XV. HOW THE SIEGE OF MARSEILLES WAS RAISED.
NEXT morning, at an early hour, Del Vasto entered Pescara's tent, and found his redoubted relative alone and fully armed.
“What commands have you for me?” said the younger general. “Of course the assault will be made to-day. What with the long cannonade and the damage done by the mine, the breach must be wide enough.”
“Ay, the breach is wide enough, undoubtedly,” rejoined Pescara; “but the besieged are too well prepared. I shall not counsel the assault.”
“You are not wont to be so cautious,” said Del Vasto, surprised. “Doubtless a large number of men will be sacrificed. But what of that? The city will be taken.”
“No, my good nephew,” rejoined Pescara. “I find I must speak more plainly. Bourbon shall never take Marseilles.”
“But you cannot prevent him. He will lead the assault, and we must follow.”
“I forbid you,” rejoined Pescara, authoritatively. “Listen to me, nephew. You know the full extent of Bourbon's ambitious designs, and that he hopes to carve a kingdom for himself out of France. You know that he aspires to the hand of the Emperor's sister Leonor, the widowed Queen of Portugal. Lannoy and I have resolved to thwart his plans, We do not mean to be supplanted by this proscribed prince. With this end, Lannoy has delayed the march of the Catalonian array, and I shall prevent the capture of Marseilles. If Bourbon is compelled to raise the siege, he will forfeit the Emperor's favour, and will also lose credit with his other royal ally, King Henry VIII.”
“Why not let the assault be made?” said Del Vasto. “Bourbon may fall, and then all the glory will be yours.”
“But what if he should not fall?” rejoined Pescara. “What if the assault should prove resistless and he should become master of Marseilles? Then his power would be confirmed, and it would be idle to oppose him. That must not be. I will snatch the prize from him at the very moment he deems he has secured it. But do not remain longer here. Get your men ready, and leave the rest to me.”
Upon this, Del Vasto quitted the tent.
Meantime, orders having been issued that the assault would be made on that day, all the troops were got under arms.
Attended by Pomperant, Lurcy, and others of his suite, Bourbon rode along the lines, and addressed a few words to the men calculated to incite their courage. Much to his surprise, however, and vexation, these addresses were sullenly received, and in some cases responded to by murmurs.
“What can it mean?” remarked Bourbon to his attendants, as, having completed the inspection, he rode back towards his tent. “Officers and men seem unwilling to fight. Did I not know them better—had not their courage been proved in many a conflict—I should think they were alarmed at the task before them.”
“They have heard too much of the reception they are likely to meet with,” replied Lurcy. “They have seen how it has fared with hundreds of their comrades who have gone before them, and fear to share their fate. Besides? they have been discouraged.”
“Discouraged!” exclaimed Bourbon, fiercely. “By whom?”
“By their leaders,” rejoined Lurcy. “Pescara has said openly that the city cannot be taken, and that the assault, when made, will fail. This opinion delivered to the officers, has been repeated to the men, and has produced the effect which your highness has just observed. The whole army is discouraged.”
“By Sainte Barbe! I will speedily rouse its spirit,” cried Bourbon. “I have long distrusted Pescara. He has thwarted me secretly at every turn, but I have hitherto defeated his machinations, and I shall defeat them now. But for him, I should have taken the city when the first breach was made in the walls; and I have ever since reproached myself for yielding to his perfidious counsel. The garrison is now far better prepared for resistance than it was then.”
“Pescara's opinion may proceed from jealousy, but I confess I share it,” said Pomperant. “If your highness had carefully examined the defences of the city as I have done—if you had witnessed the spirit displayed by the soldiers and by the people, and which presents a. strong contrast to the sullenness and want of zeal of our own men, you would have come to the conclusion that Marseilles cannot be taken.”
“Be the result what it may, the assault shall now be made,” rejoined Bourbon. “By Sainte Barbe! I long for the moment of attack, when, amidst the roar of cannon and the rattle of arquebuses, we shall force our way through the breach, and hew down all who oppose us.”
“You will then have a second ditch to cross, full of powder and combustibles,” said Pomperant, “and another rampart, bristling with cannon, to scale.”
“Were there a third ditch and a third rampart, they would not daunt me,” cried Bourbon. “With this good blade, which has never yet failed me, I will cut a passage through the foe. Where I go, the men must follow.”
“That is all I fear,” said Lurcy. “I have no faith in these treacherous Spaniards.”
“They cannot, dare not fall back now!” cried Bourbon.
“I hope not,” replied Lurcy. But his looks belied his words.
On entering his tent with his suite, Bourbon found his confessor awaiting him, and the whole party knelt down reverently and performed their devotions. After partaking of a hasty meal, they donned their plumed casques, and buckling on their swords, issued forth, and mounted their steeds. By this time, the whole side of the hill, down which Bourbon now rode with his attendants, was covered with troops.
