Kitabı oku: «The Constable De Bourbon», sayfa 26
VI. VON FRUNDSBERG’S LAST CAROUSE
From Viterbo, Bourbon pressed on towards Rome, hoping to take the city by surprise. By this time his army, increased, as we have said, by deserters from the troops of the League and the Pontifical forces, amounted to upwards of forty thousand men.
As the first glimpse of the fated city, destined so soon to fall into their hands, was caught from the hills near Bracciano, the excitement of the whole host, captains and generals included, was prodigious. On that night Von Frundsberg had a grand carouse in his tent. Zucker and all the other German captains were with him, and they continued their revelry till past midnight, when Bourbon, accompanied by the Prince of Orange and Pomperant, entered the tent, hoping by his presence to put a stop to the orgie. Above the surrounding Bacchanals towered the gigantic figure of Von Frundsberg, his visage looking more inflamed than ever. As Bourbon and the others entered the tent, he was addressing his companions, telling them that in two days more Rome would be taken, and the sack begin.
“Then you will be amply rewarded,” he said; “then you may strip all those temples of their ornaments and slay their priests. I give you each a cardinal, but I reserve to myself the Sovereign Pontiff. You know what I mean to do with him,” added the sacrilegious wretch, producing his golden chain, and laughing loudly.
“Before you hang him, you must make him deliver up all his treasures – the tons of gold he has hidden in the Vatican and elsewhere,” said Zucker.
“Fear not that,” rejoined Von Frundsberg, with a tremendous roar of laughter. “I know well how to deal with him. But I must fulfil my mission. Have I not been told by Doctor Martin Luther himself that I am destined by Heaven to cast down Antichrist and to wash out the enormities of the polluted and idolatrous city of Rome in blood? For this purpose I have come hither.”
At this moment his eye alighted upon Bourbon, and he called out,
“Welcome, noble general! thrice welcome! We are making merry, as you see, in anticipation of our victory. Our next carouse shall be in Rome, and it shall be a rare one – ho! ho!”
“You have sat late enough, and drank enough, baron,” said Bourbon, glancing around at the inebriated crew. “We shall march betimes to-morrow, and you will need clear heads.”
“One more cup of wine, and we have done,” said Von Frundsberg. “Nay, you must join us, general,” he added to Bourbon, who shook his head. “We have got some famous Montepulciano, of the Pope’s own vintage, and destined to the Pope’s own cellar – ho! ho! Taste it, I pray your highness. You will find it delicious,” smacking his lips. “Fill for me! fill!” he called to a soldier who served him, holding out an immense gilt chalice stolen from an altar at San Lorenzo-alle-Grotte – “fill to the brim! All must do me reason. It may be the last cup we shall drink together. Who knows?”
“You do not mean to empty that chalice, baron?” said Bourbon, looking in astonishment at the vessel, which held nearly a gallon of wine.
“By my faith! but I do, your highness,” rejoined Von Frundsberg, with a tremendous roar of laughter. “I drink to the speedy downfall of Rome.”
And, as he spoke, he raised the brimming chalice to his lips, and did not remove it till it was completely drained.
After accomplishing this feat, he gazed at Bourbon, but his triumph was of short duration. With a convulsive attempt at utterance, which shook his whole frame, he fell heavily backwards.
Immediate assistance was rendered him, but it was of no avail. Suffocated by the draught he had swallowed, in a few seconds the infuriated drunkard had ceased to exist.
Bourbon shuddered as he gazed at the inanimate mass, and all the fierce soldiers around were impressed by the catastrophe. Von Frundsberg died with the chain of gold tightly clasped, in his left hand.
Had Von Frundsberg’s death occurred earlier, it might have produced some effect upon the lanz-knechts. But he had brought them within sight of Rome, and though they grieved for him, they did not for a moment falter in their purpose, but accepted the Prince of Orange, whom Bourbon appointed as their general. Von Frundsberg found a rude grave at Bracciano, and the chain of gold was buried with him.
VIII. HOW BOURBON AND HIS BANDS ARRIVED BEFORE ROME
Next morning, as soon as it was light, Bourbon, who had not taken off his armour, and had only snatched a couple of hours of sleep, rode to the summit of a hill, whence he could command a good view of the city he was about to deliver to destruction.
