Chapter XIV: Part 14

Every day the besiegers and the besieged received reinforcements. The garrison, which at first scarcely amounted to twelve hundred men, was now composed of three thousand combatants; and the English army, which at the commencement only reckoned ten thousand warriors, was increased to twenty-three thousand soldiers, who thought themselves invincible. The city, which had been attacked on the side of the Sologne alone, was now invested almost entirely on that of the Beauce. Opposite to the principal avenues of Orleans were erected six large bastilles, which communicated with each other by sixty less considerable redoubts, constructed in the intervals. It was impossible to enter the place without passing under the artillery of the forts. More than once the French leaders forced the quarters of the enemy’s army to introduce convoys. The rigour of the season did not at all interrupt the works. Only on Christmas-day the English proposed a suspension of arms, and begged the besieged to send them some musicians, to celebrate that great festival with proper solemnity. The generals made each other presents. The earl of Suffolk sent the bastard of Orleans some refreshments in exchange for a plush robe which he had given him. Up to the beginning of Lent, nothing remarkable took place. Having desolated the country round, the English began to be in want of provisions. In the early part of February, the duke of Bedford sent a convoy, escorted by two thousand five hundred men, under the conduct of the brave Fastolfe. The count de Clermont having collected nearly three thousand soldiers, to whom he added a detachment of the garrison of Orleans, resolved to carry off this convoy. He came up with the English at Rouvray, a village of the Beauce. Fastolfe[9] halted, made an intrenchment of the waggons which contained the provisions, and only left two issues, at one of which he placed his archers. The French army, more courageous than prudent, wished that same night to force this intrenchment, with an impetuosity that has often proved fatal to their countrymen. The French insisted upon fighting on horseback; the Scots would only fight on foot. This deficiency of discipline produced the effect that might have been expected. After an obstinate conflict, the English were conquerors. A hundred and twenty nobles of high rank were left dead upon the field; and the other leaders returned to the city, quite crest-fallen, with scarcely five hundred followers. This battle was called “La journée des harengs,” because the convoy conducted by Fastolfe consisted principally of barrels filled with this fish, which, being broken by the French artillery, their savoury contents were strewed over the field of battle.

In proportion with the triumph of the English in this little battle was the depression of the feeble and voluptuous Charles, then lying encamped at Chinon. Despairing of his fortunes, the timid monarch deliberated whether he had not better seek refuge in Dauphiny. It was his own opinion, and his servile counsellors concurred in it. He was already about to carry this resolution into effect, when two heroines roused the courage of the prince from its effeminate slumbers. The queen, a princess above her sex and her rank, and the fair Agnes[10] Sorel, employed the influence their charms had over him to detain the king, who could but blush to think he had less magnanimity than his wife or his mistress.

In the mean time Orleans seemed daily sinking into the last extremity. The besieged could no longer look for relief to a prince who was in no condition to assist them, and who, indeed, scarcely preserved a shadow of royalty. There only remained one chance of saving the city, and that was to place it in sequestration in the hands of the duke of Burgundy. The envoys, among whom was Xaintrailles, went at once to the duke, who agreed to the proposal, and came with them to Paris, with the design of persuading the duke of Bedford to accept it. But the regent replied that he would only treat with the city upon the condition of its surrender to the English. This intelligence roused the indignation and revived the courage of the Orléannais; they resolved to defend themselves to the last breath.

Whilst terrified France looked for nothing but the blow which was to consummate its ruin, that Invincible Power which sometimes seems to attach the greatest events to the most apparently weak causes, prepared her an avenger. A girl, of about seventeen years of age, was strongly persuaded that God destined her to be the preserver of her country. Our readers will please to observe we speak of La Pucelle according to the opinion entertained of her by the French of her own day, because it was that opinion which produced the revolution which astonishes us: if the majority of the French nation had not had faith in the mission of Joan of Arc, the miracle would not have been effected. Born near the banks of the Meuse, at Dom-Remy, a village of Lorraine, her poor but honest parents had given her an education conformable to the simplicity of her situation. Jeanne d’Arc, or, as we call her, Joan of Arc, had from her childhood been brought up with a horror for the English; she constantly made it the subject of her prayers that the monarchy should be delivered from the eternal enemies who tyrannized over it. Her zeal becoming more ardent with her years, at thirteen she had trances, in which she declared she had conversed with St. Michael, St. Marguerite, and St. Catherine, who told her that God had appointed her to drive out the English and bring about the coronation of the dauphin. With this enthusiasm she possessed all the virtues of which a simple mind is susceptible: innocence, piety, candour, generosity, and courage. Her rustic life had strengthened her naturally robust frame; she had the exterior, and even the natural graces of her sex, without experiencing the infirmities which characterize the weakness of it.

