The Constable De Bourbon

Imprisonment did not tame his spirit, but rather envenomed his hatred of François I. Regardless of all consequences, he perpetually launched into fierce invectives against that monarch, and covered the walls of his prison with satirical remarks upon him.

In compliance with the treaty of Madrid, the Prince of Orange was set free, but as the convention was only executed in part, his confiscated domains were not restored to him.

Without a single follower, and almost without money, Philibert set forth to join Bourbon, and after many adventures and hindrances on his journey, which it is not necessary to recount, reached him at the foot of the Apennines, as described.

“I have come to join your highness,” said the young prince, when brought before Bourbon by Pomperant. “I have nothing to offer you but my sword, but that I devote to your service.”

“By Sainte Barbe! you are as welcome, prince, as if you had a thousand lances at your back,” rejoined Bourbon. “You offer me your sword. I accept it with gratitude. At any time, the offer would enchant me – now, it is doubly welcome. Your distinguished name will be of infinite service, and will help to confound my enemies. Before you ask aught from me, noble prince, I will evince my satisfaction by appointing you second in command to myself of the whole army.”

“I have done nothing to merit such consideration at your highness’s hands,” rejoined Philibert.

“But you will do much hereafter, prince,” said Bourbon. “I know that in you I have a staunch partisan – a friend on whom I can rely. We have wrongs in common, and are both mortal enemies of the false and perfidious François de Valois.”

“His very name rouses my choler,” cried Philibert, fiercely. “May all the curses I have daily invoked upon the faithless tyrant during my captivity at Lusignan alight on his devoted head! Had I been in the Emperor’s place, I would never have set him free till all the conditions of the treaty had been fulfilled. François de Valois is not to be trusted. He has broken his word with us all, and his name ought to be covered with infamy. But I beg pardon of your highness for my warmth,” he added, checking himself. “I thank you for the trust you repose in me. You shall find me a firm friend. And I hope the hour may come when we shall both be fully avenged on our common enemy.”

“Be sure the hour will come,” said Bourbon, sternly. “But the work of vengeance must be begun at Rome. Look around, prince. What do you behold?”

“An army of brave men – somewhat savage, perhaps, and not like the well-equipped legions of France, but able to conquer a kingdom.”

“Of this robber-host François has made me leader,” said Bourbon; “and he has compelled you to join it.”

“No matter. I serve Bourbon,” rejoined Philibert; “and I would rather serve him than any monarch in Europe. I care not of what the army is composed, so that the men can fight.”

“They can fight well, prince, and pillage as well as fight, as you will find, when you know them better,” said Bourbon, laughing.

“If they serve without pay, as I suppose they do, they must plunder,” said Philibert. “Despite their looks and equipments, they seem good soldiers.”

“The Pope will think so if they once get within the walls of Rome,” remarked Bourbon. “They are all impatience to be there, and I do not mean to balk them.”

“Then you do not design to attack Florence?” inquired the Prince of Orange.

“I have no artillery,” replied Bourbon, “and I do not wish to waste time in a siege. Florence will be defended by the army of the League and the Pontifical troops. Rome is more important.”

While they were thus conversing, Von Frundsberg and Zucker came up, and their new leader was presented to them by Bourbon.

Philibert possessed some of the qualities of Bourbon himself, and could put on, when he pleased, the rough frankness of a soldier. His manner pleased Von Frunds-berg, and that hardy veteran was delighted with him when they became better acquainted, and had passed half the night in a carouse.

V. HOW LANNOY VAINLY ATTEMPTED TO ARREST BOURBON’S MARCH

Next day, from the heights of the Apennines, Bourbon and his bands looked down upon the lovely city of Florence, and on the incomparable valley of the Amo. When the soldiers beheld Florence in all its ravishing beauty lying before them – when from the heights on which they stood they could count all its palaces and churches, their cupidity was so strongly excited that they demanded with frenzied eagerness to be led to the assault.

“Let us sack Florence, noble general!” they shouted.

“No, my brave companions, I cannot grant your request,” rejoined Bourbon. “Florence is too well defended. Mark the cannon on the walls and bastions? Mark the army encamped outside the walls, placed there to cover the city? Florence cannot be taken without artillery, and we have none, We must march on to Rome, which ean be easily taken, and where ten times the wealth of Florence is collected.”

Convinced by these arguments, the men ceased their solicitations, and Bourbon descending to the valley, and avoiding Florence, crossed the Upper Arno, and continued his march without molestation to Viterbo, in the neighbourhood of which city he halted.

It was during this halt that he was informed by his scouts of the approach of Lannoy with a small escort. An hour later the Viceroy of Naples arrived, and was received by Bourbon in his tent. The Prince of Orange, Del Vasto, Von Frundsberg, Zueker, and the other leaders were present at the interview.

