CRISTO RAUL.ORG

READING HALL

THE DOORS OF WISDOM

CHAPTER XI.

The Sack of Rome. Captivity of the Pope.

On the morning of the 6th of May, Monday after Misericordia Sunday, a thick fog covered the low, damp levels of the Tiber. In Rome, all through the night, the great bell of the Capitol had rung the tocsin and called the defenders to their posts. They stood along the walls in fighting order, but tried in vain to discern through the impenetrable vapour the movements in the enemy’s camp. Yet, distinctly audible, there rose from the sea of mist a wild tumult of sounds mingled with signals of war. The Imperialist army was getting ready for the assault.

Sciarra Colonna, with light cavalry and Italian infantry, advanced against the fortifications of the Milvian Bridge, while Melchior Frundsberg made an attack on the Trastevere at S. Pancrazio. The chief attacking party, meanwhile, moved on the Leonine city. The north and west sides, where the Belvedere and the Porta Pertusa lay, were attacked at the same time as the south side; there the Spaniards advanced and, on their right, against the Porta S. Spirito, the landsknechts did the same. The attack on the Belvedere and the Porta Pertusa, where Prince Philibert of Orange commanded, was, however, only a feint intended to deceive the defenders and turn their attention from the south side. Here, at the Porta Torrione (now Cavalleggieri) and the Porta S. Spirito, the weakest points of the fortifications, the attack was heaviest, undertaken without artillery, only with spears, pistols, and ladders hastily constructed out of garden palings and bound together with withes. It was a rash enterprise, but the outcome of counsels of despair.

The first onset was successfully repelled by the defenders, although the latter were firing at random into the fog. The Spaniards as well as the landsknechts were forced to withdraw with heavy losses; a second attack also failed. Bourbon, who saw that everything was at stake, thereupon placed himself at the head of the assailants. He succeeded in reaching the walls of the Porta Torrione, near the site, in later days, of the Cesi gardens and villa (now the Collegio di S. Monica). Here there was a very badly secured position, easily exposed to attack. One of the first of the storming party to fall was Bourbon himself, who had pressed forward with headlong rashness. A bullet struck him down; although mortally wounded, he yet had the presence of mind to ask those around him to cover his body with a cloak. In spite of this precaution, the fall of the Commander-in-Chief became known immediately to the Imperialist army. It caused such consternation and alarm that the fighting was for a while suspended. But the enemy, now breathing vengeance, soon resumed their attack on the walls, from which a deadly fire was pouring. This time the hazard was successful, being favoured by the fog, now so thick that it was hardly possible for a man to recognize his neighbour; for the same reason the heavy guns on St. Angelo were kept entirely out of action. About 6 A.M. the Spaniards succeeded in breaking through the walls of the city at the Porta Torrione by making skilful use of a badly guarded position ; almost at the same time the landsknechts scaled the walls of S. Spirito.

Fierce street fighting was carried on in the Borgo, especially near St. Peter’s and S. Spirito. The Roman militia, in their desperate resistance, rivalled the loyal Swiss Guards, who had taken up their position near the obelisk, then still standing not far from the German Campo Santo; these troops were nearly annihilated. A testimony to their valour may still be read today in an inscription near the Church of S. Spirito, which relates that there the Papal goldsmith, Bernardino Passeri, fell fighting for the sacred cause of the city of his fathers, after having slain many of the enemy and captured a standard.

The whole Borgo was soon ringing with the cries of victory of the Imperialists, who, as they rushed irresistibly onwards, cut down all who crossed their path, without regard to age or sex. Almost all the sick in the hospital of S. Spirito, even the inmates of the neighbouring orphanage, were murdered. Blood flowed before the altars in St. Peter's. Already in some places plundering was set on foot, not indeed by soldiers but by the camp rabble for commands had been given to refrain from plunder until the city was completely taken. These were so strictly carried out that the soldiers were under orders to slaughter all beasts of burden found in the Leonine city in order to prevent the transport of booty, and therewith the disorganization of the bodies of troops. The Imperialists were prevented from crossing the bridge of St. Angelo by the hail of cannon balls from the guns of the fortress.

