II. BONNIVET’S LAST INTERVIEW WITH THE COMTESSA DI CHIERI
There was a fair dame in Milan, to behold whom Bonnivet had urged the king, at all risks, to march on to the city. This was the Comtessa di Chieri. Had it been possible, he would have flown to her immediately on his arrival. But he was detained throughout the day at the ducal palace, partly in immediate attendance upon the king, and partly in the discharge of other duties that devolved upon him, for he was obliged to confer with the civic officials and others whom François would not admit to his presence. But he had despatched a messenger to the countess, with a letter informing her that he would visit her in the evening, and had received an answer saying she expected him.
When night came, and he was free, he flew to her palace in the Corso Romano, and was instantly admitted. He found her in the superb saloon where he had last seen her, surrounded with objects of luxury, and looking beautiful as ever. But her appearance was somewhat changed. There was a flush in her cheeks, and a preternatural brilliancy in her dark eyes. A rapturous meeting took place between them, and the pain of their long separation seemed forgotten in the bliss of the moment.
“I did not think I should ever behold you again,” she murmured.
“You doubted my love for you, or you could never have entertained that notion,” he replied, passionately, “Hear what I have done to obtain this interview. To pass an hour with you, Beata, I have prevailed upon the king to undertake a new campaign in Italy. To throw myself at your feet, I have induced him to march on Milan.”
“You should not have come now,” she rejoined. “Had I been able to do so, I would have warned you to avoid this infected city.”
“I have no fear of the pestilence,” said Bonnivet. “And I would brave any danger to be near you. But why have you exposed yourself to so much risk? Why have you remained here?”
“I could not leave,” she rejoined. “And I have an excellent physician, Doctor Nardi, who watches over me. Ah! here he is,” she added, as a grave-looking personage, attired in a black silk doublet and hose, and wearing a black silk skull-cap, entered the saloon.
After respectfully saluting Bonnivet, Doctor Nardi seated himself beside the countess, and kept his eyes upon her for some moments. Bonnivet, who watched him closely, thought he detected anxiety in his looks.
“You have not been quite well to-day, I think, countess?” remarked Doctor Nardi.
“I had a severe headache this morning,” she replied. “But it has passed.”
“Any feverish symptoms?” inquired the doctor.
“Yes,” she replied. “About an hour ago, I felt stifled with heat, and then had a shivering fit. But there is nothing to be alarmed at?” she added, nervously.
“Nothing – nothing,” he replied. “But you must retire to rest immediately. The fever has not quite left you, and may return.”
“But why should I retire to rest, dear doctor?” appealed the countess. “I do not feel ill. Ah! I see you are alarmed about me,” she continued, gazing eagerly at him. “Tell me what is the matter?”
“Do not agitate yourself, signora,” he returned. “You will soon be better – but you must attend to my directions. I will send you a febrifuge presently, and will see you in the morning. Good night, countess.”
He then bowed and departed, and Bonnivet, feeling very uneasy, followed him out of the room.
“I trust the countess is not seriously ill, doctor?” inquired Bonnivet.
“A passing indisposition,” replied Nardi, evasively. “But you must not stay, monseigneur. Take leave of the countess. At this awful season there is no security that they who part at night may meet again on the morrow.”
The last words were uttered with a significance that increased Bonnivet’s uneasiness.
“Do not conceal the truth from me, doctor,” he said. “The certainty, however dreadful, would be more tolerable than suspense.”
“What purpose will it answer to tell you what I think?” rejoined Nardi. “Be advised by me, and leave the palace without delay. Every moment you remain here increases the risk.”
“Ha!” ejaculated Bonnivet, horror-stricken. “I now understand. But I will not leave her.”
“As you please, monseigneur,” said Nardi. “I have warned you.”
“Stay, I implore of you,” cried Bonnivet, detaining him. “Is there any means of saving her?”
