[14]Introduction to Wiffen's translation of the "Alfabeto Christiano."
[14]Introduction to Wiffen's translation of the "Alfabeto Christiano."
The extreme beauty of this extract will preclude the need of apology for its length, especially as the general reader could not otherwise have access to it; for I believe only a hundred copies for private circulation have been printed of the work to which Mr. Wiffen has affixed his delightful introduction.
"O, evenings worthy of the gods!" exclaimedThe Sabine bard. "O, evenings," I reply,"More to be prized and coveted than yours,As more illumined, and with nobler truths."
"O, evenings worthy of the gods!" exclaimedThe Sabine bard. "O, evenings," I reply,"More to be prized and coveted than yours,As more illumined, and with nobler truths."
"O, evenings worthy of the gods!" exclaimedThe Sabine bard. "O, evenings," I reply,"More to be prized and coveted than yours,As more illumined, and with nobler truths."
"O, evenings worthy of the gods!" exclaimed
The Sabine bard. "O, evenings," I reply,
"More to be prized and coveted than yours,
As more illumined, and with nobler truths."
Cowper, "The Task," book iv.
Verini has described the charms of Lorenzo's farm at Poggio Cajano, and Politian has left us a delightful description of his summer evenings at Fiesole.
"When you are incommoded," says he, "with the heat of the season in your retreat at Careggi, you will perhaps think the shelter of Fiesole not unworthy your notice. Seated between the slopes of the mountain, we have here water in abundance, and being constantly refreshed with moderate winds, find little inconvenience from the glare of the sun. As you approach the house, it seems embosomed in the wood; but when you reach it, you find it commands a full view of the city. But I shall tempt you with other allurements. Wandering beyond the limits of his own plantation, Pico sometimes steals unexpectedly on my retirement, and draws me from my shades to partake of his supper. What kind of supper that is, you well know; sparing, indeed, butneat, and rendered grateful by the charms of his conversation."
Pico and Politian would doubtless be very good company; but not equal to Valdés and Ochino.
Giulia was in Naples, but she was neither enjoying herself nor benefiting herself, as much as she ought to have done. The Princess of Sulmona, who stood in the double relation to her of daughter-in-law and sister-in-law, and who had once been her chosen companion and bosom friend, had, since her second marriage, been gradually estranged from her: and, from time to time, the Duchess had received letters from her in so altered a tone, that she might have exclaimed—
"Is all the friendship that we two have shared,When we have chid the hasty-footed timeFor parting us,—oh! and is all forgot?"
"Is all the friendship that we two have shared,When we have chid the hasty-footed timeFor parting us,—oh! and is all forgot?"
"Is all the friendship that we two have shared,When we have chid the hasty-footed timeFor parting us,—oh! and is all forgot?"
"Is all the friendship that we two have shared,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us,—oh! and is all forgot?"
Firstly, a demand for a certain ewer and chalice of silver, richly chased by Benvenuto,which were heirlooms, and held by Giulia in charge for her nephew and Isabella's son, the little Vespasiano. On reading this missive, the Duchess took the trouble to write her a long, explanatory, and reproachful letter, reminding her of things whereof Isabella ought not to have needed reminding.
Letter the second, after a considerable pause, took no notice of Giulia's answer, but enforced attention to letter the first, making additional claim to a large ruby ring and a string of oriental pearls.
On reading this, the Duchess said: "She's mad!"—burnt the letter, and did not answer it.
Letter the third was filled with the most aggravating things that one woman could say to another.
Giulia replied by desiring her instantly to return a service of plate and several family jewels which had been lent her on her marriage.
In answer to this, Giulia received a lawyer's letter, telling her that her husband's will was null and void, and threatening her with proceedings.
