a large body of pioneers set to work to
batter them down with rams, huge beams of wood, and other engines. But
the walls had been very solidly built by Gian Galeazzo Visconti, and
offered a more obstinate resistance than had been expected. Dawn was at
hand before a sufficiently large breach could be made.
While this operation was proceeding, two false attacks, as preconcerted,
had been made upon the French camp, accompanied by a constant discharge
of artillery; but in spite of this precaution the plan was discovered,
and communicated to François.
As soon as the breach was practicable, the Marquis del Vasto, in
obedience to Pescara's injunctions, dashed into the park with his
battalion, and hastened to the Castle of Mirabello, which he attacked
and took without difficulty, dispersing the troops by whom it was
garrisoned.
So far success had crowned the attempt. But a sudden check was now
experienced.
X. THE BATTLE.
|As we have just mentioned, intelligence of the movements of the
Imperialists, and of their probable plans, had been conveyed to the
king. Overjoyed by the tidings--for he was all eagerness for the
fray--François, who was sleeping in his tent, immediately arose, and
caused his esquires to array him in a magnificent suit of mail, that
had lately been fabricated for him at Milan. Then donning his glittering
casque, with its long white plumes, which drooped down his back, and
buckling on his sword, he mounted his stoutest war-horse--a powerful
black charger--and rode forth.
As soon as he appeared he was joined by the Duke d'Alençon and the
Marshal de Chabannes, both of whom were fully armed and accoutred, and
mounted on barded steeds. With them was a throng of knightly personages,
composed of the chief officers of the crown, the young nobles ordinarily
in attendance upon the king, and the guard.
By this time it had become light, and as François galloped forward with
the brilliant cortege we have described into the park, he could see the
fugitives from the Castle of Mirabello, pursued by the cavalry of Del
Vasto. He could also distinguish Pescara's battalion pouring in through
the breach.
“Call forth my men-at-arms, and let the Seneschal d'Armagnac fire upon
the insolent foe,” he cried.
Scarcely was the order issued, when D'Armagnac, who had already posted
his artillery on a rising ground in the park, opened a terrible fire
upon the Spaniards who were passing through the breach, and not only
caused great destruction among them, but threw them into such disorder,
that they fled for shelter to a hollow where they were safe from the
murderous fire.
“Ha! by Saint Denis, they are routed already!” exclaimed the king,
laughing. “Charge them!” he added to the Duke d'Alençon, who, on
receiving the order, immediately put himself at the head of two
companies of horse, and rode towards the hollow, whither the fugitives
had retreated.
Meantime, D'Armagnac had kept up such an incessant and well-directed
fire, that the entrance of Pescara's battalion through the breach was
effectually checked.
Thus the plan of the Spanish general seemed to be foiled, and if the
king had contented himself with crushing the troops of Del Vasto,
who were now lodged in the Castle of Mirabello, while the breach was
rendered impracticable by the artillery, he might have gained the day.
But his valorous and impetuous disposition caused him to reject the
counsels of prudence. He burned to mingle with the fight.
“By Saint Louis!” he cried to Bonnivet, who was sheathed from head to
foot in glittering mail, and bestrode a powerful charger, “I cannot look
tamely on and allow the cannon to do the work for me. I must give battle
to the foe. I must punish Bourbon's presumption.”
“The enemy is half beaten already, sire,” rejoined Bonnivet. “Pescara's
plan has utterly failed. Your majesty has only to strike the blow to
complete the victory.”
“I will do it!” exclaimed the chivalrous king. “I should be unworthy of
victory if I neglected to ensure it. Bid the army advance. I will give
battle to the enemy outside the park.”
“Be advised by me, sire, and remain where you are,” said the Marshal de
Chabannes. “Victory is certain. Leave nothing to hazard.”
“By Heaven! I will not remain here another instant!--Montjoye! Saint
Denis!--en avant, messeigneurs!--en avant!”
The trumpets sounded loudly, and the king, attended by all his train
of knights, nobles, and esquires, moved with the main body of the army
towards the breach.
