Capitulation
The siege of Gaeta lasted from the thirteenth of November, 1860, to the
thirteenth of February, 1861, a space of three months. With the new year
it was pushed with redoubled vigor. Both town and citadel were exposed
to incessant fire, and the noise was so deafening that people had to
scream to make themselves heard. Not a single building remained intact.
Many lives were lost by exploding shells or falling houses, and the
whole place presented a scene of utter destruction. The Piedmontese have
been accused of sparing neither church nor hospital, and the sick and
wounded, as well as their nurses, were exposed to the same dangers as
the rest of the inhabitants. The Red Cross Society was not in existence
at that time; but the terrible experiences of the wounded in the wars of
northern Italy the preceding year led to the formation of that
association three years later.
The enemy’s fire now began to be directed chiefly against the citadel
where the royal family were known to reside, and the officers begged the
King and Queen to move to a place of greater safety. One of the
casemates of an adjoining battery was accordingly prepared for their
occupancy, and here in this small damp vault they lived for the
remainder of the siege, with the princes, the few members of the court
who had remained loyal, and some of the officers. The casemate was
divided by thin wooden partitions into a number of small chambers, each
containing a bed, one chair, and a small table. The narrow passage
connecting these cells was always crowded with people waiting to speak
to the officers and servants who had long since laid aside all badges of
royal service.
A low door led to the square chamber occupied by the Queen, which was
furnished in addition with a couch and a _prie-dieu_; a small recess
adjoining having been made into a dressing-room. As a protection against
shells or flying missiles, a heavy oak beam had been placed diagonally
across the tiny window overlooking the street; a precaution which made
the room so dark a light had to be kept burning day and night. The
little air that penetrated to the cell was thick with smoke and tainted
with foul odors, while the ceaseless thunder of cannon directly above
must have made it a far from pleasant place of residence. Yet from this
gloomy vault Maria Sophia wrote her parents not to worry about her, for
under the circumstances she was doing very well. She bore all these
dangers and hardships with the same cheerful courage she had shown from
the first, tending the wounded, inspiring the soldiers by her presence
among them in the smoke of battle—the soul, in short, of the defence,
and a splendid example of bravery and fortitude. Through the efforts of
the French admiral, a ten days’ truce was arranged, and the Neapolitans
hastened to take advantage of it to procure a supply of provisions from
Terracina and to strengthen their batteries, while the officers tried to
encourage the garrison by reports of speedy assistance from without. On
the sixteenth of January the sound of guns was heard again; but this
time it was not those of the besieging army, but of the French fleet
which had not yet left the harbor, although the Emperor Napoleon had
notified Francis that it would be impossible for him to continue the
neutrality he had hitherto maintained. Decorated from deck to mast-head
with flags, the foreign squadron was saluting the King in honor of his
twenty-fifth birthday, the last he was ever to spend within the
boundaries of his kingdom.
Three days later the truce was declared at an end, and in the
beleaguered city all eyes were fixed anxiously upon the fleet. Although
there were rumors in the air of its departure, the people still hoped
they might be false as so many others had proved. About two o’clock,
however, smoke was seen rising from one of the vessels, and it was soon
evident that the whole squadron was getting up steam. One after another
lifted anchor and began to move; and an hour later the huge flagship,
_La Bretagne_, glided majestically past the lighthouse on the outermost
point of the harbor, leaving the last of the Italian Bourbons to his
fate. With the French fleet, vanished the last hope of rescue; and from
this time until the end of the siege, nearly a month later, Gaeta was
completely cut off from the rest of the world, and surrounded on all
sides by the enemy. With the increase of famine and sickness the
situation grew daily worse. Help from without could no longer be looked
for, and rumors of treachery began to be heard among the troops. The
barracks were damp, the hospitals overflowing, and they were tired of a
struggle that could have but one end. The King and his brothers worked
bravely to keep up the courage of the garrison, and the Queen was
untiring in her efforts to relieve the sick and suffering; but even they
had lost hope.
All correspondence between Napoleon and King Francis had ceased on the
twelfth of December, but about the middle of January a vessel arrived
from France bringing a confidential letter from the Empress Eugénie to
Maria Sophia. In it she declared frankly and without circumlocution that
it would be as well to abandon the defence of Gaeta which had cost so
many lives, since it would be quite useless to look for aid from any
European power—the latter sentence underlined.