There lay the ancient capital of the world – and now the chief city of Christendom – the burial-place of the holy apostles and martyrs – there it lay, with its seven hills, its heathen temples and Christian fanes, its ruins, its monuments, its palaces hallowed by a thousand historical recollections. There was the mighty Coliseum, there the Forum, there the Palatine, crowned with the palace of the Caesars. There was Mount Aventine – there the Esquiline, with the Baths of Titus – there the Pincian Hill, with its cypresses. Over all, and dominating the ancient temples, rose the Basilica of Saint Peter – then, however, wanting its incomparable dome. Near to this stately fane were the Vatican and the frowning Castle of Saint Angelo, with the yellow Tiber flowing past its walls. Could he gaze on that time-hallowed city, unmoved – knowing he was about to doom it to destruction? Some feelings of compunction did, indeed, cross him, but he quickly crushed them.
At a later hour in the same day – it was the 5th of May, 1527 – the sentinels on the walls and gates of Rome, and on the battlements of the Castle of Saint Angelo, descried the mighty host advancing along the wide and desolate Campagna. Presently came numerous messengers, wild with terror, describing the number and savage character of the troops. But the Pope did not appear to be alarmed by the tidings brought him. Though usually timid and irresolute, he did not exhibit any uneasiness now, but declared that ample preparations had been made for the defence of the city. He would not allow the bridges to be cut connecting the Borgo with the city, and prohibited the terrified merchants from removing their goods by the Tiber.
The reason of this apparent confidence was, that he fully believed he should be able to treat with Bourbon, and save the city from assault by payment of a large subsidy – never reflecting that it was not in Bourbon’s power to treat with him, and that nothing less than the sack of the city would content the rapacious soldiery.
The defence of the city had been committed by the Pontiff’ to Renzo da Ceri, who persuaded himself that he could resist Bourbon as successfully at Rome as he had done at Marseilles. Besides the garrison of the Castle of Saint Angelo, and the Pope’s Swiss guard, there were in Rome at the time about two thousand arquebussiers, and a small troop of cavalry. The walls and fortifications were for the most part in good order, and well supplied with ordnance, and as it was known that Bourbon was entirely without artillery, and almost without munitions, it was not deemed likely he could take the city by assault. Renzo’s confidence was, therefore, excusable. But he was wrong. Bourbon had now an army with him whom no walls could keep out.
On arriving before Rome, Bourbon placed his army between the Janiculum Hill and the Vatican, and he had no sooner taken up this position than he sent Pomperant with a trumpet to summon the Pope to surrender the city.
Presenting himself at the ancient Porta Flaminia, which was succeeded, some half a century later, by the Porta del Popolo, Pomperant caused the trumpeter to sound his clarion thrice, and in the name of the Constable de Bourbon summoned the Sovereign Pontiff’ to surrender the city.
Response was immediately made in haughty terms by Renzo da Ceri, who ordered Pomperant to retire or he would fire upon him, and the latter accordingly withdrew.
Bourbon expected no other answer, but on receiving it he gave immediate orders that the city should be assaulted on the following morning at daybreak.
At eventide, Bourbon, attended by the Prince of Orange and Pomperant, surveyed the city from the Monte Mario. After a careful examination of the walls, which then formed a circuit of more than five leagues, he decided on making the assault at different points of the Aurelian Wall between the Janiculum Hill and the Vatican. This being settled, he rode back towards the camp.
As yet not a single gun had been fired on either side, for the Pope had ordered his general not to precipitate matters by opening fire from the Castle of Saint Angelo upon the enemy. But the cannon were all shotted, and the sentinels with their arquebusses on the shoulder, were pacing to and fro on the ramparts.
When Bourbon returned to the camp, he called together the men, and thus addressed them:
“Captains and brave soldiers! fortune has at last brought us to the city we have so ardently desired to reach. Rome is before you. On the other side of those old walls countless treasures await you. But you must fight hard to win the treasures. The walls must be scaled, since we have no cannon to breach them.”
“We will do it, noble general,” cried the men. “We need no breach.”