The rush of the enemy into the Leonine city had taken place so suddenly, in the midst of the rolling vapours, that Renzo da Ceri lost his head and fled distractedly to the Vatican. There Clement was praying in his private chapel, when the approaching sound of the cries of battle told him what had happened. The Pope up to this moment had trusted implicitly in Renzo’s promises. The latter had pledged his head that the enemy would not make their way into Rome. Nothing but rapid flight could now save the chief Pastor of the Church. A Spanish account says that if he had lingered as long as the time it takes to say three Credos, he would have fallen a prisoner. With sobs and lamentations he hastened along the covered way leading to St. Angelo; from the small windows of the castle he saw the panic-stricken knots of fugitives cut down in pitiless fury by Spaniards and Germans. The historian Paolo Giovio was of help to Clement in his flight. He flung his violet prelate’s mantle over the white clothing of the Pope so that the latter should not be an easy mark for his enemies as he hurried across the open wooden bridge connecting St. Angelo with the covered way.

To the same asylum of refuge fled the non-Imperialist Cardinals, also Giberti, Jacopo Salviati, Schonberg, the Ambassadors of France and England, the officers of the Papal Court, and a throng of men, women, and children. Cardinal Pucci, who, in his flight, had been thrown from his horse and trampled upon, yet managed to reach the castle at the last moment; Cardinal Armellini was drawn up in a basket. When the drawbridge went up and the rusty portcullis fell, three thousand persons were computed to have found shelter in the stronghold. Even then, many others pressed forward, and fell into the moat. “We stood there”, narrates the sculptor Raffaello da Montelupo, who, like Benvenuto Cellini, was manning the castle guns, “and looked on at all that passed as if we had been spectators of a festa. It was impossible to fire, for had we done so, we should have killed more of our own people than of the enemy. Between the church of S. Maria Transpontina and the gate of the castle more than from four to five thousand persons were crowded together, pell-mell, and, as far as we could see, hardly fifty landsknechts behind them. Two standard-bearers of the latter forced their way through the turmoil with uplifted banners as far as the great gate of the castle, but were shot down at the head of the bridge”.

Many inhabitants of the Leonine city sought refuge in flight; so reckless was the rush on the boats that many were swamped and sank; not a few persons flung themselves in despair into the Tiber. The Imperialists were forced to withdraw from the Leonine city, where the guns of St. Angelo made occupation impossible. The commanders accordingly determined to transfer the attack to the second suburb on the right bank of the Tiber, to Trastevere, from which three bridges (Ponte Sisto, Ponte Quattro Capi, and Ponte S. Maria) led into Rome proper. Since the Imperialists could now make use of the captured artillery, they quickly attained their object, the resistance they encountered being at the same time very much weaker. St. Angelo indeed kept up a repeated fire, but the guns had not sufficient range to do serious damage to the besiegers and prevent the capture of Trastevere.

It was now the chief object of the Imperialists to act with the utmost possible despatch before the army of the League drew near and the Romans recovered from their panic and broke down the bridges. The commanders had difficulty in keeping together their men, eager for plunder, and ordered the separate divisions to advance on Ponte Sisto. It was about seven in the evening when the first columns arrived there. Although it sounds incredible, it is yet a fact, that the means taken to secure even this most important point were utterly inadequate. The bridge had not been blown up, and the gate-house was only weakly defended. The question may be asked: How was this possible? The Roman Marcello Alberini, who as a young man had lived through the capture of the city, supplies the answer. The defence was organized as badly as possible; from the beginning there was no one central command. Apart from this, the defenders, who were none too numerous, were dispersed along the entire distance of the long line of the city walls and kept watch at points where the least danger threatened. Many deserted their posts because no one brought them their victuals. Others paraded the streets pompously with military airs, and believed, Alberini adds in bitter irony, that they were thus defending their native land. Besides, the Ghibellines and satellites of the Colonna thought that they had nothing to fear if the Imperialists were victorious; many even wished that Rome might come under the rule of Charles V. Then, again, the consequences of Bourbon’s death were greatly exaggerated, and some were convinced to a certainty that the enemy’s army, having lost its leader, would immediately break up. When, at last, the magnitude of the danger was recognized, attempts were made to open negotiations which, from the nature of the case, could have no result. But the populace, as if bewildered by fear, ran about the streets, and people of substance tried to conceal their property in the houses of Imperialist persons. Only a few high-minded and spirited men resolved to raise a couple of hundred horsemen to defend the Ponte Sisto. But those brave men were not able to check for long the inroad of the enemy. From the roof of the palace of the Cancelleria, Alberini saw how Pierpaolo Tibaldi, Giulio Vallati, and Giambattista Savelli fell like heroes, whereupon the leaders gave up all for lost and fled.