When he perceived this unlucky movement, D'Armagnac, much to his grief,
was compelled to cease firing, and the Spaniards, now freed from the
murderous discharges he had poured upon them, rallied and prepared to
return to the plain.
It was a glorious sight as François, with all his host, passed through
the breach and confronted the Imperialists, who were drawn out in battle
array on the plain. All his foes were before him. Bourbon was there
with his lanz-knechts, reiters, and Burgundian lances--Pescara with his
Spaniards and Basques--Castrioto with his light horse--Lannoy with his
Neapolitan cavalry.
Bourbon watched the brilliant host as it deployed upon the plain, and
as he followed the movements of the king, whose lofty stature and
magnificent armour revealed him to all eyes, he thought that the hour of
vengeance had come. On either side there was confident anticipation of
victory. François made sure of overthrowing his enemies, and punishing
the audacious rebel who had invaded his kingdom, while Bourbon felt
equally certain of vengeance.
No sooner had the king so imprudently quitted the park with his host,
than Del Vasto abandoned the Castle of Mirabello, of which he had taken
possession, and, hurrying after them with his three thousand Spanish
fantassins, attacked the French rear.
At the same time De Leyva issued from the gates of Pavia with the whole
of the garrison and engaged with Chabot de Brion, who had been left to
oppose him with a very inferior force.
When drawn up for battle, the French army formed a very extended line,
the right wing being commanded by the Marshal de Chabannes, and the left
by the Duke d'Alençon. Between the right wing and the main body, with
whom was the king, were the Black Bands, commanded by the Duke of
Suffolk. On the left was a corps of ten thousand Swiss, commanded by
Diesbach.
The Imperial army likewise formed a long line, but was divided into a
great number of squadrons all ready to act together, or separately, as
circumstances might dictate.
No sooner was his line formed than the fiery French king, who was
all impatience for action, bade the trumpets sound, and called to his
gendarmes to charge.
Couching his long lance, and closely attended by Bonnivet and all his
young nobles and esquires, François hurled himself against Castrioto,
who, with his squadron of light horse drawn up in a close square,
awaited his attack. The shock was terrific and irresistible. Down went
horse and man before the French chivalry, and Castrioto was transfixed
by the king's own lance.
Their leader gone, the horsemen could not rally, but were quickly
dispersed, while the victorious king, without pausing, turned his arms
against Lannoy and his Neapolitans, almost as speedily routing them as
he had done the horse of Castrioto.
“Your majesty seems to have decided the battle with a blow,” remarked
Bonnivet, as they stopped to breathe their horses, while the men-at-arms
pursued the fugitives.
“At last, I am Duke of Milan,” said François, laughing, and fully
persuaded he had gained the victory.
But he was speedily undeceived. Pescara had chosen this moment, when the
squadrons of Castrioto and Lannoy were routed, to bring up his Basque
arquebussiers. Advancing rapidly within a short distance of the French
gendarmes, these unerring marksmen fired with deadly effect, retreating
before their opponents, encumbered by their heavy armour, could touch
them.
These attacks were renewed till most serious damage was done to the
king's squadron, and many of his brave captains shot, for the aim of the
Basques was taken at the leaders.
It was in this terrible conflict with the Basques that the valiant
Seigneur de la Trémouille, who had been recalled by the king from Milan,
was shot through the head and heart. Galeazzo de San Severino, chief
equerry of the king, was slain at the same time. Louis d'Ars was
dismounted and trampled to death amid the press, and the Comte de
Tonnerre was so hacked to pieces that he could scarcely be recognised.
Many other nobles and valiant knights were slain.
Meanwhile, Del Vasto, who had brought his three thousand fantassins
into action, profiting by the disorder into which the gendarmes had been
thrown, attacked the battalion of Swiss commanded by Jean Diesbach, with
whom were the Marshals Montmorency and Fleuranges. But the Swiss did not
maintain their former character for bravery on this occasion, and, in
spite of the efforts of Montmorency and Fleuranges, both of whom were
taken prisoners, they fled, while Diesbach, unable to restrain them, and
overcome by shame, sought death amid the enemy.