“Alas! none,” replied Nardi. “She is beyond the power of medicine. I have seen too many fatal cases lately to be mistaken. She has all the worst symptoms about her. Before to-morrow morning she will be a corpse.”
“Oh! say not so, doctor!” cried Bonnivet, distractedly.
“You are never content,” rejoined Nardi, petulantly, “You try to extract the truth from me, and when I yield to your importunities, you are dissatisfied. You now know the worst. Act as you think proper; but if you would not yourself fall a victim to the pestilence, you will leave the palace as expeditiously as possible. I will send a nurse to attend upon the countess, and a priest to minister to her soul’s welfare.”
“I cannot, will not, leave her,” rejoined Bonnivet, rushing back to the saloon.
“Then share her fate,” muttered Nardi, shrugging his shoulders as he departed.
Even in this brief interval a marked change had taken place in the countess’s looks. The flush in her cheeks had given way to deathly pallor, but the fire in her large black eyes burnt yet more fiercely. As Bonnivet re turned, she started up from the couch on which she had sunk, and caught hold of his arm.
“What has he told you?” she demanded, gazing at him as if to search into his soul. “I know he thinks me ill – very ill – but he does not suspect – ha!” And she paused.
“No, no; calm yourself,” rejoined Bonnivet, endeavouring to reassure her. “There is no danger. But he charged me to reiterate his order that you should retire to rest immediately.”
“But I do not choose to obey him,” she rejoined. “I do not want to part with you. I feel better – much better. Come and sit beside me,” she added, returning to the couch, “and let us renew the discourse which the doctor interrupted. I will leave Milan to-morrow. If you march to Lodi or Pavia, I may accompany you – may I not?”
Bonnivet made no reply.
“You do not seem pleased by the proposition,” she continued. “Do you not wish to have me near you?”
“Oh! this is more than I can bear!” exclaimed Bonnivet, unable to repress his emotion.
The countess gazed at him bewildered,
“Your looks affright me,” she said, “I am sure Doctor Nardi has told you more about me than you are —
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– authority over the garrison, which consists almost exclusively of German lanz-knechts, who have been badly paid, and are known to be discontented.”
“That may be true,” remarked Montmorency, “but De Leyva is a very skilful commander, full of energy and resources, and will make a long and vigorous defence. When the Imperial army quitted Milan on our approach it was in a state of great disorder. The men had suffered greatly by their march, and were in many cases without arms, and almost without accoutrements. Again, the plague has thinned their ranks, and those who are left are disheartened. They can soon be starved out at Lodi, where provisions are scanty. Lodi ours – Bourbon, Pescara, Lannoy, and Sforza captives – Pavia and all the other cities and fortresses of the duchy must inevitably surrender. From these considerations, I counsel your majesty to march on the Adda and not to encamp on the Ticino.”
All the other leaders, except Saint-Marsault, concurred with Montmorency; but Bonnivet would not give up his point.
“The king’s honour is concerned in the matter,” he said. “A war waged by his majesty in person ought not to be conducted according to the ordinary rules of military tactics.”
“No successful war can be conducted otherwise,” remarked Montmorency, contemptuously. “Such advice would not have been tendered by Bayard, were he alive.”
“It comports not with the king’s dignity to attack a small fortress while an important city holds out,” restarted Bonnivet. “Pavia captured, his majesty will be master of the Milanese, and can then proceed to the invasion of Naples.”
“Foi de gentilhomme! you are right,” exclaimed the king. “Honour calls us to Pavia and not to Lodi, and we will obey the summons. Seigneur de la Trémouille,” he added to that general, “I entrust to you the defence of this city of Milan. I will leave with you eight thousand fantassins and three hundred lances – a force amply sufficient in the event of an attack on the part of the Imperialists. As to you, messeigneurs,” he continued to the others, “you will make ready. Tomorrow we set out for Pavia.”