After several years of revelations, Joan, urged more and more by that inward voice which excited her to arm for her country, formed the resolution of presenting herself to Baudricourt, governor of Vaucouleurs, a small city of the neighbourhood:--“Master captain,” said she, “know that God has for some time past often given me to know, and has commanded me to go to the _gentil dauphin_, who ought, it is true, to be king of France, and that he should place under me men-at-arms, and that I should raise the siege of Orleans, and lead him to be crowned at Reims.” The astonished Baudricourt supposed her to be mad, and wanted to have her exorcised by the curé of the place. Joan continued to urge him for six months, and at length the governor, subdued by her importunities, armed her at all points, gave her in charge to two gentlemen with their servants, and dismissed her, saying, “Go, come of it what may!” Towards the end of February she arrived at Chinon, where the dauphin then was. It was precisely the moment when the vacillating Charles appeared to be sinking under the weight of his ill fortune.[11] She announced herself at the court of the monarch. During two days it was deliberated whether she should be heard or not; but at length curiosity prevailed, and she was admitted. The king, without any mark of superior dignity, mingled with the crowd of courtiers, on purpose to prove her. Joan distinguished him, pointed him out, and in spite of the cries “You are mistaken! you are mistaken!” continued to exclaim, “_That is he! that is he!_” They all admire her noble boldness; they surround her, and gaze on her with astonished looks. Charles himself cannot explain what passes in his heart at the aspect of this unknown girl: “Gentil dauphin,” said the heroine, without being the least disconcerted, “my name is _Jeanne la Pucelle_. The King of Heaven has sent me to succour you; if you will please to give me men of war, by divine grace and force of arms I will raise the siege of Orleans, and will lead you to Reims to be crowned, in spite of all your enemies. This is what the King of Heaven has ordered me to tell you, and it is His will that the English should return to their own country, and leave you peaceful in yours, as being the only true and legitimate heir of it; that if you make this offering to God, He will make you much greater and more flourishing than your predecessors have ever been; and He will take it ill of the English if they do not retire.”

Thus spoke La Pucelle; the fire of her words, the _naïveté_ of her manner, her simple but precise replies, everything convinced. The king caused her to be examined by matrons, by theologians, and by his parliament. Yoland of Arragon, queen of Sicily, accompanied by the ladies De Gaucourt, De Tiénes, and several others of the first distinction, visited Joan, and pronounced her to be as pure as she had described herself. The theologians, after many interrogations, decided that she was inspired. The parliament of Poitiers, after the most scrupulous observations, required that she should manifest the truth of her revelations by some prodigy. “I did not come to Poitiers,” she haughtily replied, “to perform miracles; but conduct me to Orleans, and I will give you certain signs of my mission.” This firm reply so astonished her judges, that all with one voice declared that this heavenly instrument which the All-Powerful had sent to their country ought to be instantly employed. Charles ordered a splendid and complete suit of armour to be made for her, gave her a standard, squires, pages, an intendant, a chaplain, and a train becoming the state of a great warlike leader. The new Amazon placed herself at the head of a considerable convoy destined for Orleans; and her warriors soon felt themselves inspired with her enthusiasm. She set out, followed by Marshal De Boussac, Gilles de Rais, the admiral De Couland, Ambroise de Loté, and Lahire, and arrived on the 29th of April within sight of the place. Dunois came to meet her; he begged her to satisfy the desire the inhabitants had to behold their liberator: she yielded to his entreaties, and she entered the city as if in triumph. A thousand cries of joy were heard; at that moment the Orléannais believed themselves invincible, and in fact were so. Everything was changed; the English, to that day conquerors, trembled at the name of Joan of Arc; they as firmly believed her to be a sorceress as the French believed her to be celestially inspired. “English,” wrote the heroine to them, “you who have no right to this kingdom of France, God commands you by me, Jeanne la Pucelle, to abandon your forts and to retire.” The couriers were arrested, and no reply was made to this awful summons but insults. Joan, outraged but dreaded, now prepared to prove her mission. On Wednesday, the 4th of May, she selected a body of troops, and, filled with an ardour more than human, she precipitated herself upon the enemy’s forts, and carried them after an assault of four hours. She then thought of gaining possession of the boulevard and fort of the Tourelles, where the _élite_ of the English were cantoned, under the orders of the celebrated Glansdale. After having made her dispositions during the night, she gave the signal as the first rays of day appeared. The ready troops follow her, mount with her to the breach, fight with ardour, press, pierce through, and overthrow the English, who, nevertheless, defend themselves with great courage. The French were on the point of carrying all before them, when Joan, wounded in the neck, was obliged to retire to put a dressing to her wound. Her absence extinguished the courage of the assailants; the soldiers missed the warlike illusion which rendered them victorious. Each began to desire to place himself in safety: even Dunois judged it most prudent to do so. All at once La Pucelle reappears! She rushes to the foot of the fort, and there plants her standard. Her intrepidity passes into all hearts; the efforts of her followers are redoubled, their fatigues and fears are forgotten, the English fly, the boulevard is carried!

On the morrow the vanquished English draw up in order of battle on the side of La Beauce; the French, still led on, still animated by their heroine, present themselves in the same order, resolved to fight, although inferior in numbers. But their enemies, till that time so proud and so terrible, did not dare to stand before them; they precipitately retreated, leaving behind them their sick, their baggage, their provisions, their artillery, and nearly five thousand dead. Thus, contrary to all hopes and expectations, the city of Orleans was relieved on the 8th of May, 1419. Public gratitude exhausted itself, so to say, to prove to Joan of Arc how deeply the greatness of her benefits was felt; the king ennobled her, with her father, her three brothers, and all her posterity. A statue was erected to her on the bridge of the city she had saved, and, to eternize the memory of this fortunate event, a festival was established, which is still celebrated every year on the 8th of May. At this festival an eulogy is pronounced on Joan of Arc, who, from the period of the raising of the siege, has been styled the Maid of Orleans. During the troubles of the Revolution, ignorant and barbarous men overthrew, in Orleans, the statue of a heroine who had preserved their city from the yoke of the English, and roused the spirit in France which shortly afterwards expelled the invaders from their soil; it was, however, reinstated by Buonaparte, during his consulship, on which occasion he did not forget to introduce a pungent reflection upon his and Joan’s enemies, the English.