The Imperialists now rushed like a mountain torrent in flood through the streets of the capital. “All were doomed to certain death who were found in the streets of the city ; the same fate was meted out to all, young or old, woman or man, priest or monk. Everywhere rang the cry: Empire! Spain! Victory!”

Nevertheless, the Imperialists did not yet feel secure. At any moment the army of the League might appear before Rome. Even if a few, here and there, had begun to plunder, the generals were still able to keep control over the nucleus of the army in its appointed divisions. The landsknechts held the Campo di Fiore, the Spaniards the Piazza Navona, while Ferrante Gonzaga watched St. Angelo. These measures of precaution proved, however, to be unnecessary. Guido Rangoni had, indeed, appeared in the evening at the Ponte Salaro with five hundred light cavalry and eight hundred musketeers, but on hearing of the fall of Rome had immediately fallen back on Otricoli. When the victorious soldiery saw that no one disputed their quickly won success, their leaders were no longer in a position to hold them together. The first to break away in their hunger for booty were the Spaniards; they were soon followed by the landsknechts. Twenty thousand disorganized soldiers, to whom a rabble of vagabonds and banditti had attached themselves, now spread through the streets of the ill-fated capital of the world, to plunder, burn, and kill in accordance with “the rights of war.” Carrying lighted wax candles in their hands, these savage bands passed from house to house in the darkness of the night; they took, however, only gold and silver; whoever offered resistance was at once cut down.

On the morning of the 7th of May, Rome presented a spectacle that baffled description. It was, in the words of Francesco Gonzaga, a sight that might have moved a stone to compassion. Everywhere there was the most ruthless devastation, everywhere rapine and murder. The air re-echoed to the wailings of women, the plaintive cries of children, the barking of dogs, the neighing of chargers, the clash of arms, and the crash of timber from the burning houses. All accounts, even the Spanish, agree that no age, no sex, no station, no nationality, neither Spaniard nor German, neither church nor hospital, was spared.

The soldiers began by carrying off from the houses and palaces all objects of value; they then set a price of ransom on all those whom they had robbed, on men, women, and children, and even on servants; those who were not able to pay were first tortured in the cruellest manner and then murdered. But even the payment of their ransom did not help these wretched victims; this only led to fresh exactions and fresh suffering. Often, when a house was stripped clean of its contents, it was then set on fire. “Hell,” said a Venetian report of the 10th of May 1527, “has nothing to compare with the present state of Rome”. In many places the streets were covered with dead bodies; beneath them lay many a child under ten years of age who had been flung out of the windows by the soldiers.

Still more terrible was the fate of defenceless women and maidens. Neither tender youth nor venerable age nor noble birth shielded the unhappy victims from brutal ill-usage and dishonour. Many were violated and murdered before the eyes of their husbands and fathers; even the daughter of the wealthy Domenico Massimi, whose sons had been slain and his palace burned, fell a victim. More than one contemporary declared that the deeds of the Vandals, Goths, and Turks were outdone. Many young girls, driven to despair by the dishonour wreaked upon them, flung themselves into the Tiber; others were put to death by their own fathers to save them from the extremity of shame. Spaniards, Germans, and Italians rivalled one another in cruelty towards the unhappy inhabitants; but all accounts coincide in giving to the Spaniards, among whom were many Jews and “Marani,” the palm for ingenuity in unearthing treasure and contriving tortures, although the Italians, and especially the Neapolitans, were, on the whole, scarcely second to them.

