Chapter XI: Book IV: The Siege of Marseilles (3)

Del Vasto then dismounted, and, crossing the bridge, was met at the gate by the officer, who conducted him to a chamber on the basement floor of the tower, ordinarily used as a guard-room. Here he found two knightly personages, both completely cased in steel, whom he recognised as the commanders of the garrison.

“I am sent to you, messeigneurs,” said Del Vasto, after formal salutations had passed, “to make a proposition which I trust may be entertained. Conceiving himself to be in a position to take this city, which you have so long and so ably defended, his Highness the Duke de Bourbon, influenced by feelings of humanity, before making the assault, has determined to afford you the opportunity of capitulating on terms, consistent with your own honour, and highly advantageous to the city.”

“It is needless to state the terms, my lord marquis,” replied Chabot de Brion, haughtily. “We cannot listen to them.”

“Do not reject the proposal unheard, messeigneurs,” said Del Vasto. “Have some consideration for the citizens.”

“You have taught us what to expect, marquis, by your treatment of the garrison of Toulon,” rejoined Renzo, sternly. “But we are not to be terrified. Tell your leader, Charles de Bourbon to take Marseilles--if he can. We will only treat with him at the cannon's mouth.”

“You will have reason to repent your bold determination, messeigneurs,” rejoined Del Vasto. “Before departing, I would say a word in regard to the Seigneur Pomperant, who has fallen into your hands. Are you willing to make an exchange of prisoners? You shall have a dozen of your own officers for him.”

“Offer us twenty, and add twenty to those, and we will not part with him,” rejoined Renzo. “Tell Bourbon so.”

With a proud salutation Del Vasto then departed. Conducted to the gate by the officer, he passed through the guard lining the drawbridge, mounted his charger, and rode back to the camp, where he related what had occurred to Bourbon and Pescara.

“I felt sure the garrison would not capitulate,” said the latter.

“What of Pomperant?” demanded Bourbon, eagerly. “Will they exchange him?”

“No, your highness, they absolutely refuse,” replied Del Vasto. “But I do not imagine he is in any danger. They have some motive for detaining him.”

“Possibly,” said Bourbon. “We shall learn what it is in time.”

XII. AVIGNON.

|Roused to exertion by the danger that menaced his kingdom, François I. hastened to reinforce his army, which had been greatly reduced by Bonnivet's reverses in the Milanese, and in a few weeks after Bourbon's irruption into Provence, he had succeeded in augmenting it by fourteen thousand Swiss mercenaries, six thousand lansquenets, and fifteen hundred light horse.

Placing himself at the head of this force, he marched to Lyons, where he was joined by the King of Navarre and several foreign princes. Almost all the nobles, on whose aid Bourbon had counted, flocked round the king's standard, bringing with them large companies of horse, so that he had now a very numerous army--the three divisions which were placed under the command of Marshals Chabannes, Foix, and Montmorency.

Continuing his march along the left bank of the Rhone, François pitched his camp at Avignon, and again surrendered himself to pleasure, passing his time in such festivities as he was wont to indulge in at Blois and Fontainebleau. In the old Papal palace of Avignon--an enormous structure, part convent and part castle--he held his court, and its gloomy halls and chambers were enlivened by the presence of troops of young nobles decked out in gay attire, and echoed to the light laugh of the numerous frolic dames who ever accompanied the luxurious monarch.

Bonnivet was with his royal master at Avignon. In spite of the favourite's reverses in the Milanese, he had lost none of his influence, and easily persuaded the king that it was necessary to his glory to recover possession of the lost duchy of Milan, and that if he appeared at the head of an army in Italy, this object would infallibly be accomplished. François therefore determined upon a new expedition as soon as he should have driven Bourbon out of Provence.

Subjugated by the charms of the resistless Diane de Poitiers, who had now completely supplanted the Comtesse de Chateaubriand, unable to tear himself from her, encouraged in his luxurious idleness by Bonnivet, Saint-Marsault, and others of his courtiers, the king wasted his time in the pleasant city of Avignon, dreaming of conquests which he meant to achieve, and allowing Bourbon to prosecute the siege of Marseilles unmolested.