The momentary gratitude was such as we have above described it; but what was the conduct of the king she had saved, when she became a captive? After she had fulfilled her mission, and effected the consecration of the king at Reims, she wished to retire, “to be taken back,” as she said, “to her father and mother, and keep their sheep and tend to their cattle.” But Charles’s captains had found the value of the enthusiasm she created, and refused to let her go. She, however, never was again as she had been; if she had had any faith in the divinity of her mission, with its completion it was gone. She was wounded at the siege of Paris, and was afterwards taken prisoner. As no Englishman can speak of her death without a blush, we will pass over that in humbled silence; but what shall we say for her king, who owed her so much, who heard of her imprisonment and death with the utmost indifference, and did not make the least effort to save her, or mitigate the horrors of her punishment? It was twenty-five years before he bethought himself of doing her memory justice: but Charles VII. was then a very different man from what he had been when he was so deeply indebted to Joan of Arc.

Joan of Arc is one of those remarkable characters who have achieved miracles by working upon the current superstitions of the times they lived in. To what a degree they were superstitious, we may judge by the one instance of the duchess of Gloucester, the wife of the king’s uncle, being tried and punished to the full extent the court durst venture, for dabbling in witchcraft. Acknowledging the immense benefit Joan’s efforts produced, and at the same time admitting the spirit and intelligence with which she carried out her plans, when we look at the pretence under which she operated, we are made sceptical, as we are in all such cases, of the first moving cause. In fact, we think it much more probable that the keen-witted Dunois should have trained a bold, shrewd girl to impose upon a weak young king and a superstitious people, than for an instant to imagine there was anything supernatural in her mission, or even that she devised a scheme entirely herself. Shakespeare generally follows the chronicles pretty faithfully; and the manner in which Dunois introduces her to the notice of the king is very suspicious. We do not take Shakespeare’s view of her character, but we are quite as much at variance with those poets who throw a veil of perfection and sickly sentimentality over it. In our opinion, Joan is a person who almost unwittingly effected wonders; neither she nor Dunois contemplated the extent of the good she did for France. Had she appeared under any banner but that of superstition, we should not have said a word against the faith that is placed in her; but no student of history should allow that pretence to pass without the closest investigation. As a high-spirited, intelligent, persevering, patriotic woman, she has much of our admiration, but as the inspired Maid of Orleans, she has none.

Her intervention was critically timed. The nobles were beginning to be ashamed of allowing a foreign power to dominate over the fair fields of France; the patience of the people under an oppressive yoke was exhausted; the English leaders, brave and wise as they were, were many and divided, under a minor king of weak character even when a man. In addition to these causes all beginning to operate favourably for France, Charles VII. was becoming of an age to perceive his legitimate course, and if he had not shaken off the trammels of sloth and pleasure, occasionally showed some little scintillations of what he afterwards became. When paying tribute to the memory of Joan of Arc as the regenerator of France, the French should not forget another remarkable woman to whom they are indebted: Agnes Sorel employed no magic but beauty and good sense, and yet the rousing of the king to a sense of his duty was as much due to her as the rousing of the people was due to Joan.

PAVIA.

A.D. 476.

Orestes having undertaken to dethrone Nepos, the emperor of the West, raised an army, merely showed himself, and the weak monarch abandoned the diadem. The fortunate rebel encircled the head of his son Romulus Augustulus with it. The Roman empire of the West was in its last period of decay. Odoacer, at the head of an army of Goths, Heruli, Scyrri, and Thuringians, came to give it the last blow, and to reign over its vast wreck. Terror and confusion preceded him. All fled, all dispersed at his approach. The plains were deserted, the cities opened their gates to him. Orestes, too weak to withstand him, shut himself up in Pavia. Odoacer pursued him thither, carried the city by storm, made a frightful carnage, and set fire to the churches and houses. Orestes was taken and decapitated on the 28th of August, 476, the very day on which, one year before, he had dragged Nepos from his throne. Augustulus, abandoned by everybody, stripped himself of his dangerous dignity, and delivered up the purple to his conqueror, who, out of compassion for his age, left him his life, with a pension of six thousand golden pence, that is, about three thousand three hundred pounds sterling. Thus disappeared the empire of the West, after having subsisted five hundred and six years from the battle of Actium, and twelve hundred and twenty-nine from the foundation of Rome. Scarcely was its fall perceived, scarcely a look was fixed upon its last moments; it might be compared to an old man who dies of caducity.

SECOND SIEGE, A.D. 572.

Alboin, king of the Lombards, entered Italy for the purpose of founding a state. Pavia alone ventured to oppose him. The new conqueror laid siege to it; and that city, after a vigorous resistance of three years, reduced to the last extremity, was forced to surrender at discretion. The conqueror, exasperated by the obstinacy of the defence, had resolved to put all the inhabitants to the sword, but their submission disarmed his vengeance. He entered Pavia, not as a conqueror, but as a pacific king; forbade murder, violation, or pillage, and made that important place the capital of his new empire.