A letter of the Venetian, Giovan Barozzi, written to his brother on the 12th of May 1527, describes with appalling truth and directness the unspeakable misery of the Romans. “I am”, he says, “a prisoner of the Spaniards. They have fixed my ransom at 1000 ducats on the pretext that I am an official. They have, besides, tortured me twice, and finished by lighting a fire under the soles of my feet. For six days I had only a little bread and water. Dear brother, do not let me perish thus miserably. Get the ransom money together by begging. For God’s sake do not abandon me. If I do not pay the ransom, now amounting to 140 ducats, in twenty-six days they will hack me in pieces. For the love of God and of the Blessed Virgin help me. All the Romans are prisoners, and if a man does not pay his ransom he is killed. The sack of Genoa and of Rhodes was child’s play to this. Help me, dear Antonio; help me for God's sake, and that as quickly as possible”. The sufferings here spoken of were by no means the most severe; the French physician, Jean Cave, in his account of the sack, remarks that no method of torture was left untried; he gives some examples, in illustration, which the pen shrinks from transcribing. Luigi Guicciardini relates things of, if possible, even greater atrocity. A form of torture which seems to have been especially in favour with the Spaniards was to bind their prisoners fast and leave them to die of slow starvation. The excesses of German landsknechts were not marked by such inventive cruelty. They gave way rather to a stupid and brutal vandalism. Sots and gamblers, knowing nothing of Italy and its language, they were systematically overreached by the shrewd Spaniards, who knew how to single out for themselves the richest houses. The Germans also, in their simplicity, were satisfied for the most part with much smaller ransoms. In disorderly companies they passed through the streets of the city, not sparing even their own countrymen, dressed up in a ridiculous manner in magnificently embroidered silk raiment, with gold chains round their necks and precious stones twisted through their beards, while their faces were begrimed with powder and smoke.

Since the landsknechts were for the most part Lutheran, they did not neglect this opportunity of heaping scorn and ridicule on the Papacy. With the red hats of Cardinals on their heads and the long robes of the Princes of the Church flung round them, they paraded the streets mounted on asses and indulged in every conceivable mummery. A Bavarian captain, Wilhelm von Sandizell, even dressed up as the Pope and bade his comrades, masquerading as Cardinals, kiss his hands and feet. He gave his blessing with a glass of wine, a salutation which his companions acknowledged by drinking to him in return. The whole gang then made their way to the Leonine city, to the sounds of trumpets and fifes, and there proclaimed Luther as Pope in such a way that the inmates of St. Angelo became aware of their doings. A .landsknecht called Grünwald was said to have shouted up to the fortress that he wished he could devour a bit of the Pope’s body, because he was a hinderer of the Word of God. Another carried about a crucifix fastened on the point of his pike before finally breaking it in pieces.

It is almost impossible to describe the destruction and sacrilege wrought by the landsknechts in the churches yet the Spaniards and Italians did not fall far short of them. Every church, even the national churches of the Spaniards and the Germans, was plundered. What the generosity and piety of centuries had amassed in costly vestments, vessels, and works of art, was, in the space of a few days, carried off by this rude soldiery, flung away on play or wine or sold to the Jews. The precious settings of relics were torn off; in many instances even tombs were broken open and ransacked in the search for treasures. Hands were laid on the Blessed Sacrament of the altar itself; the consecrated species were flung on the ground and desecrated in all manner of ways. “Unbelievers”, says a Spanish account, “could not have behaved worse”. It was reported that some soldiers clothed an ass in bishop’s vestments, led him into a church, and tried to force a priest to incense the beast solemnly, and even to offer him the Sacred Host. The priest, on refusing, was cut in pieces.

The desecration of churches was carried to such a pitch that they were turned into stables; even St. Peter’s did not escape this fate, for there also tombs were violated, among others that of Julius II. The head of St. Andrew was thrown on the ground, the napkin of St. Veronica, a relic deeply venerated during the Middle Ages, was stolen and offered for sale in Roman hostelries. A famous crucifix belonging to one of the seven principal altars of St, Peter’s was hidden away in the clothes of a landsknecht countless relics and costly objects were at this time purloined; the Holy Lance was fastened by a German soldier to his pike, and carried in derision through the Borgo. Although the resting-place of the Princes of the Apostles was desecrated, yet the actual tomb of St. Peter was left uninjured. The chapel Sancta Sanctorum, declared in an inscription to be the most sacred spot on earth, was plundered; happily the special treasure of the chapel remained undisturbed in its huge enclosure of iron.

The fury of the captors wreaked itself with special cruelty on all persons of ecclesiastical status. A large proportion of the priests and monks who fell into the hands of the landsknechts were murdered. Many were sold publicly as captives of war; others were made to put on women’s clothing and exposed to shocking ribaldry. The Spaniards made it their main business to extort money from the clergy. The landsknechts declared that they had promised to God to murder all priests, and they acted accordingly; Patriarchs, Archbishops, Bishops, Protonotaries, Abbots were ill-treated, fined, and murdered. Venerable priests well stricken in years were treated with violence. The Bishop of Potenza, eighty years of age, being unable to pay his ransom, was at once put to death. The Bishop of Terracina, in his ninetieth year, failing to give the 30,000 ducats demanded of him, was publicly put up for sale, with a truss of straw on his head, like a beast in the cattle market. Other ecclesiastics had their noses and ears cut off, and were forced to perform the lowest services.