Attended by a mirthful train, Diane and the king made a pilgrimage to Vaucluse, and, after quaffing of the classic fountain, François carved the name of his mistress, linked with his own, on the walls of the grotto.

One day it chanced that François and Diane were stationed on the balcony over the gate of the Papal palace--an elevated spot whence the sovereign-pontiffs who had inhabited the palace were accustomed to pronounce their benediction upon the people, as they would have done from the windows of the Vatican had Rome been free to them. Chance had brought the amorous pair to the balcony. For the last hour they had been strolling round the lofty walls of the palace. Vainly had Diane essayed to count the spires that rose around her--nowhere are there so many churches as in Avignon--and as if to confuse her still further, their bells all rang out at once. Half distracted by the deafening clamour, she turned to the towering cathedral, where Popes were enthroned, and where Popes lie buried. From the contemplation of Notre-Dame des Dons, as the mighty edifice is designated, she turned to gaze upon the camp, which occupied the whole of the plain lying between the junction of the rapid Durance and the rushing Rhone. The long rows of tents, mingled with pavilions decorated with pennons and banners, formed a picture of surpassing beauty.

By this time the bells had ceased ringing, and François was able to resume the tender converse which the clamour had interrupted.

Thus beguiling the time, now gazing at one point of the ancient city, now at another; sometimes looking at the cathedral, at the fortifications, at the vast tract of country traversed by the Rhone, at the mountains, or at the camp, they found themselves in the balcony overlooking the gateway. Here, seated on a marble bench, which had been once used by the Popes, they continued their discourse, while the young nobles and dames in attendance ranged themselves behind them.

The balcony where the king and Diane sat commanded a wide open space in front of the gateway, which was defended by a dry moat and drawbridge. Perceiving two horsemen, escorted by an officer and half a dozen mounted men-at-arms, approach the gateway, and being struck by their appearance, François despatched Bonnivet, who was standing among the group of courtiers, to make inquiries concerning them.

After the lapse of a few minutes Bonnivet reappeared, accompanied by the two strangers, both of whom were men of middle age, grave deportment, and plain attire, and presented them to the king as Messieurs Pierre Cépède and Jean Bègue, deputies from Marseilles.

“I have not waited for permission to bring these brave and loyal citizens before your majesty,” said Bonnivet, “because I felt certain you would grant them an immediate audience.”

“You did right,” rejoined François. “Rise, messieurs,” he added to the kneeling deputies. “You are welcome. You must have run great risk in coming hither. How did you contrive to elude the vigilance of the foe?”

“Heaven has aided us, sire,” replied Pierre Cépède. “All the approaches to the city, on the land side, are so strictly guarded, that certain destruction would have attended any attempt at exit in that direction. We were, therefore, compelled to pass out at the port; and not without much difficulty and danger reached the mouth of the Rhône. We came up the river to Arles, and thence, with as little delay as possible, to this city.”

“You have done well,” replied François, approvingly. “What tidings do you bring me of my faithful city of Marseilles?”

“The city still holds out, sire,” said Pierre Cépède; “and its defences have been so greatly strengthened, that no uneasiness whatever was felt by the commanders until the enemy obtained possession of the heavy artillery from Toulon.”

“Ha!” exclaimed François, surprised and angry. “How is this? I did not know that Toulon had fallen.”

“The news only arrived this morning, sire,” interposed Bonnivet. “I was unwilling to trouble your majesty by mentioning it.”

“It should not have been kept from me for a single moment,” cried the king, sharply. “By Saint Denis! this is a great disaster. Where was my fleet at the time? How came La Fayette and Doria to let Toulon be taken?”

“Sire, they could not leave the port of Marseilles,” returned Jean Bègue. “The fall of Toulon is a heavy blow, but the fall of Marseilles would be still heavier. Listen to the prayers of the citizens, sire, and come to their relief. You do not know what exertions they have made for the defence of the city--what heroism they have displayed. No sacrifices have been too great. Our noblest and fairest dames have formed themselves into bands, and have worked at the trenches like pioneers. Oh, madame!” he continued, addressing Diane, “if you could only behold what they have done, you would be filled with admiration. For three days and three nights they laboured incessantly. We are proud of our women, madame.”