THIRD SIEGE, A.D. 774.

Two centuries of profound peace had rendered Pavia one of the most flourishing cities of the universe, when it beheld the standards of Didier, king of the Lombards, floating at its gates. This grasping prince, jealous of the power of Pope Adrian, sacked every place belonging to the Pontiff. The holy father fulminated horrible excommunications; but these arms were too weak to stop the usurper, and the Pope had recourse to Charlemagne. That monarch crossed the Alps, combated the enemies of the court of Rome, and made such a carnage of them, that the field of battle took the name of _the Plain of the Dead_. Didier sought refuge in Pavia. He had provided that capital with everything necessary for a long resistance. Charlemagne blockaded it, and left the command of his troops to his uncle Bernard; he then took the road to Rome, where he was received as the liberator of the Holy See. After having made a sojourn there, he returned to his army before Pavia, and pressed the siege so vigorously, that it opened its gates after an heroic defence of six months. Didier, his wife and children, were made prisoners and banished to Liége. Thus finished the kingdom of the Lombards, which had subsisted two hundred and six years. Charlemagne added to the titles of Emperor of the Franks and Patrician of the Romans, that of King of the Lombards.

FOURTH SIEGE, A.D. 1524.

Francis I. of France, after a brilliant campaign, in which he drove back the Imperialists from Provence to the Milanese, very unwisely employed his army in sieges, instead of pursuing his enemies with vigour to the other side of the Carnic Alps. Accumulating errors, he weakened an army of forty thousand men by dividing it; detaching from it a body of ten thousand soldiers upon an expedition into the kingdom of Naples. He thus left his enemy time to recover, and to remain master, by means of the armies he was able to raise in Germany and Naples. After having taken Milan, he commenced the siege of Pavia. That city, well fortified, had for governor Antonio de Leva, a great captain, commanding a numerous and warlike garrison. The French monarch attacked the place with vigour, but he evinced indecision in his points of attack. The siege was protracted; Pavia was reduced to extremity; the garrison mutinied more than once for want of pay; the governor was even in dread of seeing the city delivered up to the French by his unruly troops; but his genius, equally firm and fertile in resources, contrived to keep them to their duty. Lannoi, viceroy of Naples for Charles V., was informed of the distress of Pavia. The taking of that place might complete the disbanding of the Imperial troops for want of money and subsistence; he felt that this was the moment to venture to attack his enemy, and to attempt an action, hazardous without doubt, but which might re-establish the affairs of Charles V. in Italy. He set out then, accompanied by the marquis de Pescara and the constable De Bourbon. At his approach, the French monarch called a council; prudence would have commanded him to avoid an engagement, to raise the siege, and to refresh and enlarge his army: “Sire,” said La Trémouille to him, “the true honour in war is to succeed. A defeat can never be justified by a battle; you risk your army, your person, and your kingdom, and you risk nothing by raising the siege.” The monarch was deaf to the counsels of wisdom; his romantic spirit fancied that his honour would be compromised. The admiral Bonnevet promised so to dispose his troops that he should conquer his enemies, that the Imperialists should not dare to attack him, and that Pavia should fall into his hands. The king followed this fatal and pernicious advice. The troops were nearly equal in numbers on both sides, each reckoning about thirty thousand men. The Imperialists first fell upon the rear-guard of the French, placed at the castle and in the park of Mirabel. They expected to carry it if the king did not come to its assistance; and, if he did come, they should make him lose the advantage of the position in which he was fortified. What Lannoi anticipated, happened. Scarcely did the French monarch perceive the danger of his brother-in-law the duke of Alençon, who commanded the rear-guard, than, impatient to signalize himself, he rushed forward at the head of his cavalry, and fell upon the Imperialists. His artillery, placed with much skill by Gaillon de Genouillac, and served with great spirit, fired at first with such success, that every volley carried away a file. The Spanish infantry, being unable to resist this terrible fire, precipitately broke their ranks, to seek shelter, in great disorder, in a hollow way. Such a brilliant commencement dazzled Francis; he forgot that he owed all his success to his artillery, believed himself already the conqueror, and came out from his lines. This inconsiderate movement placed the prince between his own artillery and the fugitives, and rendered his cannon useless. The face of the battle was changed in a moment; the viceroy advanced with the gendarmerie and a body of arquebusiers; the king was pressed on all sides. The French gendarmerie did not, in this battle, sustain its ancient reputation; it was beaten and almost destroyed by two thousand Biscayans, of astonishing agility, who, separating by platoons of ten, twenty, or thirty men, attacked it with inconceivable celerity and address. They were seen, all at once, making a discharge, disappearing at the moment they should be in turn attacked, and re-appearing unexpectedly, again to disappear. It is said that Antonio de Leva had, for some time, trained these arquebusiers to fight thus in platoons, between the squadrons of the Spanish cavalry, and that he had borrowed the manœuvre from the Greeks. A stratagem of Pescara’s contributed still further to the success of the day. This general having approached the enemy’s camp a little before the commencement of the battle, returned to his own to announce that the king of France had just published in his army a prohibition, under a capital punishment, to grant quarter to any Spaniard. This information, although false, produced so strong an impression upon his troops, that almost all the Imperialists swore to spare the life of no Frenchman, and to die sooner than surrender. This oath rendered the Spaniard equally invincible in fight, and ferocious after victory. The French monarch sustained the powerful charges of the enemy like a hero. Francis of Lorraine, and Richard De la Pole, the last heir of the house of