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.