Still more terrible were the sufferings endured by the nuns. Some succeeded at the last hour in securing safe places of concealment. More than a hundred and sixty who had taken refuge in a convent near S. Lorenzo in Paneperna were, on payment of money, protected by a company of landsknechts from their own comrades. One of the nuns of S. Cosimato in Trastevere, all of whom had fled there in a body, describes the deadly agony which she and her companions, mostly women of noble birth, went through. The same chronicle gives a vivid description of the spoliation of the rich church of S. Cosimato, where an image of the Infant Christ Himself, carved in wood, was shattered in pieces. But what was all this compared with the fate of those religious houses of women whose inmates had no hope of escape, as, for example, the nuns of S. Maria in Campo Marzo, S. Rufina, and others! It can easily be understood that the atrocities committed were indescribable. The victims of this bestial rapine were to be counted happy who, after being robbed of all, were slain; the majority of those who survived were reserved for a fate harder than death. Half-naked, or huddled up, in mockery, in Cardinals' robes, they were dragged through the streets to the houses of ill-fame, or sold singly in the markets for two ducats, or even less, apiece. Here again the Spaniards committed the worst abominations. The German landsknechts, at first, were content for the most part with extorting ransoms and securing precious belongings and sometimes they even protected persecuted innocence from their own comrades; but later on they followed the example of the others, and, in not a few cases, tried, indeed, to outvie them in their excesses.

The landsknechts, among whom were many Lutherans, had shown no pity, from the first, for the clergy and the Cardinals, who, moreover, had been handled badly enough by the ruthless Spaniards. Even the Cardinals with Imperialist sympathies did not escape wholesale robbery, savage ill-usage, and cruel mockery. For eight days the palaces of Cardinals Piccolomini, Valle, Enkevoirt, and Cesarini, situated in the Rione S. Eustachio, were spared, their owners having secured the protection of Spanish officers, who declared that they would take nothing from the Cardinals themselves, but demanded large sums from the numerous fugitives who found asylum in those palaces. At first they asked for 100,000 ducats from each palace; but afterwards were satisfied on receiving 45,000 from Cesarini, 40,000 from Enkevoirt, and 35,000 from Valle and Piccolomini each. These sums had to be paid in ducats to the full amount; all other coins and also precious stones were rejected. But the landsknechts were now also anxious to visit these palaces, and finally the Spaniards announced that they could not guarantee any further protection. The landsknechts fell first on the palace of Cardinal Piccolomini, who thought himself perfectly safe, as he and his family were, from old times, friends of the Emperor and the Germans. After a four hours’ fight the palace was taken and plundered. The Cardinal, who had to disburse 5000 ducats, was dragged, with his head uncovered, amid blows and kicks, to the Borgo. In consequence Cardinals Cesarini, Valle, and Enkevoirt also felt no longer safe, and fled to the Palazzo Colonna. They had hardly left their residences before looting and destruction began. Not content with the huge booty they found there, the landsknechts laid a heavy ransom on every Roman who had taken refuge in these palaces. In addition to this the three hundred and ninety persons in the Palazzo Valle had been fined already, on the 8th of May, by Fabrizio Maramaldo, a captain in the Imperialist army. The Cardinal and his household on this occasion had been mulcted in 7000 ducats ; the other fugitives had been rated individually according to their means. The total sum raised in this one palace alone—of an Imperialist Cardinal—amounted to 34,455 ducats.

Cardinals Cajetan and Ponzetti were also dragged through the streets, fettered, and subjected to ill-usage and ridicule. Ponzetti, who was also an Imperialist, had to pay a ransom of 20,000 ducats he died in consequence of the injuries he had received. The Franciscan Cardinal Numai, then suffering from serious illness, was carried on a bier through the streets by Lutheran landsknechts singing dirges. They then took him to a church, where a mock funeral service was gone through, and threatened to fling him into a grave if he did not pay a ransom. He was afterwards carried to some friends who were bound over to be his sureties. Cristofero Marcello, Archbishop of Corfu, was called upon to pay 6000 ducats; not having the money, he was flung into imprisonment at Gaeta under threats of death.