An important movement was now made by Bourbon. Ordering Von Frundsberg
and Sittich to lengthen their battalion, he enveloped the Black Bands
under the Duke of Suffolk, and completely exterminated them. Both
Suffolk and the Comte de Vaudemont were now slain.
Bourbon next directed his victorious lanz-knechts against the right wing
of the French, which had become detached from the main body of the army
and enveloped it, as he had done the Black Bands.
In this conflict the brave Clermont d'Amboise was slain, and the veteran
Marshal de Chabannes, while rallying his men, had his horse killed
under him, and was taken prisoner by a Spanish captain named Castaldo.
Chabannes, who was wounded, declared his name and rank to his captor,
and desired to be taken to a place of safety. Castaldo agreed, and was
removing him from the conflict, when they encountered another Spanish
soldier, named Buzarto.
“Hold!” exclaimed the new comer, fiercely. “I claim a share in the
prize.”
“Pass on,” rejoined Castaldo. “The prisoner is mine by right of war. I
have taken him.”
“You refuse to share him with me?” demanded Buzarto, in a threatening
tone.
“I do,” rejoined the other, sternly. “And I counsel you not to meddle
with me.”
“And you expect a large ransom--eh?” said Buzarto. “A princely ransom,”
rejoined Castaldo, glancing at his prisoner. “I have to do with a
marshal of France.”
“A marshal of France!” exclaimed Buzarto, furiously. “Then he shall
belong to neither of us.”
And levelling his arquebuss at the noble veteran, who had fought in a
hundred battles, he shot him dead--an infamous act, which doomed its
perpetrator to general execration.
Meanwhile, the king had thrown himself into the thickest of the fight.
His lance having long since been broken, he had drawn his trenchant
sword, and, like a paladin of old, dealt blows right and left, and did
not refuse a hand-to-hand combat when offered him.
Already, as we have shown, he had slain Castrioto, and now several
others fell by his hand. Among them was a knight from the Franche Comté,
named Andelot, with whom François had a long conflict.
While drawing breath after this encounter, he heard shouts on the
right, and, turning at the sound, beheld the flying bands of the Swiss
mercenaries.
“Great Heavens!” he exclaimed, in mingled amazement and indignation,
“what means that rush of men?”
“The Swiss are retreating, sire--shamefully retreating--almost without
a blow,” rejoined Bonnivet, who was near him.
“Ha, dastards! ha, traitors! do they desert me thus!” cried the king,
furiously. “Come with me, Bonnivet.”
And spurring his steed, he dashed after the flying Swiss, striving to
rally them, but his efforts were in vain.
At the same juncture, the Duke d'Alençon, alarmed by the destruction
of the Black Bands, the rout of the right wing, and the disorder of the
main body, sounded a retreat, and withdrew ingloriously from the field.
Vainly did La Roche du Maine, his lieutenant, and the Baron de Trans,
try to turn him from his fatal resolution. Finding him immovable, they
threw themselves into the main body, towards which the efforts of the
enemy were now directed.
Once more the lion-hearted king made a tremendous charge against the
Spanish cavalry, led on by Pescara. For a moment it seemed as if
this charge would turn the tide of victory, so great was the havoc it
occasioned. Pescara himself was wounded by a sword-cut in the cheek,
stricken from his steed, and trampled under foot by the enemy. With
difficulty he was rescued by his men, and dragged out of the way. Lannoy
again brought on his Neapolitans, and was repulsed with heavy loss.
The battle now raged furiously, and the din of arms Was as if a thousand
smiths were at work, mingled with the rattle of arquebusses, the shrieks
of wounded horses, and the shouts, curses, and groans of the combatants.
Terrible was the carnage. On all sides could be seen the bravest and
noblest of the French chivalry flocking towards the king's standard,
resolved to win the day or perish with him, for his actions showed that
he would never retire.
But the decisive moment had come. Pescara was down, and severely wounded
as we have seen, and his squadron shattered by the last charge of the
king. Lannoy, who had advanced to sustain him, was likewise repulsed.