This left no room for misunderstanding. At last the King realized that
his cause was lost—that all his wife’s splendid energy and the loyalty
of his troops had been wasted in a hopeless struggle. On the
twenty-seventh of January he received a letter from Napoleon informing
him that the French corvette, _La Movette_, had been prepared for the
accommodation of Their Majesties in case of the surrender of Gaeta, and
would remain in the Bay of Naples awaiting their orders. The town was
now only a smoking heap of ruins. The explosion of powder magazines had
caused even greater destruction than the enemy’s guns, and the casemate
in which the royal family had taken refuge might be destroyed at any
moment should the siege be continued. The garrison was reduced to twelve
thousand men with over twelve hundred in the various hospitals, most of
them victims of the epidemic of typhus which had proved so fatal. Among
those who had succumbed already to the disease were four of the King’s
generals and the priest, Father Borelli, who had remained in Gaeta to
minister to the sick and wounded.
Francis hesitated no longer, but sent a message to the Piedmontese
commander-in-chief requesting an armistice to arrange articles of
capitulation. The terms were as follows: the garrison should retain
their military honors, but remain prisoners until the surrender of
Messina and the citadel Del Tronto. When this had taken place, both
officers and men were to receive full pay with the choice of entering
the Piedmontese army or returning to their homes, all who were honorably
discharged to be pensioned. The King and Queen, with the rest of the
royal family, were to be permitted to embark on the French vessel which
had been placed at their disposal, with as many persons as they wished
to take with them in their suite.
The capitulation was signed on the thirteenth of February, and the next
morning at eight o’clock _La Movette_ entered the Bay of Gaeta. The
troops were already drawn up in long lines, extending from the casemate
occupied by the King and Queen to the landing; their tattered clothes
and wasted forms bearing witness to these last terrible months.
Misfortune had formed a close bond between the survivors of the siege,
and as the soldiers presented arms to their sovereigns for the last
time, their cheeks were wet with tears.
An eyewitness of the departure of Francis the Second and Maria Sophia
from Gaeta has described the touching scene. The King was in uniform,
with sword and spurs, the Queen wearing the round Calabrian hat shown in
the photograph taken of her at that time. The deposed monarch was deadly
pale, and as gaunt as any of his soldiers. “As for the Queen,” declared
this observer, “I could not see how she looked, my eyes were so blinded
with tears.”
The people had gathered in crowds, every face showing traces of the
suffering they had undergone; but all seemed to forget their own
troubles in the misfortunes of their sovereigns. When the King and Queen
appeared, their emotion burst all bounds. Many wept aloud as they
pressed forward to kiss the hand of the Queen with far greater warmth
and enthusiasm than was shown by the people of Bari when they greeted
her arrival as a bride on the shores of Italy, two years before. Only
two short years, and yet how much had been crowded into them! And how
different that day from this!
Francis had already issued a parting proclamation to his troops,
thanking them in touching terms for their devotion to him and to the
honor of the army; and as _La Movette_, flying the banner of the
Bourbons, glided slowly out of the harbor, a unanimous and deafening
shout of “Evviva il Re!” was their last farewell to the exiled
sovereign. The French on the corvette welcomed their guests with royal
honors, the officers in full uniform and the sailors lined up on deck to
receive them. With the King and Queen were the Counts of Trani and
Caserta and three of the Neapolitan generals. During the journey from
Gaeta to Terracina, Francis and his brothers showed the greatest
calmness, conversing cheerfully with their suite, and the French
officers could not refrain from expressing their admiration at the
King’s dignified acceptance of his fate. Maria Sophia had remained alone
on the after deck, leaning over the railing, her eyes fixed on the
cliffs of Gaeta. The smiling landscape seemed an irony of her mood. A
gloomy sky would have been more suited to the thoughts that filled her
bosom. She remembered with what noble aims she had come to this new
land, what fine resolutions to share in all works for promoting the
welfare of the people over whom she had been called to rule—and what had
been the result? Even her labors at Gaeta had been in vain.
As _La Movette_ passed the battery “Santa Maria,” a royal salute was
fired, and soon after the corvette rounded the point and Gaeta was lost
to sight. The crew hauled down the Bourbon lilies and hoisted the French
tri-color—Maria Sophia was no longer a Queen. She turned away with a
chill at her heart. The deck was empty and a cold wind had suddenly
arisen, banishing the warmth of the sunshine and sending a shiver
through her from head to foot.