“I myself will lead the assault,” continued Bourbon, “and will show you how to take the city.”
“We will follow, fear not! Vive Bourbon!” shouted the soldiers.
“Listen to me, my friends,” he pursued. “The famous astrologer, Cornelius Agrippa, of whom you must have heard, foretold that I should die before the walls of a great city. It may be here – before Rome – that I am destined to perish. If it be so, I care not. The death will be glorious – worthy of a soldier. I shall lead the assault without fear, certain that you, my brave companions, will capture the city, and avenge me.”
“‘Tis a false prediction!” cried a hundred voices. “We will all guard you. You will not die thus. You are destined to be King of Rome.”
“Be my fate what it may,” said Bourbon – “whether I share your triumph, or die beforehand, I know that Rome, with all its treasures, with its Pope, its cardinals, its nobles, and its fair women, will be yours. And now return to your tents, and take your rest. You will have enough to do to-morrow. An hour before dawn, make ready for the assault. Your captains have their full directions. You may rest without fear. I will take care that strict watch is kept.”
The soldiers then dispersed, singing, “Calla, calla! Viva la fama de Bourbon!”
“You have no faith in that idle prediction?” remarked the Prince of Orange to Bourbon, as he accompanied him to his tent.
“I have scarcely thought of it before to-day, but it came upon me forcibly as I gazed on Rome this evening from the Monte Mario,” rejoined Bourbon. “If I should fall, you must take the command of the army.”
“No such necessity, I trust, may arise,” said Philibert. “But the army shall not want a leader.”
“It will have a good one in you,” rejoined Bourbon. “And now leave me. Come to me an hour before daybreak.”
With this the Prince of Orange departed, and Bourbon was left alone, and passed several hours in deep self-communion.
About midnight he roused himself, and, issuing from his tent, looked around. It was a glorious night, and the old walls that rose before him were bathed in the moonbeams. The camp was hushed, and all was so still at the moment, that the tread of the sentinels could be heard on the ramparts. Having looked around for a short time, he re-entered his tent, trimmed his lamp, and sat down to look at a plan of Rome, which was laid on the table before him. From this occupation he was roused by the noise of some one entering the tent, and, looking up, he perceived Pomperant, accompanied by a nun.
Surprised at the sight, he inquired why he was thus disturbed.
“The holy sister herself will explain her errand,” replied Pomperant. “She has ventured forth from the city to see your highness, and I could not refuse to bring her to you.”
“You have done wrong,” said Bourbon, sternly. “I have no time to waste on women now. Depart, good sister.”
“Dismiss me not, I pray your highness, till you have heard what I have to say,” rejoined the nun. “Am I so much changed? Does this garb disguise me so greatly, that you fail to recognise Marcelline d’Herment?”
“Marcelline d’Herment!” exclaimed Bourbon, in surprise.
“I am vowed to Heaven, as you see,” she rejoined. “I have entered a convent in Rome, and hoped to pass the rest of my days in peace. But I have been sorely troubled since I learnt that your highness was marching to lay waste the city, and determined, at whatever risk, to make an effort to save it. With that view I came forth to-night. I ventured to approach the sentinels, and I desired to be brought before your highness. The men refused, but while they were talking with me the Seigneur Pomperant came up, and at once consented to bring me before you.”
“If I have done wrong, I trust your highness will forgive me,” said Pomperant, “but I could not refuse the request.”
“Nay, there is no harm done,” said Bourbon. “But how comes it that you have abandoned the world?” he added to Marcelline. “I thought you had given your heart to Pomperant. Why have you placed this insurmountable bar between yourself and him?”
“Ah! why, indeed?” cried Pomperant, reproachfully.
“I could not do otherwise,” she rejoined. “But I have not come hither to tell my own sad story. I have come to entreat your highness, even at the eleventh hour, to abandon your impious purpose. Oh! prince, listen to me, I implore you. Treason and rebellion are great crimes, but they are as naught compared with the act you are about to commit. If you deliver over Rome to pillage and slaughter, your name will be for ever execrated. Turn back, I implore of you!”
“I cannot turn back. Be that my answer,” said Bourbon, impatiently.