For a brief space the heroic king persuaded himself that he could
retrieve his losses, but his exultation was speedily quelled. He saw a
dense dark mass gathering in front that threatened to overwhelm him.
Bourbon was there with his lanz-knechts, his German reiters, and his
Burgundian lances. At his right and left wing were Von Frundsberg and
Sittich. Fierce and terrible was the joy that lighted up the duke's
haughty features at that moment. He saw the king, who had so deeply
wronged him. He saw him surrounded with his peerless knights and nobles.
Chaumont was there, the Marshal de Foix, Lambese, Lavedan, the Grand
Master of France, and a hundred other noble knights. There also was the
hated Bonnivet. He could crush them all.
After gazing at them as the eagle gazes ere swooping upon its prey,
Bourbon gave word to charge. The trumpets sounded, and the Burgundian
lances and German reiters dashed on, shouting loudly, “Vive Bourbon!”
Clearing the ground between them and the foe, they burst like a
thunder-cloud upon the French men-at-arms and knights. Tremendous was
the splintering of lances--loud the rattle of musketry--sharp the clash
of swords. But the squadron gathered round the king was broken in six
places, and could not rally. In the terrific mêlée that ensued, half
the gallant knights whom Bourbon had seen were slain. Chaumont was
transfixed in the charge--Lavedan cut down--the Grand Master buried
beneath a heap of dead.
Vainly the king and those near him essayed to rally the men. They were
panic-stricken, and could not be got together again.
If the strife was not yet over, the victory was won, and the decisive
blow had been given by Bourbon.
XI. HOW BONNIVET WAS SLAIN BY BOURBON.
|The lanz-knechts and Burgundians were now wholly occupied in making
prisoners and slaughtering the foe. Heaps of slain lay thick on all
sides, the plain was deluged in blood, and the knights rode over the
dead and dying.
It was at this terrible crisis that the king's eye, ranging over the
field, caught Bonnivet, who instantly rode up to him.
“What orders, sire?” he demanded.
“Hence!” cried François. “Quit my sight for ever. This is your work.”
“Sire,” rejoined Bonnivet, “if I have done wrong it has been
unwittingly. Let me die by your side.”
“No, I will not have you near me,” cried François. “Away, false traitor,
away!”
“Sire, by Heaven I am no traitor!” rejoined Bonnivet. “But I will not
long survive your displeasure.”
And, without a word more, he dashed into the thick of the enemy.
He had not been gone more than a minute, when the Marshal de Foix rode
up, his left arm shattered, his armour sullied, and his steed covered
with gore. From his ghastly looks it was evident he was mortally
wounded, but he had still strength enough to sit his horse.
“Where is Bonnivet, sire?” he demanded. “I thought I saw him with you.”
“He is gone,” rejoined the king. “What would you with him?”
“Slay him--slay him with this sword dyed in the blood of our enemies,”
rejoined De Foix. “It is he who has brought this dire calamity on
France. But for him this disastrous battle would not have been fought.
If I can slay him, I shall die content. Where is he, sire? Show him to
me.”
“Ride from the battle while you can, and seek a surgeon--'twere best,”
said the king.
“No, I will first slay Bonnivet,” rejoined De Foix.
“Then seek him yonder,” said the king, pointing to the thickest part of
the strife.
And while De Foix rode off, he himself renewed the combat. Scarcely
knowing whither he was going, De Foix was quickly surrounded by several
Burgundian lances, when he found himself confronted by a knight in black
armour.
“Yield you, De Foix?” said this knight. And, raising his visor, he
disclosed the features of Bourbon.
“I yield,” replied the other. “But you had better let your men finish
me. There is not an hour's life in me.”
“Nay, I trust you are not so badly hurt as that,” said Bourbon. “Let him
be taken at once to Pavia and carefully tended. Captain Castaldo, I give
him in your charge.”
“Bourbon,” said De Foix, “I will forgive you all the wrong you have done
to France, if you will slay Bonnivet.”
“'Tis he I seek,” rejoined Bourbon. “Is he with the king?”
“No,” replied De Foix. “He has gone in that direction,” pointing to
another part of the field.