Suffolk, endeavoured, with some companies of lansquenets, to disengage him; but they were killed, and the soldiers instantly turned their backs. Bonnevet perished fighting, and was regretted by nobody. Louis de la Trémouille shared the same fate; nearly nine thousand warriors, all gentlemen, were left lifeless on the field of battle. The _mêlée_ was terrible around the king. Left almost alone in the midst of a host of enemies, he inspired terror in all who ventured to approach him. He had already immolated five of his assailants, when his horse was killed, the monarch fell, and a rush was made to seize him. Springing up, he recovered himself, and killed two more Spaniards. At this moment, Molac de Kercado, first gentleman of the chamber, perceived the peril of his master, and dispersed or killed all who stood in the way of his zeal. He placed himself before his exhausted sovereign, protected him with his sword, and checked the savage impetuosity of the Spanish soldiery; but Kercado fell whilst defending the king, who refused to surrender to anybody but the viceroy of Naples: “Monsieur de Lannoi,” said he, “there is the sword of a king who deserves consideration, since, before parting with it, he has employed it in shedding the blood of several of your people, and who is not made prisoner by cowardice, but by a reverse of fortune.” Lannoi fell on his knees, received the arms of the king with respect, and kissed his hand, whilst presenting him with another sword, saying, “I beg your majesty to accept of mine, which has spared the blood of many of your subjects. It is not becoming in an officer of the emperor to behold a king disarmed, although a prisoner.” Francis was conducted, after the action, across the field of battle, to the place he was to be confined in. The Imperialists made him observe that all his Swiss guards had fallen in their ranks, and that they lay dead close to one another. “If all my troops had done their duty,” said he, much affected by this spectacle, “as well as these brave fellows, I should not be your prisoner, but you would be mine.” Francis announced this defeat to his mother in the energetic words: “Madame, all is lost but honour.” Whilst the king’s wounds were being dressed, a Spanish soldier, approaching him respectfully, said: “Knowing we should have a battle, Sire, I cast a golden bullet, which I destined for your majesty, and six silver ones, for the principal officers of your army. The six have been used, but yours is left, because I could not find the opportunity I watched for. I implore you, Sire, to accept of it, and to keep it to form part of your ransom.” The king took it, thanked the Spaniard, and praised his intelligence and generosity. The emperor issued a decree, by which he forbade any rejoicings on account of the victory; but this moderation was only apparent. Francis was taken to Madrid. Charles assembled a council to consider how the captive king ought to be treated. “As your brother and your friend,” replied the bishop of Osma; “he must be restored to liberty, without any other condition than that of becoming your ally.” Charles did not follow this wise counsel; he behaved towards the king like a Corsair with a rich prisoner. Francis recovered his liberty thirteen months after, by an onerous treaty, in which he gave up his claims to the Milanese, Genoa, and Asti. He was also to have ceded his rights to the duchy of Burgundy, but when Lannoi came to demand that province in the name of the emperor, Francis, as his only reply, required him to be present at an audience of the deputies of Burgundy, who told the king that he had not the power to dismember a province of the French monarchy. Francis I. preserving a continual desire to avenge himself for the disgrace before Pavia, entered into all the leagues that were formed against Charles V. The emperor derived but little advantage from this event, the most decisive and glorious of his reign. A modern writer has discovered the reason of this. Money constitutes the sinews of war, and the emperor could not pay his troops. He assembled the Cortes of Castille at Madrid, and all orders refused him assistance: the clergy, because they had no power to dispose of the goods consecrated to religion; the nobility would have derogated from their privilege, if they had paid a tribute; and the third estate, because, not having yet had it in their power to pay a gratuitous gift which had been demanded of them of four hundred thousand ducats, it was impossible for them to furnish fresh sums. The emperor, although very much dissatisfied, pretended to find these reasons good, although they defeated all his designs.--Napoleon, with that jealousy which he always professed to have for the honour of France, when master of Spain, caused the unfortunate king, his victim, to restore the sword and armour of Francis I., which were preserved at Madrid as a monument of this victory.

Pavia experienced something approaching to sieges in 1655, 1733, and 1745, but they furnish no details worth relating. In 1796, likewise, it was captured, without any trouble, by Buonaparte, who took the opportunity for uttering one of his glorious fanfaronnades: “If the blood of a single Frenchman,” said he, “had been shed, I would have caused a column to be erected over the ruins of the city, upon which should have been inscribed--HERE STOOD THE CITY OF PAVIA!”

RAVENNA.

A.D. 488.

Thedoric besieged Odoacer in Ravenna, but, too weak to carry the city by force, he resolved to reduce it by famine. Ravenna, being well supplied with provisions, and its port being accessible to light barks, the siege was protracted to two years and a half. Odoacer made frequent sorties by night, and never returned without having signalized his courage. Theodoric, master of all the neighbouring country, at length succeeded in closing the port. Famine then began to be sensibly felt; a bushel of wheat was worth six pieces of gold (more than three pounds sterling); and the inhabitants were reduced to the extremity of eating everything that could be converted into aliment. Odoacer, obliged to treat with his rival, contented himself with sharing with Theodoric the title of king. On the 5th of March, 491, the king of the Goths entered Ravenna. Such was, in Italy, the foundation of the kingdom of the Ostrogoths, which only subsisted sixty years. Odoacer was treated for some time with all the respect due to his dignity, but that prince, worthy of a better fate, was massacred soon after, with his son Silœnes, by Theodoric himself, in the midst of a banquet.

