From the rejoicing gates of Pisa--set free by the King of France from the burdensome yoke of Florence--the royal army took its way to the daughter of Fiesole. Steadily, though slowly it marched on, and Lorenzo Visconti led the van. Oh what thoughts, what struggles of feeling, what various emotions perplexed him when he saw the walls and towers of Florence rising before him! There his early infancy had passed after his father had perished in the successful effort to rid his country of a tyrant, but only, alas, to give her another. There had his youth been protected, his life saved, his education received, his fortunes cared for, his happiest days passed. And now he approached the cradle of his youth at the head of an invading army.
With his lance upon his thigh and his beaver raised he gazed upon the beautiful city with apprehension but not without hope. He knew that Florence had no power to resist; that her walls were too feeble, her towers not strong enough to make any successful defence against the tremendous train of artillery which followed the French army. He trembled to think of what might be the consequence of one bombard fired from those battlements, one gate closed upon the foe. The scenes of Vivizano returned to his imagination, and he thought he saw the forms of well known friends and early companions exposed to the licence and brutality of the cruel soldiery.
"I at least come not as an enemy," he thought, "and perchance if it be God's good will, I may do something in return for all that Florence has done for me."
He looked anxiously round as he continued his march, but he could see no signs of resistance. Now his eyes rested upon the calm Arno flowing on, alternately seen and lost; and then he caught a glimpse of the Mugnione, and a torrent but now a brook, rushing down from the Apennines. Many a winding road caught his eye, but nothing appeared upon them but trains of peasantry seemingly seeking shelter from the apprehended pillage by the light troops of the French army.
Many a time he sent a message back to the king to say that all was quiet and peaceable; and more than once he fell somewhat into the rear of his party to speak a word or two to some one in a litter, well guarded, which had followed during the last three days' march. But still all remained quiet, and he saw no reason to suppose that the rumors which had been current in the French camp had any foundation. Those rumours had imported, that the acts of Pierre de Medici, who had sought the King of France and humbly submitted to any terms which the monarch's council thought fit to dictate, had been disavowed by the Signoria, Pierre himself obliged to fly in disgrace, and that the citizens were resolved to defend their homes to the last. It is true that he had never seen such a number of peasants seeking the city before; and he remarked that there were few, if any, women, and no children amongst them. But there stood the gates wide open, with nothing but half a dozen armed men at some of the entrances to indicate that it was a fortified place. No order had been given to halt at any particular spot, and Lorenzo rode on till he was not more than three hundred yards from the Pisa gate, when a large party of the king'sfouriersand harbingers, accompanied by a trumpeter, passed him at the gallop and rode straight up to the city. The trumpet blew, and admission for the King of France was demanded in a loud tone, when one of the officers on guard stepped forward and replied, "We have no orders to oppose the king's entrance."
Just at that moment the Cardinal Julian came up on a fine swift mule, followed by numerous cross bearers and attendants, and paused by the side of Lorenzo, saying, "Follow me into the city, my son. I have the king's order to that effect. We will first carry our young charge to the house of Madonna Francesca, and then both you and I may have some charitable work on hand to mediate between the monarch and the citizens."
"But whither does his majesty direct his own steps?" asked Lorenzo eagerly, "how shall we find him?"
"He goes direct to the palace of the Podesta," said the cardinal; "come on--come on, before the crowd of soldiery overtakes us."
The troop moved on and was the first body of regular soldiers to pass the gates. There was some noise and confusion, thefouriers, a loud and boisterous body of men, asking many questions of the Florentine soldiers at the guard-house, to which but sullen answers were returned; and Lorenzo judged it a point of duty to relieve the Tuscans of the charge of the gate and place a French guard there to ensure against anything like treachery. The cardinal coinciding, the change was soon made without resistance, and the troops passed on into the city. The day was dark, and the tall fortress-like houses of the streets looked sad and gloomy, though through the narrow windows of the massive walls peered forth a crowd of human faces watching in silence the passage of the French men-at-arms. No smile was upon any countenance, no look of admiration at the rich surcoats and glittering arms; but everything bore the same stern and gloomy aspect, and Lorenzo remarked that many of the persons he saw were heavily armed.
At length, in the Via Ghibelina, Julian de Rovera stopped his mule before a large heavy entrance-gate, and commanded one of his palfreniers to seek admittance. The whole cavalcade was eyed attentively by more than one person through a small iron-grated window at the side of the door, and though it was announced to the observers that no less a person than the Cardinal of St. Peter's sought admission to see his cousin, Mona Francesca, he was not permitted to enter till one or two embassies had passed between the wicket and the saloons above. At length he was suffered to pass into the court with his own train alone; but Lorenzo and his band, and even Leonora and her women, were kept waiting in the street, subject to the gaze of many an eye from the houses round.
The two young lovers did not fail to employ the time of expectation to the best advantage. It was a painful and somewhat embarrassing moment, and required both consolation and consideration. They were about to be separated, after having enjoyed unrestrained a period of sweet companionship and happy intimacy which falls to the lot of few young people so situated towards each other. Lorenzo leaned into the litter and spoke to her he loved with words little restrained by the presence of Mona Mariana, of whose kindness and discretion he was by this time well aware, and whom he had bound to himself for life by a more valuable present than any one else was at all likely to bestow.
What matters it what he said? It would be strangely uninteresting to others, though his words caused many an emotion in her to whom they were addressed, and sprang from many an emotion in his own heart. He sketched eager plans of future meeting; he proposed schemes for evading the strictness and severity of the lady Francesca, whom neither of them knew; he arranged the means of communication when the king's forward march should prevent the possibility of any personal intercourse.
Vain! vain! as every scheme of man regarding the future. Fate stands behind the door and laughs while lovers lay their plots. Half the schemes of Lorenzo were needless, and the other half proved impracticable.
