Chapter XII

Capitulation

The siege of Gaeta lasted from the thirteenth of November, 1860, to the thirteenth of February, 1861, a space of three months. With the new year it was pushed with redoubled vigor. Both town and citadel were exposed to incessant fire, and the noise was so deafening that people had to scream to make themselves heard. Not a single building remained intact. Many lives were lost by exploding shells or falling houses, and the whole place presented a scene of utter destruction. The Piedmontese have been accused of sparing neither church nor hospital, and the sick and wounded, as well as their nurses, were exposed to the same dangers as the rest of the inhabitants. The Red Cross Society was not in existence at that time; but the terrible experiences of the wounded in the wars of northern Italy the preceding year led to the formation of that association three years later.

The enemy’s fire now began to be directed chiefly against the citadel where the royal family were known to reside, and the officers begged the King and Queen to move to a place of greater safety. One of the casemates of an adjoining battery was accordingly prepared for their occupancy, and here in this small damp vault they lived for the remainder of the siege, with the princes, the few members of the court who had remained loyal, and some of the officers. The casemate was divided by thin wooden partitions into a number of small chambers, each containing a bed, one chair, and a small table. The narrow passage connecting these cells was always crowded with people waiting to speak to the officers and servants who had long since laid aside all badges of royal service.

A low door led to the square chamber occupied by the Queen, which was furnished in addition with a couch and a _prie-dieu_; a small recess adjoining having been made into a dressing-room. As a protection against shells or flying missiles, a heavy oak beam had been placed diagonally across the tiny window overlooking the street; a precaution which made the room so dark a light had to be kept burning day and night. The little air that penetrated to the cell was thick with smoke and tainted with foul odors, while the ceaseless thunder of cannon directly above must have made it a far from pleasant place of residence. Yet from this gloomy vault Maria Sophia wrote her parents not to worry about her, for under the circumstances she was doing very well. She bore all these dangers and hardships with the same cheerful courage she had shown from the first, tending the wounded, inspiring the soldiers by her presence among them in the smoke of battle—the soul, in short, of the defence, and a splendid example of bravery and fortitude. Through the efforts of the French admiral, a ten days’ truce was arranged, and the Neapolitans hastened to take advantage of it to procure a supply of provisions from Terracina and to strengthen their batteries, while the officers tried to encourage the garrison by reports of speedy assistance from without. On the sixteenth of January the sound of guns was heard again; but this time it was not those of the besieging army, but of the French fleet which had not yet left the harbor, although the Emperor Napoleon had notified Francis that it would be impossible for him to continue the neutrality he had hitherto maintained. Decorated from deck to mast-head with flags, the foreign squadron was saluting the King in honor of his twenty-fifth birthday, the last he was ever to spend within the boundaries of his kingdom.

Three days later the truce was declared at an end, and in the beleaguered city all eyes were fixed anxiously upon the fleet. Although there were rumors in the air of its departure, the people still hoped they might be false as so many others had proved. About two o’clock, however, smoke was seen rising from one of the vessels, and it was soon evident that the whole squadron was getting up steam. One after another lifted anchor and began to move; and an hour later the huge flagship, _La Bretagne_, glided majestically past the lighthouse on the outermost point of the harbor, leaving the last of the Italian Bourbons to his fate. With the French fleet, vanished the last hope of rescue; and from this time until the end of the siege, nearly a month later, Gaeta was completely cut off from the rest of the world, and surrounded on all sides by the enemy. With the increase of famine and sickness the situation grew daily worse. Help from without could no longer be looked for, and rumors of treachery began to be heard among the troops. The barracks were damp, the hospitals overflowing, and they were tired of a struggle that could have but one end. The King and his brothers worked bravely to keep up the courage of the garrison, and the Queen was untiring in her efforts to relieve the sick and suffering; but even they had lost hope.

All correspondence between Napoleon and King Francis had ceased on the twelfth of December, but about the middle of January a vessel arrived from France bringing a confidential letter from the Empress Eugénie to Maria Sophia. In it she declared frankly and without circumlocution that it would be as well to abandon the defence of Gaeta which had cost so many lives, since it would be quite useless to look for aid from any European power—the latter sentence underlined.

