possessed of the talent of an
Archimedes and a Daedalus. He had invented light sickle-wagons, on each
of which stood a small mortar. These they pushed before them. The
French army was commanded by the _Grandmaitre_.[2] In front he placed
the Swabian _landsknechts_; behind these the Gascons, and a large body
of cavalry, on the wings. The most select of these, himself at their
head, formed the corps of observation. At the signal of battle, a
shower of red-hot balls was discharged by the Spanish army. The
_landsknechts_ were startled. 'Why do ye stand?'--the French marshal is
said to have cried out. 'Will ye wait to be shot down? O that I had the
brave Confederates with me yet!--they who at the sight of any enemy
roared like raging lions, fell on him, and pressed into him! Forwards!
Whip them, whom you have often whipped before! Set your swords and
halberds against the balls!' The _landsknechts_ begin to advance. And
now, the Spaniards put fire to the old wheeled-wagons, and, sheltered
by them, press on against the centre. A terrific _melee_ ensues. From
sheer fatigue they must often rest and repair their broken ranks. The
battle lasts from morning till evening. Already the greater part of the
_landknechts_ are killed, and the rest fly. The cavalry also, and the
Gascons waver. Eight thousand victims cover the field. The
_Grandmaitre_ looks toward heaven, gnashes his teeth, and cries out,
'The victory of the Spaniards shall not be bloodless, or I die this
day.' He puts spurs to his horse. His trusty followers come after.
Bravely fighting he falls. But the enemy, who expected no new attack,
are thrown into disorder. The French again press forward, conquer, and
take possession of the city. Night only ends the conflict. Hannibal,
after the victory at Cannae, spread no greater terror over Rome and
Italy. The fear of the French rule produced universal lamentation.
Comfort and assistance were begged for on all sides. The Confederates,
in view of this state of things, think, what a dangerous example it
would be, if such a raging tyrant were allowed to make war on the
Common Mother of all faithful Christians. They quickly assemble and
resolve with zeal, to put the affairs of the Church and of Italy into a
better condition. A legate of the cardinal (Schinner) makes his
appearance, begging and imploring them by their treaty-obligations to
set out at once; yet he can offer no more than a gold-florin to the
man. It is scarcely credible