The cardinal detained them but a short time, and when he returned Lorenzo found he had been throwing away stratagems.
"Haste! hand the dear child from her litter," he said, "and both of you come with me. Mona Francesca agrees to receive and protect her as her own child, provided you will give her the security of a French guard; for she mightily fears the Swiss and the Gascons. I have assured her that you will leave twenty men here for the present, and that I will obtain the consent of King Charles to your being quartered with all your troops in the court and the lower story; the men must be quartered somewhere, you know."
"Certainly," replied Lorenzo, with almost too much readiness, "and why not here--if it be the wish of your Eminence--as well as elsewhere?"
While speaking he advanced to the side of the litter, and aided Leonora to descend. She was somewhat paler than usual, for the feeling of being in a strange city, occupied suddenly by foreign troops, upon whom there was no knowing how soon a fierce and active population might rise, was more terrible to her than even the sight of actual war.
Expectation almost always goes beyond reality both in its fears and in its hopes. It is uncertainty which gives its sting to dread. The cardinal, however, took her by the hand and led her into the court-yard, where a few old men and two or three younger, but perhaps not more serviceable persons, were assembled in arms, and turning sharp to the right ascended the great staircase to the principal apartments of the palace. A magnificent hall and several large saloons intervened between the first landing and the smaller cabinet in which Mona Francesca awaited her visitors.
What a different personage presented herself at length to the eyes of Leonora and Lorenzo from that which either had expected to behold.
The one had pictured her distant cousin as a tall, thin, acerb-looking Madonna, more fitted for the cloister than the world. The other had figured her as a portly commanding dame, to whose behests all were to bow obsequiously. But there sat the future guardian of Leonora, the picture of good-humoured indolence. The remains of a very beautiful face, a countenance rather sweet than firm, a figure which might have once been pretty, but which was now approaching the obese, a pretty foot stretched out from beneath her dress, with fine hair and teeth, made up almost altogether the sum of Mona Francesca. She had been for ten years a virtuous wife. She had been for twelve or thirteen years a discreet and virtuous widow. She loved her ease and her independence too well to risk again matrimony, once tried, and with some feelings of devotion, and a good deal both of time and money to spare, she had gained with the clergy and with the religious orders of Florence almost the character of a saint--by doing nothing either wrong or right.
She welcomed Leonora kindly, and perhaps none the less that she was accompanied by a young and handsome cavalier,--for though her weaknesses never deviated into indiscretions, he had a great taste for the beautiful, and was a true connoisseur of masculine beauty. She made Leonora sit beside her, and gave Lorenzo her jewelled hand to kiss, entering with him at once into a conversation which might have been long, had not the impatient cardinal interfered.
"Well, well," he exclaimed, "you can talk with him about all that hereafter. You will have plenty of time. At present we must follow the king to the Podesta."
"Stay, stay," cried Mona Francesca. "Do not forget he is to leave twenty men on guard. Ah! I fear those dreadful Frenchmen terribly! They tell me the widows suffered more than any at Vivizano."
"I doubt it," said the cardinal; but Lorenzo consoled her, by assuring her that twenty men should certainly be left to protect her, without adding that they were all those dreadful Frenchmen whom she seemed to fear so much; and then followed the cardinal to the court-yard, where his arrangements were soon made. A French ensign was hung out above the great gate, a couple of soldiers stationed on guard in the street, and a sufficient force left within to ensure the safety of the place against any body of those licentious stragglers which followed all armies in those days in even greater numbers than they do at present.
In the meantime the cardinal had ridden on, accompanied by his own train; and Lorenzo followed, guiding his men himself through the well-remembered streets, where so much of his own young life had been spent. It was not without some uneasiness that he marked the aspect of the city. There was many a sign, or rather many an indication that though the Florentines had admitted the army of the King of France within their walls, they were prepared to resist even in their own streets, any attempt at tyrannical domination. Few persons appeared out of shelter of the houses, and those few were well armed. But the multitudes of faces at the windows, and the glance of steel at every door that happened even to be partly open, showed a state of preparation equal to the occasion, and the youth, calculating the chances of a struggle between the army and the population of the city, should a conflict arise, could not but come to the conclusion that, shut up in streets and squares of which they knew nothing, surrounded by houses, every one of which was a fortress, and opposed by a body vastly more numerous, the French force might find all its military skill and discipline unavailing, and have cause to rue the rash confidence of the king.
Just as he was entering upon that great square, near which are collected so many inestimable treasures of art, a man fully armed, started forth from a gateway, and laid his hand upon his horse's rein. Lorenzo laid his hand upon his sword; but the other without raising his visor, addressed him by name in a stern voice: "I little thought to see you here, with a foreign invader, Lorenzo Visconti," he said, "but mark me, and let your king know. Florence will be trodden down by no foreign despot. Let him be moderate in his demands, calm and peaceful in his demeanour, or he will leave his last man in these streets should we all perish in resisting insolence or tyranny. Look around you as you go, and you will see that every house is filled with our citizens or peasantry; and though willing to concede much for peace, we are ready to dare all for liberty. Let this be enough between us. Ride on, and ride fast, for on this very moment hangs a destiny. At the first sound of the bell, a conflict will begin that will seal the fate of Italy. Ride on, I say. You know our customs. Take care that the bell does not ring."
"Who are you? What is your name?" asked Lorenzo; but the man made no reply, and retreated under the archway whence he had come.
Winding through the crowds which occupied the Piazza, the young knight and his party overtook the cardinal just as he was dismounting at the gates of the great heavy building, known as the Podesta; and springing to his stirrup, Lorenzo in a whisper communicated to him rapidly the fears he entertained of some sudden and terrible conflict between the citizens and the French soldiery, should the demands of the king be excessive or tyrannical.