“But it is in your power to save the city!” cried Marcelline. “You can come to terms with his Holiness, who will enable you to satisfy your men.”
“Bah!” exclaimed Bourbon. “Nothing will satisfy them but the plunder of the city.”
“Will no consideration move you?” she cried. “Have you no pity for the innocent and the aged? Will you allow the temples of your religion to be destroyed and polluted?”
“My heart is steeled to pity,” rejoined Bourbon, sternly. “All your solicitations are in vain.”
“Then since you are deaf to all entreaties, tremble!” she cried. “Tremble! for Heaven’s vengeance will alight upon you. Grace has been offered you, but you have cast it aside. But you will not enjoy your triumph. You will not enter the city.”
“Who shall prevent me?” demanded Bourbon.
“Heaven,” she rejoined. “Heaven will prevent you.”
“Were you a messenger from Heaven itself, you should not prevent me from being first to scale the walls,” said Bourbon. “This interview can lead to nothing, and must not be prolonged,” he added to Pomperant, “Conduct the Sister Marcelline through the camp, and place her where she may safely enter the city.”
“It shall be dene,” replied Pomperant,
He then withdrew with Marcelline. On reaching the outskirts of the camp, she said to him, “Are you determined to follow Bourbon?”
“To the last,” he rejoined. “If he is shot down, I will take his place.”
Marcelline made no reply, but darted from him, and ran towards the Aurelian Wall.
Plunging into the dry fosse which skirted the wall, she hurried along the bottom of the trench for some distance in the direction of the Vatican. All at once she stopped, and clapped her hands. At the signal, a ladder was let down, and, mounting it, she gained the ramparts.
Marcelline fancied her movements were unobserved, but she was mistaken. Curious to ascertain how she could gain access to the city, Pomperant had followed her. On approaching the spot where she had disappeared, he perceived that the old wall, which was built of brick, and of great solidity, was in this part considerably dilapidated – so much so, as almost to form a breach.
After carefully examining the spot, he hastened back to Bourbon’s tent to acquaint him with the important discovery he had made. Bourbon had thrown himself on a couch, but without divesting himself of his armour, and he was wrapped in the last slumber he was destined to enjoy, when Pomperant entered his tent, and aroused him.
“I am sure your highness will forgive me for disturbing you,” he said, “when I tell you that I have discovered a breach in the walls.”
“Ha! that is indeed good news!” cried Bourbon. “But how did you make the discovery?”
“I made it while following Marcelline to see how she entered the city,” replied Pomperant.
“Take me to the spot,” said Bourbon. “I must be satisfied with my own eyes that you have not been deceived. It is strange that you roused me from a dream of the assault. I thought an angel with a flaming brand stood on the battlements to drive me back, but I went on. Listen to me, Pomperant. When dealing with the miserable Milanese, as you know, I took Heaven to witness that I meant them fairly, wishing I might perish by the first shot at the first battle if I played them false. This is the first battle, and not a shot has yet been fired.”
“The first shot will not harm you, my lord,” rejoined Pomperant. “You did not wilfully deceive the Milanese. The Spanish soldiers refused to obey your orders.”
“True,” replied Bourbon; “but I feel that I violated my promise, and if Heaven punishes me, I cannot complain. But come. Let us examine the wall.”
They then quitted the tent, and, enveloped in long russet-coloured cloaks, which completely covered their armour, passed out of the camp, and cautiously approached the Aurelian Wall.
VIII. BENVENUTO CELLINI
No sooner had Marcelline gained the ramparts, than the ladder she had ascended was drawn up by the sentinels. Before she could move off, a martial personage, accoutred in a steel cap and corslet, and armed with an arquebuss, came up and detained her.
“Ha! where have you been, sister?” he demanded, sternly. “Speak! – give an account of yourself.”
“I have been in the enemy’s camp,” she replied, “and have spoken with the general himself.”
“With Bourbon!” exclaimed the soldier. “You are trifling with me.”
“On my life I am not,” she rejoined, “I have seen him as I see you, but I have failed in my object, which was to dissuade him from the attack.”
“I am not surprised at it,” said the soldier, contemptuously. “You have gone on a mad errand. Did you for a moment suppose that Bourbon would turn back at your entreaties?”