Glancing towards the city, Bourbon saw that ramparts, bastions, and towers were crowded with armed men. Extraordinary efforts had been made by the indefatigable Renzo da Ceri to repair the damage done by the cannonade and by the mine, but the breach was too considerable to be filled up in the short time allowed for the task. The gap, however, was occupied by a living wall of pikemen.
“Your highness sees that the garrison are in good heart,” remarked Pomperant. “They will assuredly make an obstinate defence.”
“You overrate their courage,” rejoined Bourbon. “Our attack will strike terror into them. You will keep near me, Pomperant.”
“Doubt it not, monseigneur,” replied the other. “I care not if I perish in the breach. She I loved lies buried there.”
At this moment Bourbon came to a halt, and shortly afterwards the Marquis del Vasto, accompanied by the Counts de Hohenzollern and De Lodron, with the principal leaders of the army, joined him. All these martial personages were fully accoutred and well mounted, and made a gallant show. But there was something in their looks and manner that convinced Bourbon and those with him that they were disinclined to the attack. However, he made no remark, but, saluting them with his wonted cordiality, said to Del Vasto, “Where is the Marquis of Pescara? I wish to consult with him before ordering the assault.”
“He will be here anon,” replied the young general. “He has ridden down to examine the breach more nearly.”
“Close inspection is not required to ascertain its width,” cried Bourbon, impatiently. “I shall not wait for his return. To your posts, messeigneurs!—to your posts!”
But, to his surprise and vexation, none of them stirred.
“Do you not hear me?” he exclaimed. “To your posts, I say!”
“A few minutes' delay can matter little, highness,” remarked the Count de Hohenzollern. “We wish to hear Pescara's report. He may have some suggestions to offer.”
“I can listen to no suggestions now,” said Bourbon, imperiously. “My plans are fixed.”
“Perhaps your highness has not been informed that the garrison has just been reinforced by fifteen hundred lansquenets and three hundred horse sent by the king,” remarked De Lodron.
“I care not for the reinforcements,” rejoined Bourbon. “Were the garrison doubled I would not delay the assault. What means this hesitation, messeigneurs? Away with you!”
“Highness,” said De Hohenzollern, respectfully, “I pray you pardon our seeming disobedience but it is necessary we should hear what the Marquis of Pescara to say.”
“Well, be it as you will,” said Bourbon, with difficulty restraining his anger.,
“Here he comes!” cried Del Vasto, as Pescara galloped towards them, attended by a score of mail-clad knights.
“So, you are come at last, marquis,” said Bourbon, as Pescara rode up. “You have kept us waiting long. What discovery have you made?”
“I have seen enough to satisfy me of the inutility of the attack,” rejoined the other. “These citizens of Marseilles have spread a well-covered table for our reception. Those who desire to sup in Paradise may go there. I shall not.”
“A truce to this ill-timed jesting, my lord,” said Bourbon, sternly. “Be serious for a moment, if you can, and let us arrange the attack.”
“I have had enough of this siege,” rejoined Pescara, “and shall return at once to Italy, which is stripped of soldiers, and threatened by the King of France.”
“If you withdraw now, my lord, it will be in express defiance of my commands,” said Bourbon. “You will answer to the Emperor for your conduct.”
“His Imperial Majesty knows me too well to suppose that I would turn back from danger,” replied Pescara. “But I will not attempt impossibilities. I am not alone in my opinion. Put the question to the other generals. How say you, messeigneurs?” he added to them. “Ought the assault to be made?”
“We are all against it,” said Del Vasto, speaking for the others, who bowed assent.
“You are all in league to thwart me,” cried Bourbon, furiously. “But I will put you to shame. I will show you that the assault can be made successfully. Go, my lord, if you will,” he added to Pescara. “Your soldiers will follow me.”
“Your highness is mistaken,” returned the other. “They will inarch with me to Italy.”
Suppressing his rage, Bourbon turned to the German generals.
“I shall not, I am sure, lack your aid, messeigneurs,” he said. “You and your brave lanz-knechts will follow me?”
“Your highness must hold us excused,” they replied.
“Where the Marquis of Pescara declines to go, we are not foolhardy enough to venture.”
“You find that I am right,” remarked Pescara, with a mocking laugh. “There is nothing left for it but to raise the siege and depart.”
“Depart!—never!” cried Bourbon. “Why, if the assault be not made, the meanest burgess of Marseilles will laugh us to scorn. Let the charge be sounded,” he added to Pomperant. “We shall soon see who will follow me.”
“None but your own attendants will follow,” said Pescara.
At this moment an esquire approached, and stated that a messenger had just arrived from Aix, bringing most important intelligence. Bourbon immediately ordered the man into his presence.
“Highness,” said the messenger, “I have speeded hither to inform you that the king arrived last evening at Aix with the army.”
“The king arrived at Aix!” exclaimed Bourbon. “By Sainte Barbe! this is important news indeed, if true.”