"It is right his Majesty should know the state of the city," he said; "and if I can obtain speech of him, he shall know it; for no one can judge of the signs around us better than myself, whose boyhood has been passed in these streets and squares."
"You shall have speech of him," said the cardinal, "follow me quickly. They must be at it already. Where is the king, boy?--where is the council?"
A page whom he addressed led him up the great staircase, and hurrying his pace, he was soon in that great council chamber where the fate of Florence had been so often decided.
The scene it now presented was very striking. The King of France was seated in a chair of state, with many of his officers and counsellors around, and the Bishop of St. Malo standing at his left hand. Before him stood a number of the magistrates of Florence, richly robed, and on the faces of all present might be seen a sharp and angry expression, as if some bitter words had been already passing. The room was crowded; but as the cardinal and Lorenzo entered, they could see the Bishop of St. Malo take a step across the open space between the king and the magistrates, and hand a written paper to one of the latter, on whose face the very first words brought a heavy frown.
Holding Lorenzo by the hand, Julian de Rovera pushed his way through the crowd, murmuring, "God send we be not too late," and at length reached the monarch's side, where he bent his head to the king's ear, saying abruptly, "This young man has matter of life and death to communicate to you, sire. Listen to him for a moment ere you do aught else."
The king raised his eyes to Lorenzo's face, and then inclined his ear, making the young man a sign to speak.
"My lord," said Lorenzo in a whisper, "no one about you knows Florence as well as I do. You and your army are on the brink of a volcano. The houses all around are filled with armed men. Not only are the citizens prepared to rise at a moment's notice, but the town has been crowded with the neighbouring peasantry, and although your Majesty is in full possession of the town, a conflict in these streets might be more disastrous than can be told."
"Hark," said the king, "the old man is speaking;" and, raising his head, he gazed upon the magistrate who had been reading the paper.
"King of France," said the old man, in a fierce and impetuous tone, "these demands are outrageous. They are insulting to the people of Florence; and thus I deal with them;" and as he spoke he tore the paper in pieces and flung the fragments on the floor. "I tell you, sire," he continued, "that nothing like these terms will be granted. Our course is taken; our minds are made up. We were all willing to pay you due respect,--to grant all that might be requisite for your security, or to assist you for your comfort. But we will not be treated as a conquered people till we are conquered; and, even then, we will be the slaves of no man. Either propose terms in reason, or else--why, sound your trumpets and we will toll our bells, and on him who is the aggressor fall the guilt of all the blood which will dye our streets."
"Good God! the man is mad," exclaimed one of the king's councillors.
"Mère de Dieu!" cried another, "he has had the insolence to tear the edict!"
"We are ready to obey your Majesty's commands," said the stern Montpensier, in a cold tone.
"I go to take orders against an outbreak, sire," said La Tremouille, in a low voice, "it is not to be concealed that we are in a somewhat dangerous position here."
"Sire, you had better get out of the rat-trap," said De Vitry, "I will guard you with my men-at-arms, and keep one gate open for the rest to follow. My head for your safety; and once out we shall soon bring these gentlemen to reason."
"Peace," said the king, "peace, my friends. Let me speak.--You have done wrong, sir, to tear that paper," he continued with an air of much dignity, addressing the bold old man. "We had not read it ourselves. It was far from our intention to demand any outrageous terms; but only such as a republic might expect who had refused our friendship and set at nought our proffers of alliance. Hastily drawn up by our council, and tendered to you here more as an outline of what might be our demands than as what they actually are, the paper may have contained something you could not comply with, but nothing to warrant so much heat, I think. Have you a copy, my Lord Bishop?"
"Here is one, sire," replied the minister, handing him a paper.
The king took it and read it with slowness and evident difficulty. "This is too much," he said when he had done, "Signor Pierro Capponi has some show of reason for his anger. My Lord Bishop, these terms must be mitigated. I will retire to another chamber and leave you with the magistrates of the city to decide upon some more equitable arrangement, with his Eminence here to moderate between you. What I demand is that compensation shall be made in gold for the expense and delay to which I have been subjected by the resistance of strong places in a country professing to be friendly to me; and that sufficient security be given that my return to France, when it pleases me, shall not be interrupted. Your council had better be held in private. There are too many persons present. Let all but my council and the Signoria of Florence follow me."
Thus saying, he rose and left the hall.
The result is well known. A large sum of money, part of which found its way into the purses of the king's counsellors, and vague promises of alliance and security, were all that the Florentines had to pay; and the lesson of the morning was sufficiently impressive to produce better discipline and forbearance amongst the French troops than they had exercised elsewhere.
On, those days of happiness, how soon they come to an end! Poets and philosophers have attempted in vain to convey to the mind by figures and by argument the brevity of enjoyment, and the great master only came near the truth when he declared it was--
"Brief as the lightning in the collied night,That in a spleen unfolds both heaven and earth,And ere a man hath power to say--Behold!The jaws of darkness do devour it up."
"Brief as the lightning in the collied night,That in a spleen unfolds both heaven and earth,And ere a man hath power to say--Behold!The jaws of darkness do devour it up."
Enjoyment is the most brief of all things, for its very nature is to destroy time. Like the fabled monster of one of the Indian tribes--we drink up the waters in which we float, and leave ourselves at last on a dry and arid shore. But if enjoyment be so transient, hope is permanent. Well did the ancients represent her as lingering behind after all else had flown out of the casket of Pandora. She does linger still in the casket of every human heart, whether it be joys or evils that pass away.
"Quando il miser disperaLa speranza parla e dice,Sta su, tienti, vivi, e speraChe sarai ancor felice.* * * *"Ogni casa al mondo mancaLa speranza mai si perde."
"Quando il miser disperaLa speranza parla e dice,Sta su, tienti, vivi, e speraChe sarai ancor felice.* * * *"Ogni casa al mondo mancaLa speranza mai si perde."