“And with good reason,” rejoined Diane. “Oh, sire! you must fly to the rescue of this devoted city. You will ever reproach yourself if it should fall.”

Both the deputies looked gratefully at her as these words were uttered.

“Is there immediate danger, messieurs?” demanded the king.

“No, sire,” replied Pierre Cépède. “We have endeavoured to explain to your majesty the exact condition of the city. Its defences are as complete as they can be made. We have brave and experienced commanders, and our citizens are animated by loyalty and devotion. But we have an enemy opposed to us, skilful, daring, and confident of success. If Marseilles _can_ be taken, Charles de Bourbon will take it.”

“It never shall be taken,” cried François. “Return to your fellow-citizens, messieurs. Tell them how highly I estimate their courage and loyalty. Say that I will forthwith send them from Martigues a reinforcement of fifteen hundred men-at-arms, with good store of wine, cattle, and provender. Bid them persevere in their valiant defence of the city. They may rest assured that I will come to their succour. Farewell, messieurs! In good time I will adequately requite the important service you have rendered me.”

Well satisfied with these assurances, the deputies withdrew.

Next day, the king marched with his whole army towards Aix. On learning that he was approaching, the viguier and the magistrates, dreading his resentment, rode forth from the city to meet him, and strove to excuse themselves for the welcome they had given to Bourbon. François fiercely interrupted them, calling out, “Ha, knaves! ha, traitors! You have opened your fates to a rebel in arms against us and our kingdom. You received him with all honour, allowed him to usurp the title of Comte de Provence, which belongs to us, and took the oath of fidelity to him, in violation of your allegiance to us your lawful sovereign. You deserve death, and you shall die.”

“Spare us, sire! spare us!” cried the viguier and the others, throwing themselves at his feet. “We now see the enormity of our offence.”

“Repentance comes too late. I will have no pity upon you, vile traitors,” rejoined the king, sternly. “From your fate your misguided fellow-citizens shall learn what it is to incur our displeasure. Away with them!” he added to the guard. “Let them be taken baek to the city, and decapitated in the place in front of the Cathedral of Saint Sauveur. Set their heads on the gates, so that all may see how treason is punished.”

This severe sentence was carried into effect. As the king entered Aix, he looked up at the gates, and beheld the heads of the unfortunate viguier and his brother-magistrates.

Not content with punishing the chief offenders, François compelled all the principal citizens and all public officers to renew their oaths of allegiance to him, and imprisoned several who were proved to have displayed zeal for the rebel chief.

Diane de Poitiers accompanied the king to Aix, and it was arranged that she should occupy the old palace of René d'Anjou, while her royal lover moved on to succour Marseilles.

XIII. HOW POMPERANT WAS ORDERED FOR, EXECUTION.

|Ever sinee the departure of the two deputies to Avignon, Pomperant had been kept in strict confinement in the Tour de Saint Paul. One morning the door of his dungeon was opened by an officer, whose sombre looks proclaimed his errand.

“You are come to bid me prepare for death, I perceive, captain,” said Pomperant, with as much composure as he could command.

“You have guessed rightly, monseigneur,” replied the officer. “The two deputies have been captured, and unless they are liberated before noon you will be executed. A message has been sent to that effect to the Duke de Bourbon.”

“At least the commanders will let me die as becomes a gentleman--not as a common malefactor?” said Pom-perant.

“I cannot give you that consolation, monseigneur,” rejoined the officer. “You are to be hanged from the summit of this tower in face of the hostile army. The execution will take place precisely at noon. You have yet an hour to live.”

“An hour! Is that all?” mentally ejaculated Pom-perant.

“Send a priest to me, I pray you, captain,” he said, with forced calmness. “I would fain make my peace with Heaven.”