“Then I will find him, if he be not slain,” said Bourbon. “Heaven grant
he may be reserved for my hand!”
And, renewing his orders to Castaldo, he rode off.
Casting his eyes round the field of battle, and glancing at the numerous
groups of combatants, he discerned a French noble engaged in a conflict
with three or four lanz-knechts. From the richness of his armour he
knew it to be Bonnivet, and spurred towards him. Before he came up the
Admiral had slain one of his assailants, and put the others to flight,
and was about to ride off. When Bourbon called out to him, he
immediately wheeled round.
“At last I have found you,” cried the duke, with a fierce laugh. “You
cannot escape me now.”
“What! is it Bourbon?” cried Bonnivet, glancing at him.
“Ay,” replied the other. “Your mortal enemy. Back on your lives!” he
added to the Burgundian lances. “I must settle this matter alone. You
see that the victory is won,” he added to Bonnivet, “and you know what
that means. François has lost the Milanese, and will lose his kingdom.”
“France will never be yours, vile traitor and rebel,” cried Bonnivet, in
an access of rage. “You shall never boast of your triumph over the king.
I will avenge him!”
And animated with the deadliest fury of hate, he attacked Bourbon.
The conflict was terrible, but brief. By a tremendous downward blow
Bourbon struck his adversary's weapon from his grasp, and then, seizing
his arm thrust the point of his sword into his throat above the gorget.
Bonnivet fell to the ground at the feet of the victor. As Bourbon gazed
at his noble lineaments, now disfigured and sullied with gore, a slight
sentiment of compassion touched his breast.
“Alas! unhappy man,” he exclaimed. “Your destiny was fatal--fatal to
France and to me.”
And he rode back towards the scene of strife and slaughter.
XII. HOW THE KING SURRENDERED TO THE VICEROY OF NAPLES.
|All the king's bravest nobles were now gone--slain or made prisoners.
Already have we particularised the slain. Among the captives were
the valiant Montmorency, Saint Pol, De Lorges, Laval, Ambricourt,
Fleuranges, and many other illustrious personages. François alone
confronted the enemy. He was wounded in three places, and his armour
was hacked with many blows and stained with blood. But his prodigious
strength seemed undiminished--nay, the very rage by which he was excited
lent force to his arm. His blows were delivered with such fury and
rapidity that his assailants seemed to fall around him on all sides.
After sustaining this conflict for some time, finding his foes pressing
around him he cut his way through them, and pushed his steed towards a
bridge over the little river Vernacula. But ere he could reach it a
shot from an arquebuss pierced the brain of his charger, and the noble
animal, who had borne him so well, and who, like his master, was wounded
in several places, fell to the ground.
The king's assailants now made certain of capturing him alive. They were
led on by a Spanish captain, Diego Avila, and Giovanni d'Urbieta, an
Italian, neither of whom, however, recognised François, owing to a gash
in his face, but they knew from the richness of his armour that he was a
personage of the highest rank, and hoped to obtain a large ransom. Thus
they now shouted loudly to him to yield, but he replied by striking at
them with his sword, and as soon as he could liberate himself from his
charger he renewed the attack, killing and slaying several more of his
foes, among whom were Avila and Urbieta.
But almost superhuman as was his force, it was impossible that he could
long sustain himself against such tremendous odds. His enemies were
closing around him, heavy blows were ringing against his armour, when
Pomperant, who was riding near, caught sight of his towering figure
amid the throng, and seeing the peril in which he stood, forced his way
through the band of soldiers, shouting in a loud voice, “Hold! on your
lives! It is the king!”
“The king!” exclaimed the soldiers, falling back at the announcement.
Most opportune was the rescue. In another minute François, who disdained
to save his life by proclaiming himself, would have been laid low.
Taking advantage of the pause, Pomperant flung himself from his steed,
and prostrating himself before the king, who, with his reeking sword in
hand, fiercely confronted his assailants.
“Sire,” cried Pomperant, in the most earnest tones he could command, “I
conjure you not to struggle against fate. The battle is utterly lost,
and all your valour can only end in your own destruction.”