So sang Serafino l'Aquilano, a poet of the days of Lorenzo and Leonora, and for a time at least they found the song true.
Hope remained after happiness had passed; but yet how bright were those days and nights of happiness which the two young lovers passed in Florence!
Are you old enough to have forgotten, reader, how, in your early youth, you deified the object of your love? How her very presence seemed to spread an atmosphere of joy around her? How her look was sunshine and her voice the song of a seraph? Can you remember it? Then think what must have been the feelings of Lorenzo Visconti and Leonora d'Orco, at an age when the fire of passion is the brightest, because the purest--where all those attributes of beauty, and grace, and excellence with which imagination is wont to invest the beloved objects were really present, and when the fancy of the heart spread her wings from a higher point than she commonly can find on earth. Think what must have been their feelings when in a lovely climate, amidst beautiful scenes, in a land of song, where the treasures of ancient and of modern art were just beginning to unfold themselves--the one issuing from the darkness of the past, the other dawning through the twilight of the future; think what must have been their feelings, when, in such scenes and with such accessories to the loving loveliness in their own hearts, they were suffered, almost unrestrained, to enjoy each other's society to the full, when and where they liked.
The old cardinal, plunged deep in politics and worldly schemes and passions, took little heed of them. Mona Francesca was no restraint upon them. Sometimes in long rambles by the banks of the Arno, sometimes mingling with the gay masked multitudes that thronged the streets on the clear soft autumnal nights, sometimes seated in the beautiful gardens of the city of flowers, sometimes reposing in the luxurious apartments of the Casa Morelli, the days and greater part of the nights were passed during the stay of the French army in Florence. It was a dream of joy, and it passed as a dream.
Gradually, however, the shadow stole over the sunshine. The day for the march was named, and came nearer and nearer. Lorenzo had to go on, fighting his way with the forces of the king; Leonora was to remain behind in Florence. They were to part, in short; and the sorrow of parting came upon them. But then there was hope--hope singing her eternal song of cheering melody, picturing the coming time when a bright reunion would wipe out the very memory of sorrow, and when, perhaps, the link of their fate might be riveted too firmly for any future separation. The old cardinal encouraged the idea, and promised to give the blessing on their union, and Mona Francesca sighed, and thought, perhaps, matrimony the next happiest state to widowhood.
The day came: the last parting embrace was given--the last, long clinging kiss was taken--the last wave of the hand, as the troop filed down the street, and then Leonora d'Orco was left to the solitude of her own thoughts. The multitude of turbulent emotions which had thrilled through her heart were all still. It was as when a gay crowd that has been laughing, and singing, and revelling, suddenly departs and leaves the scene of rejoicing all silent and solitary. The words of Leonardo da Vinci's song came back to her mind--
"Oft have I wept for joys too soon possessed!"
And retiring to her own chamber she gave way to very natural tears. Nor were they soon over, nor was the emotion in which they arose transient. Nothing was evanescent in the character of Leonora d'Orco. Even young as she was, all was deep, strong, and permanent.
But I must leave her alone for the present with her tears, or with the sadness that followed them, and proceed with Lorenzo Visconti on the march towards Rome and Naples; not that I intend to dwell upon battles or sieges, intrigues or negotiations; but I merely purpose to give a slight sketch of the historical events that followed, with one or two detached scenes more in detail, where public transactions affected the fate of those of whom I write. With audacity bordering upon folly, Charles VIII. advanced rapidly upon Rome, without having taken any efficient steps to guard his communications with France. Each step rendered his position more perilous, and had there been anything like unity amongst the Italian princes or states it is probable that neither the King of France nor his gallant army would ever have seen Paris again. The pope, too, thundered at him from the Vatican, admitted Neapolitan troops into Rome, and endeavoured to raise the partisans of the Church in the imperial city, to aid him in repelling the advancing enemy. But Alexander found no support. No one loved, no one respected him, and his call upon the citizens was made in vain. On, step by step, the French monarch advanced, but, as he neared the city, which had once been the capital of the world, a degree of uncertainty came over him, and discord manifested itself in his council. The Cardinal of St. Peter's urged him strongly to depose the monster whose brow defiled the tiara; several other bishops and cardinals joined in the demand. Some of the stern old military men, too, argued on the same side, but the smooth Bishop of St. Malo and many of the king's lay-counsellors recommended negotiation; advised that the march of the army should be retarded or stopped, and that skilful diplomatists should be sent forward to treat for peaceful admission into Rome.
An eminent position is a curse for the weak, and a peril for the strong. Till we can see into the hearts of men, no king can ever know the secret motives, the dark selfishness, the pitiful objects, the vain, the mercenary, the ambitious ends which lie at the bottom of all the advice, and every suggestion they receive. We see the honest and the true neglected; we see the noble and the wise make shipwreck, and we know not whence it comes. The man who would map out the currents of the ocean would confer a signal benefit upon his race and accomplish a most laborious task; but he who would trace and expose all the under-currents of a court would undertake a more herculean enterprise still. Nor can the wisest and the best of those who rule the destinies of men escape such pernicious influences. They can but judge by what they see, while it is what they do not see which is bearing them wrong. They may consult the magnet or the pole-star; they may reckon closely and well, but they can neither calculate nor perceive those undercurrents which are bearing them upon the shoals or rocks of injustice or of danger. Nor are they in most cases to blame. Suffice it, if in regard to great and plain facts where there can be no deceit, their unassisted judgment leads them right. I myself, accustomed to courts, have seen the wisest, the very firmest of men misled to do small acts of wrong to their most deserving of friends. Could I blame them even if I myself suffered? Oh, no! The whispered word, the well-improved opportunity, the casual insinuation--all the arts which the noble will not stoop to practise, are engines in the hands of the crafty, which will blind the clearest eye, deceive the most perspicacious mind.