“Bourbon has a noble heart, and I thought to move him,” she rejoined.
“Tut! Rome is not likely to be saved from sack by a woman’s prayers and entreaties,” said the soldier. “We must keep Bourbon and his bands out of the city, if we can. If they once get in, woe betide us! But how is this?” he cried, noticing the dilapidated state of the ramparts. “This wall ought to have been repaired.”
“It will be repaired in the morning, good Messer Benvenuto Cellini,” replied the sentinel.
“To-morrow may be too late,” remarked Cellini. “I will see our general about it without delay.”
“You need not go far to seek him, brave Benvenuto,” said Renzo da Ceri, marching towards them. “What have you to say to me?”
“I would pray your lordship to look at the condition of these ramparts,” said Cellini. “There is a breach as if made by cannon.”
“By Heaven! the wall is very ruinous here!” cried Renzo. “I cannot think how the gap escaped my notice.”
“Since it has escaped your lordship’s quick eyes, it may escape those of the enemy,” said Cellini. “But it may be well to have it speedily repaired.”
“It shall be repaired to-morrow morning,” said Renzo.
“Provided Bourbon does not enter by it in the mean time,” said Cellini.
“Oh! he will not attempt the assault for a month,” rejoined Renzo, contemptuously. “He has no artillery. To-morrow, or next day at the latest, we shall have Count Guido Rangone, with five thousand fantassins and a corps of artillery. He is now at Ponte Salario. We shall also be speedily reinforced by detachments from the armies of the Duke of Urbino and the Marquis of Saluzzo. Rome, therefore, is secure.”
“Your lordship must pardon me, but I cannot think Rome secure while Bourbon is encamped before it,” remarked Cellini.
“Well, you have abandoned your trade of goldsmith, and have taken up arms for its defence,” said Renzo, laughing. “If you win as much renown as a soldier as you have done as a sculptor, Rome may be proud of you.”
“I will try,” said Cellini.
“Is this the famous Benvenuto Cellini?” inquired Marcelline, approaching them. “I knew him not.”
“Yes, this is he, who may vie with the greatest of the ancient sculptors,” said Renzo da Ceri.
“For the moment, I am a mere Roman soldier,” said Cellini. “I shall resume my profession as an artist when we have got rid of Bourbon. But who is she who inquires my name?”
“One you may be proud to know,” said Renzo. “This holy sister is Marcelline d’Herment, one of the Amazons who helped to defend Marseilles.”
“I have heard of her,” said Cellini. “I hope our Roman dames will follow her example. But hush!” he exclaimed, stepping towards the battlements, “I see two tall figures approaching the walls. They come nearer. Do you not distinguish them?”
“Perfectly,” replied Marcelline.
“Be silent, and we can hear what they say,” whispered Cellini. And after listening intently for a few moments, he added, “They have discovered the breach. It is here the assault will be made to-morrow morning.”
“How know you that?” demanded Renzo da Ceri. “I could hear nothing.”
“My ears never deceive me,” said Cellini. “Who are they, think you?”
“The tallest of the two is Bourbon,” replied Marcelline, in a whisper, “I recognise his voice and figure.”
“Bourbon!” exclaimed Cellini. “Then his hour is come.”
And kneeling down, he placed his arquebuss on the battlements and took deliberate aim at the duke. But just as he was about to fire, Marcelline caught hold of his hand and stopped him, and ere he could take fresh aim the two personages were gone.
“Maledizione! why did you interfere, sister?” cried Benvenuto, turning angrily upon her. “I should have killed him, and delivered Rome. I never miss my aim.”
“I would not have him die now,” she rejoined.
“Well, he shall not escape me,” said Cellini. “I heard him say he would be first to scale the walls.”
“And if he said so he will keep his word,” rejoined Marcelline.
“I will be ready for him. What says your excellency now?” he added to Renzo.
“I have little doubt that the assault will be made to-morrow morning, and at this point,” replied Renzo. “Since the breach cannot be repaired, I will send a sufficient force to defend it.”
“Be mine the privilege to fire the first shot,” said
Benvenuto.
“Agreed,” replied Renzo. “Not an arquebuss shall be discharged till you have fired.”