Fancy the state of the poor Duchess! She received this letter just before she went, for the first time, with Vittoria, to hear Ochino preach; and however attentive he might have thought her, she was in fact thinking of the lawyer's letter all the while, and writing imaginary letters to the Pope and the Emperor. For, Giulia had overpowering allies; and if her sweet nature were sufficiently stirred to call them to her succour, woe unto those who attacked her! This had been exemplified immediately after the Duke's death, when his kinsmen, Ascanio Colonna and Napoleone Orsini, taking advantage of her supposed helplessness, laid claim to his estates. Up in arms were the Pope and the Emperor directly. The Pope pronounced the will valid, and the Emperorput her in possession of her estates. Yet, now, here was the whole matter to go over again, and with some one much nearer and dearer! Giulia had a fit of crying; and the humid eyes and dejected mien which Ochino and Valdés attributed to her convictions of sin were traceable to a much lower source.
"How well dear Ochino laboured the point of justification by faith!" exclaimed Vittoria, after their return from church. "Did you ever hear it better demonstrated?"
"To say the truth, dear Vittoria," replied the Duchess, "I scarcely heard two words of it, and do not remember one."
The Marchioness looked shocked; but Giulia continued—
"Isabella threatens me with a lawsuit, and I am determined to write to the Pope about it."
"Oh, pray do not," cried Vittoria, "you are always a great deal too violent. You use suchextraordinarily strong measures when mild ones would do."
"I, violent? Why, that is the last thing I am! It is because I am unprotected that people trample on me!"
"Trample! O, my dear Giulia!"
"Why, only remember how Ascanio and Napoleone came down upon me directly my poor Duke was dead!"
"Yes, and only remember howyoucame down upon them. You raised the whole country about it. No one less than the Pope and the Emperor would serve your turn."
"Well, and did not they say I was right? and did not they take my part?"
"Truly they did!—but it does not follow that they would do so again. Men are apt to fly to the rescue, directly they think a helpless woman is oppressed; but if they find out she is able and willing to fight her own battles, they let her! And indeed,dear Giulia, it does not become a woman to be pugnacious."
"Pugnacious!" The word was highly offensive, and the Duchess was deeply hurt. She threw herself on a pile of cushions and began to tear a nosegay to pieces, without saying a word.
"Hear what St. Paul says," pursued Vittoria, sitting down beside her, and turning over the leaves of a little book.
"St. Paul knows nothing about it," muttered the Duchess.
"There you are quite mistaken," said Vittoria, still eagerly hunting up the passage, "St. Paul knew something about everything, for he was a great genius and an eminently practical man, besides being a holy apostle. This is what he says—'Dare any of you, having a matter against another, go to law before the unjust, and not before the saints?... I speak to your shame. Is it so, that there isnot a wise man among you? No? Not one, that shall be able to judge between his brethren? But brother goeth to law with brother, and that before the unbelievers! Now, therefore, there is utterly a fault among you, because ye go to law one with another. Why do ye not rather take wrong? Why do not ye rather suffer yourselves to be defrauded?'"
"That is very fine for St. Paul to say," said Giulia. "I wonder how he would have liked it himself."
"Giulia! you must not say such things as that. It is wicked."
"Why, to hear you talk, one would think it was I who wanted to go to law with Isabella; whereas, it is Isabella who wants to go to law withme!"
And Giulia began to cry.
"Nobody is so unfortunate as I," said she.
"I pity you," said Vittoria, "but I own I think you are blameworthy."
"In what?"
"In your spirit."
"Why, what would you do in my place?"
"I would not write to the Pope."
"That's what you wouldnotdo. What would you do?"
"Settle it by amicable agreement."
"But Isabella will not be amicable!"
"If she will not, that isherfault."
"Certainly! And so it is her fault."
"Well, my dear Giulia, I would not trouble myself so for all the pearls and diamonds in the world. What are they, but so much dust? If you throw them into a crucible, they will lose all their beauty, and—"
"So should I, if you putmeinto a crucible," said Giulia, beginning to laugh; and her own little joke did more to make her see the bright side of things than all her cousin's wise saws.