A heavy ransom was demanded even from the Portuguese Ambassador, who was very nearly related to Charles V, and on his refusing to pay, his palace was plundered. As several bankers had transferred their property thither for safety, the soldiers came into possession of an exceedingly rich haul. The Florentine banker, Bernardo Bracci, was taken by Spanish soldiers to the Bank of the Foreigners, where he had to pay down his ransom of 8206 ducats. On the Ponte Sisto he met the captain. La Motte, who had been appointed governor of the city, who threatened to fling Bracci into the Tiber unless he laid down an additional 600 ducats; Bracci paid and so saved his life. Even Perez, the Secretary of the Imperial Embassy, was in danger of his life at the hands of savage landsknechts, and suffered heavy losses in money and property. The Emperor's procurator, George Sauermann, was so completely despoiled that he was reduced to beggary, and died in the street from hunger and exhaustion. No place afforded safety; the very hospitals, among them even that of the Germans, were not spared.

The Venetian Ambassador, Domenico Venier, and the envoys of Mantua, Ferrara, and Urbino, had fled to the great palace of Isabella, Marchioness of Mantua, at SS. Apostoli. This high-minded Princess had also given asylum in her fortress-palace to a multitude of men and women of noble birth. While it was still night her son, Ferrante Gonzaga, came in haste to protect her; he was unable, however, to prevent the sum of 60,000 ducats being levied as ransom on those to whom his mother had given shelter. Although a watch of Spaniards and landsknechts now guarded the house, it was repeatedly threatened by turbulent bands of the captors. The Marchioness was in deadly fear. On the 13th of May she fled to Civita Vecchia with her escaped the Venetian Ambassador, disguised as a porter. In the letter in which Venier announced his safety to the Doge, he remarks, “The destruction of Jerusalem could not have been worse than that of Rome”.

Pompeo Colonna appeared in Rome on the 10th of May. He found his palace sacked, and the streets covered with dead bodies the scene of cruel desolation moved even this hard man to tears. Giovio states that Colonna took urgent steps to mitigate the misery and gave protection to several fugitives ; but with him some thousand peasants from the environs had made their way into Rome, ready to seize on what had been left over from the pillage of the soldiery. Not only the iron railings, but even the very nails were wrenched by them from the walls of the houses. The Pope's villa on Monte Mario was now given to the flames.

The Frenchman Grolier, who betook himself for safety to the house of a Spanish Bishop, has described, in striking words, the scene that met his eye as he looked, from the terrace of his place of refuge, over the city now given up to fire and sword : “From every side came cries, the clash of arms, the shrieks of women and children, the crackling of flames, the crash of falling roofs. We stood motionless with fear and listened, as if fate had singled us out alone to be the spectators of the ruin of our homes”. There was hardly a house in Rome at last which was not injured. Even the wretched huts of the water-carriers and porters were not spared. “In the whole city”, ran one account, “there was not a soul above three years of age who had not to purchase his safety”. Several paid ransoms twice or even three times over many were in such bodily suffering that they preferred an immediate death to further torture.

It is hardly possible to compute the number of deaths with certainty. In the Borgo and Trastevere alone, two thousand corpses were cast into the Tiber, nine thousand eight hundred were buried. The booty of the soldiers was incalculable. At the lowest estimate it must have amounted in money and objects of value to more than one million ducats, in payments of ransom to three or four millions. Clement VII estimated the total damage at ten millions in gold. Many soldiers had plundered coin in such quantity that they were not able even to drag their booty away; each vagabond camp-follower had as many ducats as he could fill his cap with.

With a pitiless coolness which makes one shudder, the Protestant hero Sebastian Schertlin von Burtenbach relates in his autobiography the misery of the Romans whereby their victors were enriched: “In the year 1527, on the 6th of May, we took Rome by storm, put over 6000 men to the sword, plundered the whole city, seized all that we could find in all the churches and anywhere, burned down a great part of the city, and seldom spared, tearing and destroying all copyists' work, registers, letters, and state documents”.