“I have come to forbid your highness’s further advance,” said Lannoy to Bourbon. “I have just concluded, on the part of the Emperor, a truce with the Pope, and have undertaken that the army shall retire.”

“Your highness has undertaken more than you can perform,” said Bourbon. “I need scarcely inform you that the troops are unpaid.”

“Let not that concern you,” rejoined Lannoy. “His Holiness has supplied me with sufficient money to pay them. The army must retire, I say. I am the representative of his Imperial Majesty in Italy, and I issue that order.”

“By the beard of my father! I shall not respect it,” cried Von Frundsberg. “I do not serve the Emperor!”

“Neither do we,” added Zueker, Maramaldo, and the Italian leaders. “We have received no pay from him. We serve the brave Bourbon.”

“But the Duke de Bourbon only derives his authority from the Emperor,” said Lannoy; “and I offer you payment for your troops.”

“That will not suffice,” cried Von Frundsberg, fiercely. “We have not crossed the Po, and marched thus far through Italy, to retire because the Emperor at the last moment has thought fit to conclude a truce with the Pope. The truce is not binding upon us. We have nothing to do with it. As to the paltry payment offered by your highness, we scout it. No sum could induce us to turn back, We are the sworn enemies of Antichrist. We will destroy the idolatrous city. We will plunder the Vatican and Saint Peter’s of their treasures.”

“Is it possible your highness can tolerate this horrible impiety?” said Lannoy to Bourbon.

“At least, the Spanish soldiers will obey me. I shall take them with me to Rome for the defence of the city against this meditated attack. Bid them come with me in the Emperor’s name,” he added to Del Vasto.

“I fear the attempt will be vain,” returned the marquis.

“Try them,” said Bourbon. “If they choose to depart, I shall not hinder them.”

On this, Del Vasto quitted the tent, but he had not been gone many minutes when a great disturbance was heard outside, and he returned with looks of alarm.

“You have met with ill success, I fear, my lord?” said Lannoy.

“I could scarce have met with worse,” rejoined the marquis. “The soldiers utterly refuse to obey me. They will not respect the truce. They will not protect the Pope. They are determined to sack Rome. They say they know no other leader than Bourbon, Your highness must fly. The soldiers are so infuriated against you that I fear they will do you injury.”

“How should I fly?” cried Lannoy, trembling. I put myself under your highness’s protection,” he added to Bourbon.

“Fear nothing,” said Bourbon. “I will be answerable for your safety.”

As he spoke, a number of Spanish soldiers burst into the tent, shouting out, “Death to Lannoy! Death to the Pope’s general!”

“How dare you force your way thus into my presence?” cried Bourbon, confronting them fiercely, and speaking in a stern authoritative tone. “Hence, mutinous rascals, or you shall be punished.”

“Deliver up the Viceroy to us, and we will go at once,” said the foremost of the band.

“Ha! dare you parley with me?” cried Bourbon.

“Away, I say, at once, or – ”

On this the soldiers retired, but they cast menacing glances at Lannoy as they went, and the tumult outside the tent continued.

“It would have been well if your highness had ascertained the disposition of the army before venturing among them,” remarked Von Frundsberg. “They will not be balked of their plunder.”

“Your highness has promised me your protection,” said Lannoy, appealing to Bourbon.

“Fear nothing,” replied the other. “I will see you safely out of the camp. Come with me!”

Bourbon then went forth, closely followed by Lannoy and Del Vasto. As the party appeared, the soldiers assailed the Viceroy with renewed threats, but, overawed by Bourbon’s determined manner, they fell back, and allowed the escort to approach. As soon as Lannoy had mounted his steed, and was surrounded by his little band, his courage in some degree returned, and he said to the soldiers, “Before I go, let me make a last appeal to you to return to your duty, and obey your liege lord, the Emperor.”

“We have no other leader now but Bourbon,” rejoined the men. “Vive Bourbon!”

“Have I no longer any authority over you?” said Del Vasto.

“None,” returned the soldiers. “You do not belong to us. You are banished the army.”

“Banished!” exclaimed Del Vasto. “Who dares to pronounce my banishment?”

“We do,” replied the men. “You would betray our interests. You would sell us to the Pope. Therefore we depose you. You are no longer our general. Go to your new master.”

“Have a little patience, my good friends, and listen to reason,” said Lannoy. “I speak for your own good. I would save you from a great crime.”

“No more! We will hear no more!” cried the soldiers, furiously. “Begone! If you return again, we will massacre you.”

“Your highness had better depart at once,” said Bourbon. “If you inflame the men further, I may not be able to restrain them. You must go likewise, my lord,” he added to Del Vasto. “It will not be safe for you to remain.”

The counsel was followed. To prevent mishap, Bourbon conducted them to the outskirts of the camp.

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!”