How much more allowance should be made for a young, inexperienced, and half-educated monarch like Charles VIII. if he did not discover that the hope of a cardinal but swayed Breconnel in his advice; that this counsellor had been promised a sum of money; or that had hopes of a castle or an estate in Romagna; that one aimed at being prothonotary; or another an archdeacon of the Roman hierarchy. All these things were going on in his court and camp, and all these influenced the advice he received; but how could he know it?
The party of the negotiators succeeded. Charles sent envoys into Rome. to treat with Alexander. They went away full of confidence; they told the king that in a few days they would return with all the stipulations he required, assented to. What was his surprise to hear that his envoys had been arrested, two thrown into prison, and two given up to the Neapolitan troops which were in the city.
Rage and indignation took possession of him, and he gave orders that the army should march the next morning; but there were still peaceful counsellors near at hand; the march was put off till next day, and before that hour the news arrived that two of the envoys had been set free. Two, however, were still detained, and the further advance of the army began.
Still Alexander vacillated and hesitated, now giving way to bursts of furious passion, now yielding to immoderate terror; but that vacillation had now to give way. A military envoy appeared at the court of the sovereign pontiff, and with very little ceremony delivered his message in the presence of Ferdinand, the young prince of Naples, who stood at Alexander's right hand.
"What have you to say, Signor de Vitry?" asked the pope, affecting a tone of calmness which he was far from feeling.
"Merely this, Holiness," answered Vitry, "the army of my Sovereign Lord the King of France is within an hour's march of the walls; he desires to know if you are prepared to receive him within them. The day is nearly spent; he will have no time to force the gates to-night, and the men must be lodged somewhere."
Alexander trembled--partly, perhaps, with rage, but certainly with fear also. He looked to the Prince of Naples; he looked to his son, the Cardinal Borgia, upon whose handsome lips there was a sort of serpent smile; but no one ventured to utter one word of advice, till Ramiro d'Orco slowly approached his chair, and spoke a few words in a low tone.
"Well," said the pontiff, "tell the King of France, that I will not oppose his entrance. The Church does not seek to drive even her disobedient children to sacrilege. For myself, I will make no treaty--no stipulation with one who can disregard the repeated injunctions he has received. But for this young prince and his forces I demand a safe conduct."
"Not for me, your Holiness," said Ferdinand, raising his head proudly. "I need none. My sword is my safe conduct, and I will have no other."
"Then my errand is sped," said De Vitry. "I understand there will be no opposition to the king's entrance?"
The pontiff bowed his head with the single word, "None," and the envoy retired from his presence and from the city.
"And now to St. Angelo with all speed," cried Alexander. "Quick, Burchard, quick. Let all the valuables be gathered together and carried to the castle. Come, Cæsar--come, my son, and bring all the men you can find with you. The place is well provisioned already;" and he left the room without bestowing another word upon the young Prince of Naples.
Ferdinand paused a moment in deep thought, and then, with a heavy sigh, quitted the Vatican. Half an hour after he marched out of Rome at the head of a few thousand men, and beheld, by the fading light, the splendid host of the king who was marching to strip his father and himself of their dominions, winding onward--like a glittering snake--towards the gates of Rome.
Here, as at Florence, the fouriers and harbingers of the monarch rode on before the rest of the army, and passed rapidly through the ancient streets filled with the memories of so many ages, marking out quarters for the troops and lodgings for the king and his court. They took no heed to triumphal arch, or broken statue, or ruined amphitheatre; but they marked the faces of the populace who thronged the streets and gathered thickly at the gates, and they saw a very different expression on those countenances from that which had appeared amongst the Tuscans. To the Romans Charles came as a deliverer, and an occasional shout of gratulation burst from the people as the strange horsemen passed. Hasty preparations only could be made, for the royal army was close behind, and just after sunset on the last day of the year 1494, the French army reached the gates of Rome. Those gates were thrown wide open; and shout after shout burst from the multitude as the men-at-arms poured in. Charles himself was at their head, armed cap-à-pie; "with his lance upon his thigh," says an eye-witness, "as if prepared for battle." The drums beat, the trumpet sounded; and every tenth man of the army carried a torch casting its red glare upon the dazzling arms and gorgeous surcoats of the cavalry, and upon the eager but joyous faces round. Shout after shout burst from the multitude; and thus, as a conqueror, Charles entered Rome.
Rome, still grand even in her ruin, was in the hands of Charles of France. He had never in his life seen a stroke stricken in actual warfare, except at the insignificant town of Vivizano; he had never made a conquest more important than that of a village, nor obtained a victory over more than a score or two of men, and yet he felt himself almost on a par with Charlemagne when he stood in Rome exercising all the powers of an emperor. "He suited his corps de gardes and placed his sentinels in the squares of the noble city," says Old Brantome, "with many rounds and patrols, planted his courts of justice with gallowses and whipping-posts in five or six places; requisitions were made in his name; his edicts and ordonnances were cried and published with the sound of the trumpet as in Paris. Go find me a King of France who has ever done such things, except Charlemagne; and even he, I think, proceeded not with an authority so proud and imperious."
The morning dawned and found Charles in possession, full and entire, of all Rome, except the Castle of St. Angelo; and what is of more importance than the mere fact of being in full possession, he was so with the cordial assent of the whole Roman people. They had groaned under oppression and wrong for years, and the very fact that the oppression was exercised by the most despicable of men, had driven the iron deeper into their souls. Any change was to them a deliverance; and so strongly was this felt, that when at daybreak some women stood to gaze at the corpse of a robber who had been caught and hanged by his provosts in the night, they shrugged their shoulders, with a laugh, saying, "No more robbers now."