Towards evening, on the following day, François appeared before Pavia with the whole of his army, excepting that portion of it which had been left with La Trémouille for the defence of Milan.
The king was in excellent spirits, confident in his army, which was in splendid condition, and well supplied with cavalry and artillery, and he had entire faith in Bonnivet’s representations that Pavia would be an easy conquest, and its possession ensure him the mastery of the duchy.
It was therefore in a blithe mood that he approached the ancient capital of the Longobardi kingdom, and gazed at its numerous towers and spires, its proud Duomo and stern castello, rising from out its walls, and now empurpled by the rays of the setting sun.
“Is not yon city better worth fighting for than Lodi, sire?” remarked Bonnivet, who was riding near him, and saw what was passing in his breast.
“Ay, marry is it,” rejoined the king. “I should almost be sorry if it were to surrender. A week’s siege will be pleasant pastime.”
“I do not think your majesty will be disappointed,” replied Bonnivet. “De Leyva is obstinate, and will not yield without giving us some trouble. But the city must fall when you choose to take it, and you can therefore proceed as leisurely as you will. As I have already explained to your majesty, the garrison, which consists almost entirely of German lanz-knechts, under the command of the Comte de Hohenzollern, is discontented and even mutinous, and, if need be, can be easily corrupted.”
“I would rather conquer with steel than gold,” rejoined François, laughing. “But let us consider where I shall establish my quarters. I must have access to yon charming park of Montibello, which, with its woods and glades, reminds me of the forest of Fontainebleau.”
And, as he spoke, he pointed to a vast park, several miles in extent, and very thickly wooded, lying to the north of the city. In the midst of this park, which, extensive as it was, was completely surrounded by strong and lofty walls, stood a large palace, which had been built as a hunting-seat by Gian Galeazzo Visconti, Duke of Milan.
The palace, though merely designed to enable its princely owner to pursue the pleasures of the chase, was strongly fortified, moated, and approached by a drawbridge. As may well be imagined, the close vicinity of this vast and noble park to the city was a great embellishment to its appearance. But, in truth, Pavia was extremely beautiful and picturesque, full of splendid edifices, and boasting numerous churches, convents, and stately mansions.
At the same time, the extraordinary number of strong and lofty towers by which it was guarded, together with its huge and frowning citadel, gave it a very formidable! appearance, which was further increased by its walls and bastions, now abundantly garnished with ordnance. But it was not merely to its walls and towers that Pavia owed its strength. On the side on which it was weakest it was protected by a deep and rapid river, which formed an impassable moat.
About a league above Pavia the Ticino divides itself into two arms, one of which bathes the walls in the manner just described, while the lesser arm, after describing a wide curve, rejoins the main stream below the city, forming an island near its point of junction, on which the suburb of Sant Antonio was built. A stone bridge, erected by Gian Galeazzo Visconti, covered by a gallery and defended by a strong tower, connected this suburb with the city.
Between the banks of the lesser arm of the Ticino and the walls, and contiguous to the park of Mirabello, stood the stately abbey of San Lanfranco and the church of San Salvator, and it was towards these structures that Bonnivet now directed the king’s attention.
“Your majesty observes yonder abbey and church,” he said, pointing them out. “There you can conveniently establish your quarters during the siege. Openings can easily be made in the walls so as to give you access to the park of Mirabello, and, if you are so minded, you can occupy the château of Gian Galeazzo Visconti.”
“I like the situation of the abbey best, and will take up my quarters near it,” said the king. “I will have you and the Grand Master with me, and the main part of the army shall encamp there. The Marshal de la Palisse shall post himself on yon hills on the east of the city,” pointing in that direction. “The Duke d’Alençon shall occupy the park of Mirabello, and take possession of the chateau of Gian Galeazzo.”
“Possession of the little island on which stands the suburb of Sant Antonio is important,” said Bonnivet. “If your majesty will allow me, I will take it.”