This left no room for misunderstanding. At last the King realized that his cause was lost—that all his wife’s splendid energy and the loyalty of his troops had been wasted in a hopeless struggle. On the twenty-seventh of January he received a letter from Napoleon informing him that the French corvette, _La Movette_, had been prepared for the accommodation of Their Majesties in case of the surrender of Gaeta, and would remain in the Bay of Naples awaiting their orders. The town was now only a smoking heap of ruins. The explosion of powder magazines had caused even greater destruction than the enemy’s guns, and the casemate in which the royal family had taken refuge might be destroyed at any moment should the siege be continued. The garrison was reduced to twelve thousand men with over twelve hundred in the various hospitals, most of them victims of the epidemic of typhus which had proved so fatal. Among those who had succumbed already to the disease were four of the King’s generals and the priest, Father Borelli, who had remained in Gaeta to minister to the sick and wounded.

Francis hesitated no longer, but sent a message to the Piedmontese commander-in-chief requesting an armistice to arrange articles of capitulation. The terms were as follows: the garrison should retain their military honors, but remain prisoners until the surrender of Messina and the citadel Del Tronto. When this had taken place, both officers and men were to receive full pay with the choice of entering the Piedmontese army or returning to their homes, all who were honorably discharged to be pensioned. The King and Queen, with the rest of the royal family, were to be permitted to embark on the French vessel which had been placed at their disposal, with as many persons as they wished to take with them in their suite.

The capitulation was signed on the thirteenth of February, and the next morning at eight o’clock _La Movette_ entered the Bay of Gaeta. The troops were already drawn up in long lines, extending from the casemate occupied by the King and Queen to the landing; their tattered clothes and wasted forms bearing witness to these last terrible months. Misfortune had formed a close bond between the survivors of the siege, and as the soldiers presented arms to their sovereigns for the last time, their cheeks were wet with tears.

An eyewitness of the departure of Francis the Second and Maria Sophia from Gaeta has described the touching scene. The King was in uniform, with sword and spurs, the Queen wearing the round Calabrian hat shown in the photograph taken of her at that time. The deposed monarch was deadly pale, and as gaunt as any of his soldiers. “As for the Queen,” declared this observer, “I could not see how she looked, my eyes were so blinded with tears.”

The people had gathered in crowds, every face showing traces of the suffering they had undergone; but all seemed to forget their own troubles in the misfortunes of their sovereigns. When the King and Queen appeared, their emotion burst all bounds. Many wept aloud as they pressed forward to kiss the hand of the Queen with far greater warmth and enthusiasm than was shown by the people of Bari when they greeted her arrival as a bride on the shores of Italy, two years before. Only two short years, and yet how much had been crowded into them! And how different that day from this!

Francis had already issued a parting proclamation to his troops, thanking them in touching terms for their devotion to him and to the honor of the army; and as _La Movette_, flying the banner of the Bourbons, glided slowly out of the harbor, a unanimous and deafening shout of “Evviva il Re!” was their last farewell to the exiled sovereign. The French on the corvette welcomed their guests with royal honors, the officers in full uniform and the sailors lined up on deck to receive them. With the King and Queen were the Counts of Trani and Caserta and three of the Neapolitan generals. During the journey from Gaeta to Terracina, Francis and his brothers showed the greatest calmness, conversing cheerfully with their suite, and the French officers could not refrain from expressing their admiration at the King’s dignified acceptance of his fate. Maria Sophia had remained alone on the after deck, leaning over the railing, her eyes fixed on the cliffs of Gaeta. The smiling landscape seemed an irony of her mood. A gloomy sky would have been more suited to the thoughts that filled her bosom. She remembered with what noble aims she had come to this new land, what fine resolutions to share in all works for promoting the welfare of the people over whom she had been called to rule—and what had been the result? Even her labors at Gaeta had been in vain.

As _La Movette_ passed the battery “Santa Maria,” a royal salute was fired, and soon after the corvette rounded the point and Gaeta was lost to sight. The crew hauled down the Bourbon lilies and hoisted the French tri-color—Maria Sophia was no longer a Queen. She turned away with a chill at her heart. The deck was empty and a cold wind had suddenly arisen, banishing the warmth of the sunshine and sending a shiver through her from head to foot.