SECOND SIEGE, A.D. 540.

Belisarius, after having deprived Vitiges of the greater part of the places which that prince possessed in Italy, besieged him in Ravenna, which he soon reduced to a state of famine. It was here Belisarius was so near losing his life by an arrow, which was intercepted by a devoted follower, who sacrificed himself to save his master. The city was on the point of surrendering, when two senators arrived from Constantinople, charged with a message from Justinian to his victorious general, directing him to make peace with the king of the Goths. Belisarius was indignant at being thus deprived of the honour of conquering Italy. Under different pretexts he amused the senators, and pressed the siege more closely. Belisarius is one of the fine characters of history upon whom the young imagination loves to dwell. He was of the stamp of Plutarch’s heroes; he was brave, magnanimous, good; and after being eminently successful, was as eminently unfortunate, not from any falling off in himself, but from his master’s weakness and ingratitude. Such being our feeling for Belisarius, we experience regret in being told that, in his eagerness to take Ravenna, he condescended to practices we think unworthy of such a man: he poisoned the waters; circulated, by means of miscreants, reports in Ravenna disadvantageous to Vitiges; and contrived to have the city granaries set on fire by an incendiary. These may come within the line of the proverb, “All is fair in war;” but there is nothing heroic in them; they would have become Justinian better than his really great general. The Goths, believing themselves betrayed by their prince, offered not only to give up the city, but even proposed to Belisarius to become their king. Although this extraordinary man might have accepted the crown without dishonour, he only affected to listen to it that he might the more speedily terminate the war. Ambassadors came from Vitiges with offers of surrendering on any terms he would please to impose. Belisarius entered Ravenna, secured the person of Vitiges, and sent him and his treasures to the emperor.

ANTIOCH.

Antioch, now Anthakia, was a celebrated city, the capital of Syria. It was seated on the river Orontes, now called Assi, fifteen miles east of the Mediterranean, and forty miles south-west of Aleppo. We have been thus particular, because Antioch is not only a conspicuous city in the history of the early Christian church, but because it has undergone some of the most remarkable sieges to be found in this volume.

FIRST SIEGE, A.D. 540.

Chosroës, king of Persia, having spread terror and dismay throughout Syria by the capture of Sour (ancient Tyre) and other places, presented himself before Antioch. The attack and defence were equally warm and terrible in their results. The besieged surrendered, after having exhausted all their resources, and admitted the Persians within their walls. The confusion was horrible in this populous and unfortunate city. Men, women, and children crowded over each other to escape the murderous sword of the conqueror; the streets could not afford passage wide enough for the multitude. The soldiers of the garrison, mingled with the fugitives, overthrew the unhappy citizens, trampled them under their horses’ feet, and crushed them to death in their own city and by their own troops. The conquerors, spread throughout all the quarters, indulged in a license almost unheard of even in such scenes: they pillaged and sacked the houses; they pulled down and burnt all the public edifices; they profaned and plundered the churches; they insulted and violated the virgins consecrated to God; and the maidens and women whose virtue they outraged were immolated before the eyes of their husbands and parents. Chosroës himself animated his troops to the carnage, and excited them to plunder. He took possession of the gold and silver vases of the great church, and sent into Persia all the valuable statues, rare pictures, and precious objects that decorated that superb city. When despoiled of all its ornaments and deprived of its wealth, he ordered it to be reduced to ashes. This cruel order was so punctually obeyed, that only one single quarter escaped the flames. Thus was for the first time destroyed, in the month of June, 540, a city which, by its size, wealth, and population, rivalled Rome and Constantinople. Such of the inhabitants as escaped the sword of the conqueror were by him reduced to slavery, and sold by public auction in Persia.

SECOND SIEGE, A.D. 638.