“No, that shall be Montmorency’s task,” rejoined François. “He is angry that we have come hither in preference to Lodi. I must find him employment.”
These arrangements were carried out. Next morning François fixed his quarters near the abbey of San Lan-franco, while his generals posted themselves as he had directed.
On the same day, the Marshal de Montmorency with a large force, consisting of more than five thousand men, crossed the lesser arm of the Ticino by a bridge of boats, and took possession of the island. Then turning to the tower, at the head of the bridge communicating with the city, he summoned the little garrison to surrender, and meeting with a determined refusal from the officer in command, immediately attacked the tower and took it. Most of the garrison had fallen during the assault, but the survivors – amongst whom was the captain, a valiant man-at-arms – were brought before the marshal.
“How dared you resist the king’s army in a paltry shed like that?” he demanded.
“It was our duty to guard the bridge, monseigneur,” replied the captain, boldly.
“You are false traitors, and shall serve as an example to your fellows, who will learn the fate they may expect if they hold out,” rejoined Montmorency, furiously. “Away with them!” he added to the guard. “Hang them at once from the summit of the tower, in face of the city, so that the whole garrison may behold them.”
The ruthless mandate was immediately carried into effect, and the brave soldiers were ignominiously put to death.
Unable to stay the execution, which he witnessed from the walls of the city, De Leyva vowed to make terrible reprisals on the first prisoners he should take, and he kept his word. By partially destroying the bridge, he prevented Montmorency from following up his success in that direction.
Pavia being now invested at all points, François determined to commence the assault without delay, and his batteries being placed and mounted with powerful artillery, he opened fire simultaneously on the eastern and western sides of the city, continuing the cannonade for three days, when a sufficient breach in either portion of the walls was effected.
Next day, the assault was made on both points at the same time, and at each encountered a vigorous resistance.
One party of the besiegers was led on by Bonnivet, who gallantly mounted the breach, but on gaining its summit he was checked by the pikes of the Spanish soldiers, and discovered, at the same time, that within the walls there was a deep trench, of the existence of which he had been ignorant, while from its parapets a company of arquebusiers, commanded by De Leyva, poured a murderous fire upon him. His armour alone saved him – all those near him being struck down. As it was impossible to force the breach under such circumstances, he was compelled to retire.
Nor did better success attend the Marshal de la Palisse, by whom the assault was made on the other side of the city. He was repulsed with heavy loss by the Comte de Hohenzollern.
It was then found that such preparations had been made by De Leyva that it was impossible to take the place by assault, and that recourse must be had to the tedious operations of sap and mine. However, the king reconciled himself without difficulty to the delay, and his troops, so far from being dissatisfied, were well pleased. There was plenty of good cheer in the camp, abundance of provisions were brought from the country round, and a market was held in the park of Mirabello, where these were sold.
Thus the besiegers led a joyous life, interrupted only by an occasional skirmish. As to François, he amused himself by hunting daily in the vast park, and while engaged in the chase almost forgot the object that had brought him thither. His nights were spent in festivity, and the attraction of female society was not wanting, for bands of fair dames came over from Piacenza. A bridge of boats across the Ticino connected the king’s camp with the island on which Montmorency was stationed, and a similar bridge at another part of the river made communication easy with La Palisse. The Duke d’Alençon, as we have mentioned, was quartered in the Castle of Mirabello.
IV. OF THE STRATAGEM PRACTISED BY ANTONIO DE LEYVA
But while abundance was to be found in the camp of the besiegers, and while the French army was contented and even joyous, severe privation was already experienced in Pavia.
Disappointed in the succours he expected to receive from Lodi, De Leyva had already put the garrison on short allowance, and provisions had become so scarce, that the horrors of famine began to be anticipated. Occasionally supplies were obtained by skirmishing parties, but these were inefficient for a populous city like Pavia, and were speedily exhausted.