"I know what I'll do," said she. "I'll write to Ferrante."
Ferrante was her only surviving brother.
"Ah, that is a good thought," said Vittoria. "He will be sure to help you."
So the Duchess wrote to Don Ferrante; and when Don Ferrante's answer came, which was not within a fortnight, he told her he was sorry to find she was embroiling herself again with her husband's relations; a contentious spirit was worse than a continual dropping: he feared she had had a little too much prosperity and petting: misfortunes were the lot of all, and it was vain to repine because a rose-leaf was doubled on our couch, &c., &c., &c. Think how many people were a great deal worse off, &c., &c., &c.
Clearly, there was no comfort to be had from Don Ferrante. So Giulia, getting another aggravating letter from Isabella, consulted the best lawyers in Naples; who advised her not to answer her, but to leave them to conduct the correspondence (for a consideration).
Then came so much parry and thrust, and tergiversation, and objurgation, and recrimination, that poor Giulia became seriously ill. Then the Marchioness of Pescara was very kind to her, and sat by her all day, and would have done so all night, but she fidgeted her to death, by what Giulia called preaching, though Vittoria only spoke what she meant for a word in season; and Giulia longed to tell her she would rather be nursed by her own maids.
"Ah, Leila!" said Cynthia, as she knelt, fanning her mistress, "I wish we were all back at Fondi."
"Why do you wish that, Cynthia?"
"You would be better there, Leila. You would be under the care of Bar Hhasdai."
"Bar Hhasdai has no cure for worry, Cynthia."
"I think you would be better there, Leila."
"Cynthia! doyoucare for me? do you love me?"
Cynthia replied by repeatedly kissing the hem of the Duchess's garment.
"Ah, it is all very well to make that dumb show; but do you really love me?"
"Yes, Leila, I love you. When the hound flew at me, you were bathed in my blood, and did not mind."
"Of course, poor girl, I could not help pitying you. By the bye, Cynthia—would you do anything that would make me better?"
"Try me, Leila."
"Well then, Cynthia—do tell me—frankly, as a friend—I'll forget I am your mistress—I will not punish you.Didyou have any communication with Barbarossa?"
Cynthia's face changed. "Oh, Leila! how can you ask?"
"Well then, say no! It is so easily spoken."
"It is not easy."
"Easy or difficult, youmustsay."
Cynthia's obstinate look came on, which showed the case to be hopeless.
"Oh, very well, Cynthia; then you do not love me, that is all." And the Duchess turned her face away.
"Idolove you, Leila."
"No, I don't believe you."
Cynthia took her hand and wetted it with tears. The Duchess drew it away.
"I wish you would kill me, Leila."
"Don't tell such stories, Cynthia. You know it is not my nature to kill people; though there were persons wicked enough to say I had killed poor Muza, after cutting out his tongue, which you know he had lost before he ever came to me."
"I know it, Leila."
"Muza was perhaps sent back as a spy; though he pretended he had escaped. There are so many wicked people in the world that I do not know who to trust—Ibelieve I shall end by distrusting everybody."
"Oh no, Leila. Do not!"
"Why, how can I trustyou? You have eaten of my bread and drank of my cup these two years, and you are no moreofus than if you were a stone."
"I love my own people, I own," said Cynthia. "And so would you love yours, if you were exiled from them."
"I love mine without being exiled from them."
"But you would find you loved them still more if you were sold into slavery."
"If Barbarossa had taken me to Constantinople! Well, I believe I should. There is no making anything of you, Cynthia. You are a riddle. I believe I could love you if you were not so close. But you shut yourself up like a hedgehog. Sing me one of your Moorish songs—that one about Zelinda andGanzul. Perhaps you may quiet my poor nerves."
So Cynthia immediately began a long, wailing ballad, the Spanish version of which begins:—
"En el tiempo que ZelindaCerro ayrada la ventanaA la disculpa, a los zelosQue il Moro Ganzul le dava."