“I do not desire to survive this fatal day,” rejoined the king,
fiercely. “I will not yield. If you would boast that you have slain the
King of France, draw your sword and attack me.”
“No, sire. I will never lift my arm against your person,” said
Pomperant, respectfully. “But since you have done all that valour
can achieve--since you have fought as monarch of France never fought
before--since further resistance is in vain, let me implore you to yield
to my master, the Duke de Bourbon.”
“Yield to Bourbon! Yield to that rebel and traitor!--never!” exclaimed
the king, furiously. “Wert thou not kneeling before me, villain, I
would strike thee dead for daring to make the proposition to me. If I
surrender to any one, it shall be to the Marquis of Pescara. He is a
valiant captain, and loyal to his sovereign.”
“Pescara is wounded, sire, and unable to protect you,” rejoined
Pomperant. “But the Viceroy of Naples is at hand.”
“Let him come to me, then,” said François.
Some soldiers were instantly despatched on this errand by Pomperant, who
remained standing near the king to protect him. Though smarting from his
wounds, François refused all assistance; but feeling faint from loss of
blood, he sat down upon the breathless body of his charger, and took off
his helmet.
“Fill this with water for me,” he said, giving the casque to a soldier.
“I am sore athirst.”
The man hurried to the river, filled the helmet, and brought it to him.
François drank eagerly, and breaking off an ornament, bestowed it upon
the soldier.
At this moment Lannoy rode up, and, dismounting, knelt before the king,
who had risen at his approach, and now assumed a dignified and majestic
demeanour. When he spoke, his accents were firm, but full of sadness.
“Here is my sword,” he said, delivering the bloodstained weapon to the
Viceroy. “I yield myself prisoner to the Emperor your master. I might
have saved myself by flight, but I would have died rather than quit the
field dishonourably.”
“Your majesty has held out to the latest moment,” rejoined Lannoy.
“Scarce one of your soldiers but has thrown down his arms. Doubt not
that you will be worthily treated by the Emperor.”
Lannoy then kissed the hand graciously extended towards him, and drawing
his own sword presented it to the king.
“I will take the weapon, though I cannot use it,” said François.
“Your wounds must be tended without delay, sire,” said the Viceroy. “You
shall be transported at once to Pavia, where skilful chirurgeons can be
obtained.”
“No, not to Pavia,” said François, uneasily. “The inhabitants of that
miserable city hate me, and with good reason, for I have shown them
scant pity. Let me be taken to the Certosa, where my wounds can be
dressed by the monks. They have good chirurgeons among them.”
“Your majesty's wishes shall be obeyed,” said Lannoy.
A litter was then made with crossed halberds, covered by a cloak, on
which the wounded king was placed, and in this manner he was borne on
the shoulders of the lanz-knechts towards the Certosa.
On the way thither, many frightful scenes met his gaze. De Leyva and a
squadron of cavalry, infuriated against the French, were careering
over the battle-field, putting to death all who had survived the fight.
Hundreds were thus massacred in this way--hundreds of others, flying for
their lives, plunged into the Ticino, and being unable to swim across
the rapid stream, were drowned. The shouts of the victors and the cries
of the vanquished rang in the monarch's ear, and filled his breast with
anguish.
At one time the progress of the bearers was arrested by a pile of slain,
and the soldiers were obliged to turn aside to avoid the obstruction.
François remarked that the heap of bodies was caused by the destruction
of the Black Bands, and he involuntarily exclaimed, “Ah! if all my
soldiers had fought like those brave men, the day would not have gone
against me.”
Other interruptions of a like nature occurred. Dead and dying were
strewed so thickly on the ground that it was impossible to avoid them.
It was utterly impossible, also, to shut the ears to the dismal sounds
that smote them.
Presently the king was taken past a spot where the dead lay thickest,
and here it was evident, from the rich accoutrements of the slain, that
the flower of his young nobility had fallen while fighting so valiantly
in his defence. The spoilers were already at work stripping them of
their valuables. It was a sad sight to François, and lacerated his heart
so severely, that he wished he were lying amongst them.