But De Leyva appeared wholly unconcerned by the distress he saw around him. Harsh and inflexible, resolute in the performance of his duty, and callous to the sufferings of others, he looked on the people around him with a cold, unpitying eye. So long as the garrison could be fed, he cared not what became of the citizens.
His worst apprehensions were caused by the mutinous spirit which on several occasions of late had been evinced by the German lanz-knechts under De Hohenzollern.
He had tried to allay their discontent by promising them their pay, but as he could not make good his word, his assurances were treated with derision, and the men even threatened, if not paid, to deliver the city to the enemy.
That this would be carried out, De Leyva became convinced by discovering that a secret correspondence existed between the Comte d’Azarnes, one of the German leaders, and Bonnivet. The knowledge of the secret thus obtained he prudently kept to himself, resolving to punish the treachery of Azarnes at a fitting season. As gold, however, must be obtained at whatever risk, he carefully thought over the matter, and at last conceived a stratagem by which he hoped that a supply of money might be safely passed through the French army. During a sortie which he made for the purpose into the park of Mirnbello, he despatched an emissary in whom he could confide, with instructions to Lannoy and Pescara, both of whom were at Lodi.
While François, unable to take the city by assault, was proceeding by slower means, a plan was suggested to him by an officer belonging to the Duke d’Alençon, which promised success, and gave great uneasiness to the besieged. This was no less than to divert the main arm of the Ticino, which flowed past Pavia, into the lesser channel. If the plan could be accomplished, the city, being entirely undefended on this side, must necessarily fall.
Every exertion, therefore, was used by the king to carry the scheme into effect. An enormous number of men were employed in damming up the main arm of the river, and in deepening and widening the channel of the lesser arm so as to receive its waters, and as the work progressed François was greatly elated by the prospect of success, while De Leyva attempted, though vainly, to fortify the exposed part of the city, which, when the bed of the river was laid dry, would be open to attack.
On both sides the opinion now prevailed that Pavia was doomed, but its resolute commander held stoutly on, and would not listen to any terms of capitulation.
Another day, and all would have been over, when just at the critical moment, while prayers were offered in the Duomo for the preservation of the city, torrents of rain began to fall, and continued to pour down without intermission for several hours, until the swollen waters of the Ticino could no longer be restrained, but, bursting the embankments reared against them, returned to their original channel.
Pavia was saved. Fervent thanksgivings were offered up by the citizens, who regarded the occurrence as providential, and a Te Deum was chanted in the Duomo. Discouraged by the ill success of the scheme, François made no attempt to renew it.
Just after this event, which Antonio de Leyva looked upon as a good omen, another incident of a very different nature occurred.
We have said that a large market was held in the park of Mirabello, at which provisions of all kinds were sold by country-folk to the soldiers. One morning, two tall and robust young men, with handsome and sunburnt visages, and clad like peasants, were allowed to pass through the French camp, there being nothing either in their looks or deportment calculated to excite suspicion. Each led a mule charged with a couple of large casks, apparently filled with wine, and as the two young peasants strode along they laughed and jested with the soldiers.
On arriving at the place where the market was held, they were speedily surrounded by eager customers, and while chaffering with them moved gradually nearer and nearer to the city walls, until it became evident that they had attracted the notice of the sentinels, and they were cautioned by the soldiers with them not to go any farther. The peasants, however, treated the warning as a joke, and went on.
All at once, a troop of cavalry, headed by De Leyva, issued from a sallyport, and dashing at the party, seized the peasants and their mules, and carried them off into the city before any attempt at rescue could be made by the troops of the Duke d’Alençon, who had witnessed the affair.
As soon as De Leyva was safe within the walls of the city, he gave vent to a hearty fit of laughter, and the two peasants joined in his merriment.
“Admirably executed, by my fay!” exclaimed the governor. “The stratagem has succeeded to a miracle, little do the enemy dream what rare wine they have allowed to escape them. ‘Tis a vintage fit for the king’s table – ha! ha! But whom have I to thank for the important service thus rendered me?” he added to the foremost of the peasants. “Unless I am mistaken, it is the Seigneur Pomperant.”