The officer then withdrew, and shortly afterwards a priest entered, who received the prisoner's confession, and gave him absolution.

“I will leave you now, my son,” said the holy man, “but I shall remain without, and will attend you at the last.”

Pomperant had not been long alone, when the door of the cell again opened, and gave admittance to Marcelline. A sad greeting passed between them.

“I have striven to save you,” she said, in a voice half suffocated by emotion. “I have been to Renzo da Ceri, and have implored him, on my bended knees, to spare your life--but in vain. He will not even grant you the respite of an hour. All I could obtain was permission to hold this brief interview with you.”

“I thank him for the grace--it is more than I expected,” replied Pomperant, gazing at her with the deepest affection. “Oh! Marcelline, you have made life so dear to me that I grieve to lose it. But the thought that you love me will soothe the pangs of death.”

“It may console you to be assured that I will wed no other,” she rejoined. “I will be true to your memory--doubt it not. As soon as this siege is ended, I will enter a convent, and devote myself to Heaven.”

At this moment the priest entered the cell.

“Daughter,” said the good man, looking compassionately at her, “you must bid your lover an eternal farewell.”

“Oh no, no--do not say so, father!” she rejoined. “Grant me a few more minutes.”

“Alas, daughter, I have no power to comply with your request.”

“Nay, you must go, dear Mareelline,” said Pomperant. “Your presence will only unman me. Farewell for ever!”

Mareelline continued gazing passionately at her lover, while the priest drew her gently from the well.

Overcome by emotion, Pomperant sank down on a seat, and he had scarcely regained his firmness, when the door of the cell was thrown suddenly open. Nothing doubting that it was the guard eome to conduct him to execution, he arose and prepared for departure.

What was his surprise, when Mareelline, half frenzied with joy, again burst into the dungeon, exclaiming, “Saved! saved! They are come!”

The sudden revulsion of feeling was almost too much for Pomperant, and he could searcely sustain Marcelline as she flung herself into his arms.

“Is this a dream?” he said, gazing at her, as if doubting the evidence of his senses. “Methought we had parted for ever.”

“No, I have come to tell you you are saved,” she rejoined. “The deputies have returned. You are free!”

As the words were uttered, Renzo da Ceri, accompanied by the two deputies, and followed by the officer, entered the cell.

“I have eome to perform my promise, Seigneur Pomperant,” said Renzo. “These gentlemen having been released, you are free to return to your camp. You may congratulate yourself on your escape. A few minutes more and it would have been too late. The escort that brought the two deputies from the camp galloped all the way, and has only just reached the gates.”

“We also have reason to congratulate ourselves,” remarked Pierre Cépède. “Had we arrived too late, we should have been taken back for instant execution.”

“Conduct the Seigneur Pomperant to the Porte d'Aix, where the escort awaits him,” said Renzo to the officer. “Let his attendant go with him.”

“The orders shall be obeyed,” said the officer.

Bidding a tender adieu to Marcelline, and expressing a fervent nope that they might meet again, Pomperant thanked the commander for his honourable conduct, and quitted the cell with the officer.

On issuing from the tower, he found Hugues standing in the midst of a guard of halberdiers, and the faithful fellow expressed the liveliest satisfaction at beholding him. But not a moment was allowed for explanation. They were hurried to the gate through a crowd of soldiers and armed citizens.

On the farther side of the drawbridge, which was strongly guarded, stood the escort. Joining it without delay, they mounted the steeds provided for them, and the whole party then galloped off to the camp.

XVI. THE MINE.

|Within an hour after Pomperant's return to the camp, all the batteries on which the heavy cannon brought from Toulon had been mounted, opened fire upon that part of the ramparts where the breach had formerly been made. By nightfall a wide gap was made, and the cannonade then ceased.

At the same time the sappers, who had carried their works under the fosse after incredible toil, had reached the foundations of the walls. Before midnight the chamber of the mine was completed, and the barrels of gunpowder deposited within it; and Lurcy, who had been entrusted with the superintendence of this dangerous operation, brought word to Bourbon that all was ready.