Antioch, however, soon arose again from its ruins, under the protection of the emperors of the West. Great and well-situated cities are not easily destroyed past recovery. Antioch became once more rich and populous; but it seemed to be its fate to succumb to the attacks of barbarians. It was again besieged about a hundred years after the above-stated catastrophe, by the Saracens, before the eyes of Prince Constantine, son of the emperor Heraclius. The infidels approached a bridge at a short distance from Antioch, called the Bridge of Iron. Two towers, each furnished with three hundred soldiers, were intrusted with the defence of it. These degenerate Romans surrendered their posts to the enemy; Constantine, in despair, could trust neither the courage nor the fidelity of his troops. Very unlike the Romans of the days of Pyrrhus, who would have thought themselves dishonoured by taking advantage of a crime, this prince resorted to the baseness of assassination as the surest means of averting the storm which threatened Antioch. He hoped to terminate the war by assassinating the caliph who directed the enterprises of the Saracens. An assassin was sent to Medina. Trembling at the sight of Omar, the wretch confessed his intentions, and the name of the person who employed him. Omar, so far from losing his life, acquired the honour of pardoning the man who attempted it: the Christian prince acquired the disgrace of having attempted a crime, and failed in it. The two armies encamped near Antioch. A general, named Nestorius, commanded the Romans: endowed with the valour of a soldier, he for a moment forgot that his life belonged to his army, and challenged the bravest of the Mussulmans to single combat. Dames, who had acquired the reputation of being invincible at the siege of Aleppo, presented himself. His horse stumbling whilst he was engaged with his enemy, Dames was seized and conveyed a prisoner to the tent of the challenger. Nestorius, proud of this chance victory, was desirous of a fresh triumph. He offered a second challenge, which was accepted by Dehac. The two champions fought for a long time with equal success; when, exhausted by fatigue, and their horses being jaded and breathless, they separated to recruit their strength. During the second conflict, Dames, having deceived the slaves who guarded him, contrived to escape, and rejoined his comrades. A few days after, the two armies engaged, and the Romans were cut to pieces after a severe and bloody battle. A fresh perfidy of Youckinna, formerly governor of Aleppo, contributed greatly to the defeat of the Romans. This traitor guarded in Antioch Derar and two hundred other Mussulman prisoners. At the moment of the combat, he set them at liberty, joined them to the troop he commanded, and ranged himself under the standard of Mahomet. At the sight of these new enemies, the Roman legions lost all courage; they fancied the whole population of Antioch was pouring out upon them. The field of battle was strewed with dead. The inhabitants of Antioch, finding themselves without resource, capitulated; to avoid being pillaged, they paid the conqueror three hundred thousand pieces of gold, amounting to about one hundred and seventy thousand pounds sterling,--a sum which seems to us incredibly small from such a city so circumstanced. Abou-Obéidah entered Antioch on the 21st of August. As he dreaded for his soldiers the pleasures of this voluptuous city more than he feared the Roman armies, he only allowed them to remain there three days.

THIRD SIEGE, A.D. 1097.

After a disastrous march, in which they had met with many unexpected accidents and reverses, as well as triumphs, the great army of the Crusaders, under Godfrey of Bouillon and his chivalrous companions, advanced towards Antioch.

As we have seen in a former siege, the approach to this great city of the East was guarded by a bridge over the Orontes, on which were placed two towers covered with iron. But nothing could resist the van led by the duke of Normandy: the Normans soon took the bridge and passed the river. Terror was spread amongst the Mussulmans, who all flocked to the city as a place of refuge. The whole Christian army drew up in battle-array, with trumpets sounding and ensigns flying, and then encamped within a mile of Antioch.

The aspect of this city, so celebrated in the annals of Christianity, revived the religious enthusiasm of the Crusaders. It was within the walls of Antioch that the disciples of Christ had first assumed the name of Christians, and that the apostle Peter was named the first pastor of the nascent church. Antioch was as much celebrated in the annals of the Roman empire as in those of the church. The magnificence of its buildings, and its having been the abode of several emperors, had acquired for it the name of the Queen of the East. Its situation in a pleasant and fertile country was, in all ages, attractive to foreigners. Within two leagues, on the west, was a lake abounding in fish, which communicated with the Orontes; on the south were the faubourg and the fountain of Daphne, so celebrated in pagan poetry. Not far from it arose the mountain of Orontes, covered with gardens and houses of pleasure; and on the north was another mountain, sometimes called the Black Mountain, on account of its forests, and sometimes the Water Mountain, on account of its numerous springs. The river Orontes flowed at the foot of the ramparts of Antioch, on the western side, and paid its tribute to the sea three or four leagues from the city.

The walls inclosed four hills, separated by a torrent, which threw itself into the river. Upon the western hill was built a very strong citadel, which dominated the city. The ramparts of Antioch, which were as solid as a rock, were three leagues in circumference, and along them were built no less than three hundred and sixty strong towers. Broad ditches, the river Orontes, and marshes, still further protected the inhabitants of Antioch, and prevented all access to the city. At the approach of the Christians, most of the inhabitants of the neighbouring provinces and cities sought refuge in Antioch, with their families and their property. Accien, the grandson of Malek-Schah, who had obtained the sovereignty of the city, had shut himself up in it with twenty thousand foot and seven thousand horse.

The siege of Antioch presented so many obstacles and dangers, that the Crusaders deliberated whether they ought in prudence to undertake it. The first who spoke in the council thought it would be rash to commence a siege at the approach of winter. They did not at all dread the arms of the Saracens, but rains, frosts, storms, disease, and famine. They advised the Crusaders to wait for the succours promised by Alexius, and the return of the spring, by which time the army would have repaired its losses, and would have received under its standards fresh reinforcements from the West. This advice was listened to very impatiently by most of the leaders, who insisted upon the necessity of taking advantage of the terror experienced by the Mussulmans. They should have, they said, the caliph of Bagdad and the king of Persia both upon them: delay would strengthen the enemy’s army more than it would theirs; they wanted no Greeks to assist them; and as to a little rain and cold, it was an insult to the soldiers of Christ to suppose they could not bear them!--why it was like comparing them to birds of passage, who fly away and hide themselves at the coming of winter! What need have they to fear famine and want? Had not the Crusaders, till that time, made war provide for itself? Victory had always supplied the wants of the Christians, and abundance awaited them in the city of Antioch, which would speedily open its gates.