“Your excellency is right,” replied the other. “Lan-noy and Pescara could find no better messenger than myself, so I have come hither disguised, as you see, with my attendant Hugues. Each of those casks contains a thousand golden ducats – a rich prize for the king, if it had fallen into his hands.”
“A good sum, in truth, and if it will not pay the lanz-knechts in full, it will at least stop their mouths for a time,” rejoined De Leyva, laughing. “Again I thank you for the service, though I am sorry you will have to remain in this city. There is plenty of revelry, I am told, each night in the king’s camp, but there is none here. All we do in Pavia is to fast, pray, and fight.”
“I am familiar with beleaguered cities,” said Pomperant. “I was in Marseilles during the siege.”
“Marseilles endured no privations,” rejoined De Leyva. “The port was open, and supplies could be sent in by the fleet. But here we are cut off from everything. May I count on speedy succour from Lannoy and Pescara?”
“I fear not,” replied Pomperant. “They are not in a condition to march upon the king’s army. But they expect reinforcements.”
“Where is the Duke de Bourbon?” demanded De Leyva.
“In Suabia collecting an army,” replied Pomperant. “From what I have heard from his highness he will get together a large force, and, when he returns, I doubt not he will fly to your succour.”
“I hope he may not come too late,” remarked De Leyva.
“Before setting out, the duke told me that he knew full well your excellency would hold out, and that most assuredly he would be back in time to relieve you.”
“Well, I suppose I must be content,” said De Leyva. “But I am eager to examine the treasure.”
By the governor’s orders the casks were then taken to the castello, and on being opened were found full of golden pieces, which De Leyva immediately distributed among the German lanz-lanechts, telling them the remainder of their pay was safe in the hands of the Viceroy of Naples, at Lodi, and should be given to them as soon as it could be sent with safety. By this means confidence was restored, and the tendency to mutiny checked.
The time had now arrived for the punishment of the traitor. On the day after the gold had been distributed as above mentioned, De Leyva sent for Azarnes to the castello, and after conversing with him for some time in a friendly manner, called for wine. A cup of Cyprus was filled, and Azarnes drank it unsuspectingly. Another goblet was offered to De Leyva, but, though he raised it to his lips, he took care not to taste it. After a while, De Leyva drew from his breast the letter addressed to Bonnivet which he had intercepted, and, showing it to Azarnes, asked him sternly if it was his writing. With such evidence against him, the unfortunate man did not dare to attempt denial.
“Your silence proclaims your guilt,” said De Leyva. “You deserve death, but act as I enjoin, and I will pardon you.”
“I am ready to obey your excellency,” rejoined Azarnes.
“Write, then, to Bonnivet that the men are firm, and refuse to deliver up the city,” said De Leyva. “Add that pay has been sent them by the Viceroy of Naples, and that succour is daily expected.”
Azarnes wrote as commanded, and when the letter was finished, De Leyva took it.
“I will send the letter off at once,” he said. “Remain here till I return. I shall not be long absent. I have more to say to you.”
And, with a singular look at Azarnes, he quitted the room.
De Leyva had not been gone many minutes, when the unfortunate man was seized with a mortal sickness, and a frightful suspicion crossing him, he examined the other goblet, and found it untouched. He then knew that he was poisoned, and made for the door, but ere he could reach it his strength utterly forsook him, and he fell on the ground. At this moment De Leyva entered the chamber.
“What! my wine is too potent for you – ha?” he exclaimed.
“You have poisoned me,” groaned the dying man.
“I have been compelled to become your executioner,” rejoined De Leyva. “I would rather have put you to death publicly, but since justice might have been defeated, I have elected this plan.”
The action of the terrible poison was so swift, that ere many minutes Azarnes had ceased to exist.