“Let the mine be sprung, then,” replied Bourbon. “It will save some hours' work in the morning.”

On returning to execute this order, Lurcy was accompanied by Pomperant. After tracking the windings of the long gallery, which was lighted by torches fixed at various points, and crowded by soldiers, they at length reached the chamber of the mine. Having seen that all the arrangements were carefully made, and that the casks of powder were so placed that they could be simultaneously exploded, they were about to retire, when the stroke of a pickaxe was heard on one side of the excavation. They listened intently, and the sound was again plainly distinguished.

“The enemy are making a counter-mine,” said one of the sappers who was with them. “They are close upon us.”

As he spoke, the strokes grew quicker and louder.

“They are working hard,” remarked another sapper, with a grim smile. “But we shall soon check them.”

While this took place, a third sapper, who had been engaged in laying a train of powder communicating with the barrels, got up and said to Lurcy and Pomperant, “Retire, I pray you, messeigneurs. The train shall be fired as soon as you are out of danger.”

On this intimation, Lurcy and Pomperant hastily retreated to the first epaulment, which was placed on the outer side of the moat, and in which they could take refuge during the explosion. All the sappers accompanied them, except one man, whose business it was to fire the train.

On reaching the mouth of the epaulment, Lurcy called out to the man who was left behind--“Fire!”

On this the sapper knelt down and applied a lighted tow-match to the long train of powder. Both Lurcy and Pomperant watched the proceeding from the entrance of their place of refuge. In an instant the fiery line started on its terrible errand, and the sapper hurried off to the shelter of the epaulment.

Just at this moment, however, and while Pomperant was still watching the course of the burning train, he was startled by an unexpected occurrence. The whole of the wall of earth at the end of the chamber of the mine suddenly gave way, disclosing those who were engaged in making the counter-mine.

What was Pomperant's horror on discovering that the foremost of the party were no other than Marphise and Marcelline! Torches held by the Amazons in the rear fully revealed them to view. There they stood, pickaxe in hand, preparing to leap over the mass of earth into the chamber.

Horrified at the sight, Pomperant would have rushed towards them had he not been forcibly held back by Lurcy. The two Amazons seemed paralysed by terror, and unable to retreat.

“Back, on your lives!” shouted Pomperant, in extremity of anguish.

A giddiness seized him, and, unable to offer any further resistance, he was dragged into the epaulment by Lurcy.

At this moment the explosion took place with a terrific sound, and a shock like that of an earthquake. From the noises that succeeded, it was evident that a large portion of the wall, under which the mine had been laid, was overthrown.

In another minute all these appalling sounds ceased, and a silence like that of death succeeded.

Lurcy and Pomperant, with the sappers, rushed out of the epaulment. But they could not proceed many paces. The torch held by one of the men flashed on a terrible scene, and revealed the work of destruction. The farther end of the passage beneath the moat was blocked up with huge stones and rubbish, and rents having been made in the sides, the water from the moat was pouring in, the place being already half flooded.

“I have lost her!” exclaimed Pomperant, in accents of despair. “They must all have perished in that terrible explosion. Why did you not let me extinguish the train?”

“Had you made the attempt, you would only have thrown away your own life,” rejoined Lurcy. “But come away. You can do no good here.”

“I will not go till I have ascertained what has become of her,” cried Pomperant.

“Give yourself no further trouble, monseigneur,” remarked the sapper who had fired the mine. “Not one of those brave young women can have escaped. They are all crushed beneath those stones.”

“I would I had perished with her!” ejaculated Pomperant. And he reeled back, half fainting, against the side of the gallery.

Giving some hasty directions to the men, Lurcy took the arm of his friend, and led him away from the scene of destruction.

As they threaded the winding passages, their progress was impeded by parties of soldiers who were hastening from the place of arms to the farther end of the mine; but at last they issued forth into the open air.

As soon as Pomperant reached his tent, he threw himself on a couch in a state of complete exhaustion, while Lurcy hastened to inform Bourbon that the mine had been sprung.

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.”

END OF THE FOURTH BOOK