Not long after that early hour, and not far from the spot where some of the orations of Cicero were poured to the admiring people, a young gentleman, in the garb of peace, but with sword by his side and dagger in his girdle, walked slowly up and down, as if waiting for some one, and presently after a small man, in a monk's gown, whom Lorenzo had once seen before, came up, and saluting him led him away in the direction of some buildings, at that time appropriated to the use of distinguished visitors or great favourites of the Papal Court.
They were not unwatched, however; for from behind an old column which stood there not many years ago--it may stand there still for aught I know--glided out the figure of our friend Antonio, and followed them at some distance, keeping in the deep shade cast by the rising sun upon the eastern side of the street. His keen sharp eye was fixed upon them with a suspicious and even anxious look; "By my faith," he said, "good old Master Esopas was right when he warned us not to warm vipers. I fear me still that one which I helped to save when he was tolerably well frost-bitten, will some day turn and bite me, or, what is worse, bite young Lorenzo. Perhaps I had better warn his youthful knighthood. He is mighty docile for a young man, and will take a hint from me. But then he knows I love him, and that is the secret of it, I do believe; for love's a rarity as this world goes, and, poor boy, having neither father nor mother, who is there to love him but Antonio. By Hercules! I had forgotten the signorina. I am half jealous of the girl, and the only way I can manage to escape being so quite is to love her myself. Ha! they are stopping at that gate; Ramiro lodges there for a score of ducats. Well, well, I will even go in after them, and have a chat with my friend the friar. It is well the holy man should know that he has an intimate acquaintance near."
By this time Lorenzo and the monk had disappeared under the archway and ascended a staircase on the right. It was dirty and dark enough, but the door at the top led into a suite of rooms of almost regal splendour and oriental luxury. The first and the second chambers were vacant; but in the third Ramiro d'Orco was walking up and down with slow steps, and his stern, thoughtful eyes bent upon the ground. It is probable that he had heard the step of Lorenzo from his first entrance; but he was one of those men who never show emotion of any kind, whatever they may feel--men who are never known to start; and it was not till the young man and the friar were quite near that he even looked up.
"Welcome to Rome, Lorenzo," he said, without embracing him as most Italians would have done, or giving him his hand as an Englishman would not have failed to do. "Friar, you may leave us, and do not let us be interrupted. Sit, Lorenzo, sit! Will you rest on that pile of cushions or on that stuffed dais--stuffed with the inner down of some strange northern bird?"
"I thank you, Signor d'Orco," replied Lorenzo, "but I have been lately taught to sit and lie hard enough. You have, indeed, every sort of luxury here."
"Do not call them mine," said Ramiro, with a bitter smile. "They belong to my landlord, the holy and noble Cardinal Borgia. Men propose to themselves different objects in life, young sir. Some judge our short space here was given only for enjoyment; others, again, think it should be a time of active enterprise; one man seeks glory; another power; another wealth. They mostly imagine that they are only, in every object, seeking a means to an end--the covetous will enjoy his wealth hereafter--the ambitious only desires power to benefit his friends or crush his enemies--but they deceive themselves. Only Cæsar Borgia and I admit the naked truth. He says enjoyment in life. I say ambition is enjoyment. But an ambitious man must not sit on soft stools. There is my common seat," and he drew towards him an old wooden chair of the rudest and most uneasy form.
"So," he continued abruptly, after they were seated, "you have not brought Leonora with you."
"My lord, the matter was decided without me," replied Lorenzo; "the Cardinal of St. Peter's, your near relation, judged that this was not a fit place for her: but I will not conceal from you that I should have brought her with great reluctance, though every hour of her company is dearer to me than the jewels of a monarch's crown."
"The cardinal was right, and you were right," said Ramiro d'Orco, and plunging into thought, remained silent for several minutes, then looking calmly up in Lorenzo's face he said, "You are not married yet?"
"Assuredly not, my lord," said the young man, with his cheek somewhat burning from a consciousness of thoughts--nay, of wishes, if not purposes--which had come and gone in his own heart. "You gave your consent to our betrothal, but not to our marriage."
Ramiro d'Orco's eye had been fixed upon him with a cold steadfast gaze while he spoke, and the colour in his cheek still deepened.
"I have placed great confidence in you, Lorenzo Visconti," said Leonora's father. "I do not believe you would abuse it. I do not believe you would wrong her or wrong me. See that you do not."
"I am incapable of doing either, Signor Ramiro," replied Lorenzo, boldly. "I may sometimes have thought for a brief moment, that the only mode of removing some difficulties that presented themselves to us, was to take your consent for granted and unite my fate to hers by a tie which would give me a right both to direct and protect her; but the half-formed purpose was always barred by remembrance of the trust you had reposed in me; and Leonora herself can testify that I never even hinted at such a course."
Ramiro d'Orco again paused in silence for a moment, and then said, "Lorenzo Visconti, I have loved you well from causes that you know not. Listen for a moment; there are some men who are so formed that a kindness received or a wrong endured is never forgotten. They are perhaps not the best men in the world's opinion, they have their faults, their frailties; they may commit sins, nay crimes, according to the world's estimation---they may be considered cold, selfish, unprincipled; but the waters of these men's hearts have in them a petrifying power which preserves for ever the memories of other men's acts towards them. They cannot forgive, nor forget, nor forbear like other men. A kind word spoken, a good act done towards them in times of difficulty or danger will be remembered for years--ay, for long years--twenty? more than that; and a wrong inflicted will equally cut into the memory and will have its results, when he who perpetrated will himself have forgotten it. I am one of those men, Lorenzo; and, though I speak not often of myself, I would have you know it. But let us talk of other things," he added in a less severe and serious tone. "Now tell me truly, did you not think when I told Leonora to come on to Rome, that I had changed my purposes towards yourself, or that, at least, they were shaken; that some more wealthy match presented itself, or some ambitious object led me to withdraw my approbation of your suit? You doubted, you feared--was it not so?"