As he averted his gaze from this painful spectacle, his eye alighted
upon a knight accoutred in black armour, who had just ridden up. As this
warrior had his visor down, François could not distinguish his features.
“Halt!” exclaimed the knight, authoritatively. And the soldiers
immediately obeyed.
The knight then raised his beaver, and disclosed the dark lineaments of
Bourbon, now flushed with triumph.
“Ha! by Saint Denis! I felt that a traitor was nigh!” exclaimed the
wounded king, raising himself, and gazing fiercely at the other. “Are
you come to insult me?”
“No, sire,” replied Bourbon. “I have no such design. This is not the
moment, when we have changed positions, that I would exult in your
defeat. Were it possible, I would soothe the bitterness of your
feelings.”
“You would soothe them by telling me I have lost my kingdom,” cried
François, fiercely. “You would soothe them by reminding me that I am a
captive. You would soothe them by pointing out all those valiant nobles
and captains who have died for me. You would soothe them by telling me
how many you yourself have slain. Whose blood dyes your sword?”
“The blood of one who has brought all these misfortunes upon you, sire,”
rejoined Bourbon.
“You would have me understand that Bonnivet has died by your hand? ha!”
demanded François.
“Even so, sire,” rejoined Bourbon. “His guilty soul has just gone to its
account. In avenging my own wrongs upon his head, I have avenged you.”
“He has much to answer for,” exclaimed the king. “But Heaven forgive
him, even as I forgive him.”
“I will not trouble you with my presence further, sire,” said Bourbon.
“I have only intruded upon you now to give you the assurance that
we shall never forget what is due to your exalted rank, and that our
victory will be used with moderation and generosity.”
“What generosity can I expect from the Emperor, or from you?” cried
François, bitterly. “Answer me one question ere you go. How many men
have you lost in the battle?”
“Our total losses, as far as we can estimate them, are under seven
hundred men, sire,” replied Bourbon.
“And mine! how many have I lost?” demanded the king. “Fear not to
speak,” he added, seeing Bourbon hesitate; “I would know the exact
truth.”
“Sire,” replied Bourbon, in a sombre tone, “it is impossible to compute
your losses at this moment, but I shall not overstate them in saying
that eight thousand of your soldiers have fallen upon this plain. Twenty
of your proudest nobles are lying within a few paces of us.”
Groaning as if his heart would burst, François sank backwards.
Bourbon signed to the soldiers to proceed with their burden, and then
rode off with his Burgundian lances.
François did not again unclose his eyes, and scarcely, indeed,
manifested any signs of consciousness, until he was taken into the court
of the Certosa.
When he was there set down, the prior with the principal monks came
forth to meet him, and would have conveyed him to the interior of the
convent, but François refused to have his wounds dressed till he had
prayed to Heaven, and desired the prior to conduct him at once to the
church.
His injunctions were complied with, and the prior gave him his arm,
for he could not walk without assistance. On entering the magnificent
fabric, he was taken to the nearest chapel, and ere he knelt down his
eye fell upon this inscription on the wall:
_BONUM MIHI QUIA HUMILIA STI ME, UT DISCAM JUSTIFICATIONES TUAS._
The unfortunate king could not fail to apply these Words to his own
situation. Profoundly touched, he humbled himself before Heaven,
acknowledging his manifold and great offences, and imploring
forgiveness.
His devotions ended, he was taken to the principal chamber of the
monastery, where his wounds were carefully dressed.
For three days he remained at the Certosa, the monastery being strictly
guarded by the Spanish soldiery, and during his detention there he was
visited by the Viceroy of Naples, the Marquis del Vasto, and Pescara,
who had only partially recovered from the wounds he had received in the
battle.
The king was then removed to the fortress of Pizzighettone, under the
charge of the vigilant Captain Alarcon, with a guard of two hundred
cavalry and twelve hundred fantassins, there to be kept a close prisoner
till the Emperor's pleasure concerning him could be ascertained.
Before his departure from the Certosa, François announced his defeat to
his mother in these memorable words:
“Madame, tout est perdu, fors l'honneur.”
END OF THE FIFTH BOOK.