“It will be speedily confirmed, monseigneur,” said the messenger. “The Marshal de Chabannes is marching with the vanguard of the army to the relief of Marseilles.”
Bourbon made no remark, but signed to the messenger to retire.
“Your highness must now admit that I gave you good counsel in advising you to abandon the siege,” remarked Pescara.
“Out upon your counsel!—it has been ruinous,” cried Bourbon. “The city might have been taken ere Chabannes could come up. But I will forgive you all, if you will march with me at once to meet the king, and compel him to give us battle. A victory will retrieve the disgrace we shall incur by abandoning the siege, and satisfy both the Emperor and the King of England.”
“I am against the plan,” rejoined Pescara, coldly. “The king's army is far superior to our own in number and we shall have the forces of the garrison in our rear! No, we must evacuate Provence.”
“Not when a kingdom is to be won,” cried Bourbon. “My lord! my lord! what change has come over you? Be yourself. François de Valois will now give us the opportunity we have so long sought. He cannot refuse a battle. We shall conquer. France lies before us, and invites us on!”
“Let those who will, go on,” said Pescara, in a cold sarcastic tone. “I shall take the road to Italy. I will not risk a battle the result of which must be disastrous. Our army would be utterly destroyed. We must retreat while we can do so with safety.”
“Never!” exclaimed Bourbon. “I will never retreat before François de Valois. The command of the army has been entrusted to me by the Emperor, and I call upon you to obey me.”
“I refuse, monseigneur—peremptorily refuse,” said Pescara.
For a few moments Bourbon was well-nigh choked with passion. When he could speak, he said, in hoarse accents, “Since you are resolved upon this disgraceful course, I cannot prevent it. But let not the retreat be conducted with undue haste, and with disorder. Our munitions of war must not fall into the hands of the enemy. Bury the heavy cannon brought from Toulon. The lighter ordnance can be carried by mules. Throw all the great shot into the sea. Leave nothing behind that can be serviceable to the foe.”
Then casting one look at the city, the brave defenders of which thronged its walls and towers, utterly ignorant of their deliverance, and momentarily expecting the assault, he rode back to his tent, where he remained during the rest of the day, a prey to indescribable mental anguish.
By nightfall, all preparations for the retreat had been completed, and, as soon as it became dark, the tents were struck, and the whole army got into order of march, and set off in the direction of Toulon.
By midnight, the heights around Marseilles were entirely abandoned, and the city, which for five weeks had been completely environed by enemies, was once more free.
Cautiously as the retreat of the Imperial army was conducted, it could not be accomplished without being discovered by the garrison. Indeed, the inaction of the besiegers throughout the day had caused their design to be suspected. A sortie, for the purpose of investigation, was made by Renzo da Ceri at the head of a troop of cavalry, and when he returned with the joyful intelligence that the heights were evacuated and the enemy gone, nothing could exceed the delight of the citizens. All those who had retired to rest were roused from slumber by shouts and the ringing of bells. The populace were half frenzied with joy. Wherever Renzo da Ceri and Chabot de Brion appeared they were greeted with the most enthusiastic demonstrations of regard, and hailed as deliverers of the city. A torchlight procession, headed by the two commanders, was made through the principal streets, and when this was over, Renzo addressed a vast crowd in the Place de Linche. After extolling the courage and patriotic spirit displayed by the citizens, he said, “The only circumstance that mars my satisfaction at this moment of triumph is the loss of our brave Amazons, Marphise and Marcelline.”
“Let not that thought afflict you, monseigneur,” said Pierre Cépède, who was standing near him. “They live. They have been rescued from the ruins of the wall beneath which they were supposed to be buried. Heaven has preserved them.”
When this joyful intelligence was communicated to the assemblage, a loud and long-continued shout rent the air.
While the citizens passed the night in rejoicing, Renzo da Ceri put himself at the head of a strong detachment of cavalry, and started in pursuit of the retreating enemy, for the purpose of harassing their march and cutting off stragglers.
He soon found they had taken the direction of Toulon, and had not proceeded far when he was joined by the Marshal de Chabannes with three hundred light horse. Together they hovered about the rear of the Imperial army until it had passed the Var, when they retired.
The Imperialists then pursued their course without further molestation, crossed the Maritime Alps, and entering Piedmont, proceeded to Alba, where they came to a halt.
Thus ended Bourbon's invasion of France. All the dreams of conquest he had indulged had vanished. The crown he had hoped to grasp had escaped him. His plans had been thwarted by the jealousy of his generals, who had deserted him at the critical moment, when success seemed certain. Deep and bitter was the mortification he endured. But though disheartened, he did not despair. He felt sure that the theatre of war would be soon transferred to Italy, well knowing that François I. would never relinquish his pretensions to the Duchy of Milan.
“We shall meet on these plains, if not in France,” he said to Pomperant, “and then I will requite him for the injuries he has done me. I will forgive Fortune all the scurvy tricks she has played me of late if she will grant me that day.”