The last clause touches on an aspect of the sack of Rome which moves the historian to grief: the destruction, namely, of historical documents and literary treasures. The library of the monastery of S. Sabina, the precious private collections and manuscripts of many learned scholars, were scattered or burnt. Six books of Giovio’s history perished. Cardinal Accolti lost his whole library. The remarkable gaps in the private and monastic archives of Rome; the poverty, above all, of the Capitoline records, are certainly a consequence of the destruction wrought at this time. In many despatches of this period it is expressly stated that original Papal documents and valuable manuscripts were lying about the streets, or were used as litter for the horses. Cardinal Trivulzio mentions in particular the destruction of the Apostolic Camera, where many volumes of registers were torn up and the leaden seals of Bulls melted down for bullets. Clement VII himself mentions that all the deeds of the Secret Chancery fell into the soldiers' hands. The Vatican Library, containing the most precious collection of manuscripts in the world, barely escaped destruction; this was saved only owing to the circumstance that Philibert of Orange had his headquarters in the palace; nevertheless, it sustained serious losses.

Orange occupied the Papal apartments. He caused his charger to be stabled close to him lest the animal should be stolen; the most beautiful chambers in the Vatican, even the Sixtine Chapel, were turned into horse-stalls. There is also no doubt that works of art, especially marble statues, were destroyed or taken away. Such famous antiques, in the Vatican, as the bronzes of the Capitol, the masterpieces of Raphael, Michael Angelo, and other artists of the Renaissance, luckily suffered no serious damage. This can be quite well explained by the fact that the soldiery only laid hands, for the most part, on those works of art which attracted them by their adornments of gold, silver, and precious stones. Thus the sack caused irremediable loss among the numerous specimens of the goldsmith's and jeweller’s craft. The gold cross of Constantine, the golden rose presented by Martin V to the Church of St. Peter, and the tiara of Nicholas V were stolen.

For eight days, according to the lowest reckoning, the work of robbery and murder went on unchecked. An order, issued on the third day, that plundering was to cease, was totally disregarded. The want of discipline among the pillaging soldiery was such that if the army of the League had arrived suddenly, it would have hardly met with serious resistance; the gates of the city were never once guarded. Philibert of Orange was nominally the Commander-in-Chief; La Motte was Governor of the city. If the latter extorted money under threats of death, it can easily be supposed that his subordinates would also exact ransom from their captives. This form of torture was unending; many must have redeemed themselves six times over. The thirst for blood had been quenched, the thirst for money remained the very sewers were searched, and yet many a hidden treasure escaped the robbers.

While dogs were gnawing the corpses around them, the soldiers gave themselves up to dice and wine. At the Ponte Sisto, in the Borgo, and on the Campo di Fiore, relates a Roman notary, gold-embroidered garments of silk and satin, woollen and linen cloths, rings, pearls, and other costly articles in a confused medley, proceeds of the sack, were sold, German women had whole sacks of such things, which they traded in at stiff prices; but, once sold, all was soon stolen again. “Children and beggars were rich; the rich were poor”. “I”, says this narrator in conclusion, “was taken prisoner together with my wife by the Spaniards, and had to pay 100 ducats. After losing all my property, I fled first to Tivoli and then to Palestrina”. The same fate befell thousands; the unhappy victims of the sack left Rome half naked, and sought in the surrounding districts the means wherewith to appease their hunger. Among them were citizens who, a short time before, had stalled ten horses in their stables.

Many soldiers made off with their booty at once and went to Naples; others soon gambled it all away, and, as Brandano, the prophet of Siena, now set at liberty by the Imperialists, had once foretold, “the gains of priests, and the plunder of war, quickly come and quickly go”. With menaces they demanded their pay. Moreover, on the 17th of May, some cases of plague had begun to appear. As all provisions had been destroyed in the most wanton manner, a food famine threatened to break out; eatables were worth their weight in gold an egg cost a giulio, a loaf two ducats. Bloody quarrels, also, were of daily occurrence between the Spaniards and landsknechts. Scattered over the whole city, the army was on the verge of total disruption. In a case of alarm the officers had to go from house to house and seek out their men one by one.

All these conditions must have made Philibert heartily anxious to come to terms of peace with the Pope. Clement VII, who found his position in the castle of St. Angelo a desperate one, had already, on the 7th of May, entered into communication with the Imperialists. Bartolomeo Gattinara came to the castle, where the Pope, with tears in his eyes, told him that he flung himself on the Emperor's magnanimity. On the 9th of May a treaty was proposed, in accordance with which the fortress of St. Angelo, Ostia, Civita Vecchia, Modena, Parma, and Piacenza were to be surrendered, 150,000 gold scudi paid to the Imperialists, 200,000 ducats levied on the States of the Church, and the Colonna family reinstated; the Pope and the Cardinals were to be conveyed to Naples. But the Germans now made difficulties; they announced that they would not leave Rome until their arrears of pay, amounting to 300,000 ducats, were paid. Gattinara was at his wits’ end; the army of the League might appear at any moment, and the whole question would be reopened.