This speech prevailed with the most eager and the most brave, and those who were of a different opinion were silenced by the fear of being accused of timidity. Godfrey and the legate, Adhemar, were both in favour of immediate attack. The council decreed that the siege of Antioch should be immediately commenced, and that same day the whole Christian army advanced to the walls. Now, our readers, in contemplating the army of the Crusaders, must not suppose that, like any other army so joined, there was any spirit of unity in it. It was assembled on various principles: a few, and very few, were brought so far on their way to Jerusalem by a purely religious motive; many, like Robert of Normandy, were seduced by a wild chivalric love of adventure, and a thirst for that military renown which was so great an object with the age; but the bulk of this host were men who had cast their all in an expedition which promised unbounded wealth--the leaders looked for dominions and states, the soldiers for booty. They had, literally, emigrated; their desire was to establish themselves in the fabulously-represented rich countries of the East, and they had neither hope nor intention to revisit Europe. There was no acknowledged leader to direct proceedings or to check want of discipline. We have an idea that Godfrey of Bouillon was the leader; but in no point of fact was he so; the leaders were all governed by their own interests; and if Godfrey had thwarted those of Bohemond, Raymond de St. Gilles, Robert of Normandy, Robert of Flanders, or any other chief of rank, they would have paid no more attention to his authority than to that of one of his horse-boys. From this want of unity in the body, and unity of purpose, arose almost all the disasters of the Crusades, of which silly and wicked enterprises the reader will find an excellent epitome in the account of this interesting siege. As we said at the commencement of this work, the camp of the Crusaders before Antioch was exactly like that of the Greeks before Troy; and, strange to say, great resemblances might be traced in the characters of the leaders, from Agamemnon and Godfrey, Achilles and Tancred, Ulysses and Bohemond, to Thersites and Barthélemi, the discoverer of the lance.

Bohemond and Tancred took their posts at the east, opposite the gate of St. Paul, to the right of the Italians, the Normans, the Britons, the Flemings, and the French, commanded by the two Roberts; the count de Vermandois and the count de Chartres encamped towards the north, before the gate of the Dog; the count de Toulouse, the bishop of Puy, and the duke of Lorraine, with their troops, occupied the space from the gate of the Dog to the spot where the Orontes, turning towards the west, approaches the walls of Antioch. The Crusaders neglected to cover the southern part, defended by the mountain of Orontes, as they likewise did the western side of the city, which the river defended, and by which the besieged could make sorties or receive succours.

The Turks shut themselves up close within their walls; all was quiet, all was silent. The Crusaders attributed this to terror, and heedlessly spread themselves over the delightful country, enjoying all the sweets of its climate and productions. Abundance of provisions, the beautiful sky of Syria, the fountain and groves of Daphne, famous in all antiquity for the worship of Venus and Adonis, soon made them lose sight of the Holy Land, and bred license and corruption among the soldiers of Christ.

Whilst thus forgetful of discipline, as well as of their purpose, they were attacked by the garrison of Antioch, which surprised them, some lounging luxuriously in their camp, and others wandering about the country. All whom the hopes of pillage or the love of pleasure had seduced into the neighbouring villages and orchards, met with slavery or death. Young Alberon, archdeacon of Metz, son of Conrad, count of Lunebourg, paid with his life for indulging in amusements very little in accordance with the austerity of his profession. He was found by the Turks, stretched upon the grass, playing at dice with a Syrian courtesan. Two strokes of the sabre removed the heads of the players, which were pitched into the camp of the Crusaders, with those of a great number of Christians. The latter deplored their fault, and swore to avenge themselves.

The desire of repairing one error led them into another. They resolved to scale the walls of Antioch, before they had provided themselves with either ladders or machines of war. Vengeance and fanaticism animated both leaders and soldiers, but they could make no impression upon the walls of the city, or disturb the security of its inhabitants. Several other assaults proved equally useless. Experience, for whose lessons they always paid so dearly, taught them that they must invest the place, and prevent the arrival of any foreign succour.

They established a bridge of boats across the Orontes, and passed over some troops towards the western side of the city. All methods were had recourse to to check the sorties of the enemy; sometimes fortresses of wood were erected close to the ramparts, sometimes they planted balistæ, which launched large stones at the besieged. To close the gate of the Dog they were obliged to heap large beams, stones, and pieces of rock against it. At the same time they intrenched their camps, and took every precaution against surprise from the Saracens.

The blockade of the city was now their object; but, as in all such cases, the tediousness of a siege did not accord with the impatience of warriors with an ulterior object in view. On their arrival before Antioch, they thought they should never again know want, and they wasted in a few days provisions for several months; they thought about nothing but meeting the enemy in the field of battle, and, confident of victory, they neither provided against the rigours of winter nor against a fast-approaching want of provisions.

The latter was not long in arriving. As soon as winter set in, the unfortunate Crusaders found themselves a prey to all sorts of calamities. Torrents of rain fell every day, and the plains, which had recently been so delightful, were almost covered with water. The camp, particularly in the valley, was submerged several times; tempests and rains carried away the pavilions and tents; humidity relaxed the bows; rust gnawed the lances and swords. Most of the soldiers were left destitute of clothes. Contagious complaints carried off men and animals. Rains, cold, famine, and epidemics made such ravages, that, according to William of Tyre, the Crusaders wanted time and space to bury their dead.