As he spoke another person entered the room with a gliding but stately step. He was dressed richly in a morning robe of precious furs, and his remarkably handsome person was set off to every advantage by the arrangement of the hair, the beard, and the garb. Ramiro d'Orco only noticed his coming by rising and inclining his head, while the other cast himself gracefully down upon the pile of cushions, and began to eat some confections which he took from a small golden box.
Almost without pause, Ramiro proceeded: "Did you not think so? You were wrong, Lorenzo, if you did. I have consented to your marriage with my daughter, I wish your marriage with her. I here, in the presence of this noble prince, give my full consent, and had you brought her on here, I would have joined your hands ere you go hence. But it is well as it is. And now let us again to other objects; my lord cardinal, your Eminence wished to see my young friend here."
"He is very handsome," said Cæsar Borgia; for he it was who lay upon the cushions. "He is very handsome, and I am told that the Signora Leonora is very beautiful, too--nay, a marvel of loveliness--is it not so?"
"In my eyes certainly," said Lorenzo drily, for there was something in the tone of the man he did not like.
"Marry her soon--marry her soon," said Cæsar Borgia, "a peach should always be tasted ere it is too ripe. I envy you your privileges, sir. I who am bound to a sour life of celibacy, may well think you happy who are free and blessed."
Lorenzo rose and raised his bonnet from the floor where he had cast it, as if to depart.
"Stay, stay," said Ramiro d'Orco, "these French-bred gentlemen, my lord cardinal, are very touchy upon some points. They understand no jests where their lady loves are concerned. We in Italy, and especially you in Rome, are somewhat too light-tongued upon such matters."
"Well, then, let us talk of other things," cried Borgia, starting up with a look entirely changed, the soft, indolent, almost effeminate expression gone, the eye fiery and the lips stern and grim. "You are right, Ramiro: we are too light-tongued in such matters. I meant not to offend you, sir, but as yet you are unaccustomed to our manners here. I wished to see and speak with you from the reports I have heard of you. You have, I think, served the King of France well---marvellously well for one so young. I have heard of your doings at Vivizano, and I have heard moreover that you are high in the personal esteem of Charles of France himself. Nay, more, it seems, by what means I know not, but they must be extraordinary, for scripture says the deaf adder stoppeth her ears and will not heart she voice of the charmer--it seems, I say, that by some means, you have won the confidence of Julian of Rovera, an enemy of me and of my father's house. With both this cardinal and this king you must have opportunities of private communication."
He kept his eye fixed upon Lorenzo's face while he spoke, marking every change of expression, and probably adapting his discourse to all he saw there; for no man was ever more terribly endowed with that serpent power of persuasion which bends and alters the wills and opinions of others, not by opposing force to force, but by instilling our thoughts in the garb of theirs into the minds of even our opponents. By that power how many did he bring to destruction, how many did he lure to death!
"I wish not," he continued, "to lead you to do or say aught that can be prejudicial to the King of France. I know that you are incapable of it; but it is for that very reason I have desired to see you. I seek no communication with those whom I can buy, and who the day after will sell themselves to another. I desire to address myself to one eager to serve his lord, and who will dare to tell him the truth, even if it be first spoken by the mouth of an enemy. Such a man I believe you to be, Signor Visconti, and therefore I sought this interview. Now, sir, King Charles is surrounded with men who will not let the truth reach his ears. You may ask why? what is their object? I will tell you. They have Rome in their power. My father, it is true, is safe up there--but still Rome is theirs; and, if they can but prevail upon the King of France, by false statements--by cunning persuasions--by the suppression or distortion of facts--to use his advantage ungenerously, they calculate upon forcing his Holiness to buy them wholesale. Ay, buy them, sir; for there are not two in all the king's council who cannot be bought--by benefices, by gold, by estates, by dignities. This is the reason they keep the truth from the monarch's mind; for they well know that, if his position and his duties were once clearly stated to him, full peace and alliance would soon be re-established between the crown of France and the Holy See; and they would be deprived of the power of extracting from my father the last ducat in his treasury, the last benefice in his gift. Do you understand me?"
"Methinks I do," answered Lorenzo, who had seen good reason to believe that Borgia's view of the characters of the French counsellors was not far from the truth. "But what is it, your Eminence, that the King of France should know that he does not know? He has about his person many a clear-sighted military man who is competent to perceive the truth and too honest to conceal it."
"Not exactly, my young friend," replied the cardinal; "the truth is not always so easy a thing to find as you imagine. The negotiators, at all events, have the king's ear--civilians or ecclesiastics--all. We know not that these military friends of yours have discovered the whole truth; or, if they have, that they have revealed it. Now, what I wish is, that you--you, Lorenzo Visconti, should learn the whole truth, and should seize the very first opportunity of telling it to the king. I will give you a correct and accurate statement of the true position of affairs--at least, as I see them. If I am wrong, your own clear mind will detect the error: for, of course, though I cannot pretend to speak without some prejudice, you can have none. An Italian by birth--about to wed an Italian lady, many of your sympathies must be with us, while gratitude and education afford a fair counterpoise in favour of France. But listen to my statement."