On the night of the 12th of May two leaders of the League party made an attempt to rescue the Pope; this bold enterprise was baulked only by an accident. New negotiations now ensued, but Clement was, as always, undecided. Du Bellay described the Pope's attitude in the phrase, “Today peace, tomorrow war; today action, tomorrow rest”. Meanwhile, in the hard-pressed castle of St. Angelo, the position grew more difficult day by day. The arrival of the forces of the League, with whom communication had been opened by means of beacon signals, was hoped for in vain.

Clement VII would have liked best to treat with Lannoy, who was lying in Siena; on the 18th of May he asked the Duke of Urbino to give the Viceroy a free-conduct to Rome. On the 19th, Gattinara, the Abbot of Najera, and Vespasiano Colonna came again to St. Angelo, where the Pope, after long consultation with the Cardinals, decided to surrender. Nothing was wanting to the new terms of capitulation, which had undergone alteration in some particulars, save the signatures, when the news was brought that the army of the League was drawing near. Thereupon the French party succeeded in bringing the Pope to a change of mind. During the night the Imperial council of war had determined to begin the actual siege of the castle. Entrenchments were at once thrown up, reinforcements ordered from Naples, and every disposition taken to repel any attempt at relief on the part of the Leaguers. The latter, with a force 15,000 strong, had at length, on the 22nd of May, reached Isola, nine miles from Rome, where Cardinal Egidio Canisio also joined them with auxiliary troops. But notwithstanding the eloquent representations of Guicciardini and the appeals for help from St. Angelo, the council of war decided not to make any attempt at relief. The soldiers, many of whom had already gone over to the enemy, were not to be trusted, and on the 2nd of June the camp was broken up and the retreat on Viterbo begun.

The departure of the army of the League, without striking a blow, has been branded by Ariosto in scathing words :

Vedete gli omicidii e le rapine

In ogni parte far Roma dolente;

E con incendi e stupri le divine

 E le profane cose ire ugualmente.

II campo de la lega le ruine

 Mira d' appresso, e 'l pianto e 'l grido sente,

E dove ir dovria inanzi, torna in dietro,

E prender lascia il successor di Pietro.

The Pope’s enemies, burning for a fight, planted their cannon on Monte Mario and laid mines in order that they might, in the last extremity, blow up the Pope and all about him.

Such was the situation when, on the 1st of June, Schonberg left the castle and approached the Imperialists; at the same time Pompeo Colonna was invited to have audience with Clement VII. The two enemies soon stood face to face with tears in their eyes. Colonna did all in his power to facilitate an understanding. On the 5th of June an agreement was reached; the conditions were: the surrender of the castle, of the strongholds of Ostia, Civita Vecchia, Civita Casteliana, as well as of the cities of Piacenza, Parma, and Modena; the payment of 400,000 ducats—100,000 at once, 50,000 within twenty days; the remainder to be collected by means of a levy on the States of the Church. The Pope, with the thirteen Cardinals who were with him, was still to remain, for the time being, a prisoner in St. Angelo. As soon as the 100,000 ducats were paid, the surrender of the strong places carried out, and plenipotentiaries appointed for the surrender of the cities, he would be allowed to withdraw to Naples. As security for the money payments, the following were made hostages: Giovanni Maria del Monte, Archbishop of Manfredonia, Onofrio Bartolini, Archbishop of Pisa, Antonio Pucci, Bishop of Pistoja, Giberti, Jacopo Salviati, the father of the Cardinal, Lorenzo Ridolfi, and Simone Ricasoli. Further, the Pope was to restore to the Colonna all their possessions, to reinstate Cardinal Pompeo in all his dignities, and to remove all censures from the Imperialists.

On the 7th of June the Papal garrison left the castle of St. Angelo, whereupon four companies of Spanish and German troops marched in. The Pope was entrusted to the custody of Alarcon, who had once been also the jailer of Francis I. Among the Germans who occupied St. Angelo was Schertlin von Burtenbach, who describes with ruthless brutality the sad plight in which he found the Pope and Cardinals in a narrow chamber. “They were making a great lamentation and weeping bitterly; as for us, we all became rich”.