He then went on with the most skilful and artful, but apparently the most unpremeditated eloquence, to set before the young knight a totally different view of the questions between Alexander and the King of France. He dwelt long and severely upon the scandal to all Christendom exhibited by the eldest son of the Church--a title of which French monarchs had ever been proud--forcing his way into the holy city, contrary to the repeated injunctions of the Church's head. He asked if it were the part of one who pretended and hoped to drive back the wave of Mahomedan invasion from Europe and plant the Cross itself in Constantinople, to commence his enterprise by setting at nought the power and authority of the Vicar of Christ, driving him from his home to take refuge in a fortress, to despoil him of his means, and to trample on his dignity. "They speak ill of his Holiness, indeed," continued Borgia, "they calumniate him and misrepresent all that he does. Let us even admit, however, all that they say against him, that he has the passions which afflict all men of ardent temperaments--that he has at times indulged the propensities common to all men--that he has done openly, in short, and without hypocrisy, all that his predecessors have done covertly and hypocritically--that he calls his son his son, and not his nephew--never forgetting, however, that all these faults occurred before his elevation to the holy see; but granting all, admitting every charge, I will ask you, Lorenzo, if these faults of the man, which affect not the holy office, are so great a scandal to the Church as to see the first of--I had almost said pretended--the first of Christian monarchs set at nought the authority, oppress the person, and plunder the property of the representative of the apostles? But I have dwelt too long upon this aspect of the question. Perhaps it does not affect you; it may not affect the King of France, and I did not intend to speak of it at length. I meant to deal with the political view of the case--of that which touches the king's material interests, and I now turn to that."
The bright, comprehensive, and sagacious picture which he now drew of the actual position and future prospects of the King of France, was perhaps unequalled by any of the most splendid efforts of the man with whom Macchiavelli himself found it hard to cope; and well might one so young and inexperienced as Lorenzo have been carried away by his eloquence, even if there had not been much truth in the details, much accuracy in the reasoning. But there was far more of both than of falsehood or rhetoric. He stripped the position of the King of France from its fictitious splendour: he painted him as in the midst of a foreign country, with no communications open behind him, without a fleet, and with an exhausted treasury, without a sincere friend in Italy, with a resolute enemy before him, and without one faithful ally behind. He showed and asserted he could prove that Ludovico Sforza was busily weaving the web of a confederation against him; that the Duke of Ferrara was already gained; that the Venetians were arming in haste, and that Florence was eager to avenge the humiliation she had received, by giving aid to the league; that even the Emperor and the King of Spain, though bought off for a time by sacrifices disastrous to France, showed signs already of wavering in their faith to the young king, and were only true to their policy of treachery.
"This splendid army will melt away," he continued, "by battle and disease; while that of the league against you will increase every hour. Where will you draw reinforcements? how will they reach you if they can be raised at all? To your enemies men will flow in from every quarter, and will find all roads open. The remnants of the great companies will easily be gathered together, all men practised in warfare under leaders of consummate skill. The Albanian bands of the Venetians will sweep the country of its provisions, and put a desert between you and France. What the sword spares, famine and pestilence will slay, and an expedition begun with festivals and successes will end in disaster and tears.
"Show me where I am wrong, and I will admit it; but this, Signor Visconti, is my view, and I give it you plainly and sincerely. Now you may ask what I would deduce from all this?--that the King of France should desist from his enterprise, and return with defeat and disgrace to his own land? Far from it; I would have him push on to Naples with all rapidity, before the plans of his enemies are mature, or their preparations made. He may subdue that kingdom rapidly, and with the command of the sea coast, and a new and defensible position, set his foes at defiance till his army can be recruited and reinforced. But I would not have him stay here and waste time, every moment of which is precious, in trying to humble a pontiff whom he is bound to reverence, or destroy a sovereign who is ready to be his friend. If such madness seizes him he is lost. How much better, at no loss of honour or of interest, but merely by that reverence for the Church, which, as a Christian king, he is bound to show--how much better to have a friendly power, though perhaps a weak one, between him and the enemies in his rear!"
"But what surety has the king that this will prove a friendly power," asked Lorenzo, "that these Roman States--this very city will not be armed against him as soon as he has passed on?"
"The pope will give him securities," said Cæsar Borgia, promptly, although a slight shade had come over his brow while the young man spoke. "He shall have ample guarantees; such fortresses to hold as will ensure him against that danger; and as for myself, I care not if I go as a hostage with his forces."
Lorenzo paused, and thought without reply, and Borgia added, "Nay more, Zizim shall be given into his hands, though perchance that act may bring down the wrath of Bajazet upon Italy, and we may again see our coasts ravaged by Turkish fleets."
"And who is Zizim?" asked Lorenzo, in surprise.
"It matters not," replied Borgia, "but whisper that name in the king's ear--only say you have somewhat to tell him regarding Zizim, and he will give eager audience to all the rest."
"But I must also tell him on what authority I speak," said Lorenzo.
"Do so!" exclaimed Cæsar Borgia, at once, "let him know that you have seen me in company with this good lord who sits silent here, who knows the truth of every word I speak."
"I do," said Ramiro d'Orco; "and moreover as you may want proof of the corruption in the king's council you have heard of, give this small packet, my son, to the good Bishop of St. Malo--not before you have conferred with the king, but afterwards--not when the worthy prelate has company around him; but when he is quite alone."
Lorenzo took the small paper packet which Ramiro held out, not without some doubts; but it contained something hard and bulky, and evidently was not a letter, of which he might have hesitated to be the bearer. "Well," he said, at length, "I presume, sir, that you would not put upon me any unbecoming task. But your Eminence spoke something regarding the Cardinal of St. Peter's. What do you desire that I should say to him?" he continued, addressing Borgia.
A sort of spasm passed over Cæsar's face, and he kept his teeth firmly pressed together for a moment; but when he answered it was with a calm, though stern voice, "Tell him that no cardinal who dethrones a supreme pontiff ever becomes pope. His holy brethren know him too well. That is all I have to say to him--and now my task is over," he continued, throwing himself back upon the cushions, "let us taste some wine. Will you drink, Signor Lorenzo?"
The young lord excused himself, and shortly after took his leave.
"Too young, I fear me," said Ramiro d'Orco, as Visconti quitted the room.
"All the better," replied Borgia, languidly, "we must work with all kinds of tools, according to our objects, Ramiro--women, valets, boys, wise men. A wise man would not suit me now, for he would conceal half that he has heard. This youth will tell it all, and that is what I desire."