"En el tiempo que ZelindaCerro ayrada la ventanaA la disculpa, a los zelosQue il Moro Ganzul le dava."
"En el tiempo que ZelindaCerro ayrada la ventanaA la disculpa, a los zelosQue il Moro Ganzul le dava."
"En el tiempo que Zelinda
Cerro ayrada la ventana
A la disculpa, a los zelos
Que il Moro Ganzul le dava."
Before she reached the happy reconciliation of Ganzul and Zelinda, the Duchess was asleep.
How fared it with Cardinal Ippolito, after he left Fondi? In a general way we may be pretty sure that he fared sumptuously every day, clothed in purple and fine linen; that he entertained a constant succession of noble, learned, witty, and intellectual guests; that a certain portion of broken victuals from his table was daily given to beggars full of sores at his gate; that he read the Greek and Latin poets a good deal more than the Old and New Testament; that he bought whatever pleased him in the way of intaglios, cameos, mosaics, ivory carvings, rare manuscripts, and paintings,—out of the revenues of the Church; that he now and then gave a ring, chain, or purse of gold to some poor author or artist,—out of therevenues of the Church; that he took part in high solemnities, and looked and acted his part well when relics were to be exhibited, or pontifical mass performed, or martyrs to be canonised.
Did he believe in them, think you? Did he believe in "the most holy cross," "the most holy visage," the "sacred spear"? I very much doubt the poor Cardinal's faith in much holier things than these. He would have been very glad to possess the faith of that barefooted little contadina with the silver dagger in her hair, whom he saw pressing her lips so undoubtingly and affectionately to a dirty little box held by a still dirtier friar. To him it was all an extremely well got-up scene; interesting in an artistic point of view; painfully unreal whenever he came to think of it. He liked the thrilling music, the air heavy with incense, the various costumes and draperies, the heaps of church plate, the shrines encrusted withgems, the portraits of famous beauties with haloes and palms; but oh! they did not even touch his feelings; and as for his thoughts, his thoughts!—
It seemed to him quite as hard to believe that the bread and wine on the altar were what they purported to be, as that the imprint of the Redeemer's face was stamped on the kerchief of St. Veronica. Sometimes he was ready to persuade himself he blindly believed all; at other times, he was too sadly sure he believed in nothing. Nothing but death!—and it was almost death to think of it. "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die!"
Well, but there was his old uncle, the Pope, who had a good deal more on his conscience than he had, and must be a good deal nearer that catastrophe than he was, he was so much older!—and how comfortably he took it all!—washing the pilgrims' feet, blessing the horses, borne aloft in that tottering seat between thetwo great fans of ostrich feathers, stretching out his fingers in continual benediction—the king—the vice-God of the hour—forgiving the sins of all the world—heseemed to get through it all very well—
But, just as the Cardinal had reached this point, Pope Clementdied—and how did the people show their sense of his holiness? He died on the 26th of September, 1534; just two months after the sack of Fondi; and during the period between his decease and the election of a successor, the contempt and hatred of the Romans showed themselves by the most outrageous insults to his memory. Night after night, his bier was broken and defaced. On one occasion his body was actually torn from its grave-clothes, and found in the morning transfixed with a sword. And there were those who scrupled not to say it would have been dragged through the streets with a hook, but for respect for Cardinal Ippolito.
All this was very terrible for Ippolito. Death, in all its grisly horrors, and without any of its holy and softening associations, was brought before him whether he would or no; with no sacrament of tears and blessings, no cherished memories of the last look, the last sigh; no death-bed sanctities.
And then the new Pope, Paul the Third, was a Farnese. The Medici party had gone out, the Farnese party had come in; and Ippolito was looked on as an enviable pluralist, whose benefices the new Pope's friends would gladly share. Ippolito knew it was so, because it must be so: it would not be Roman human nature if it had been otherwise. And in the night, he would lie awake and think, "What a juggle, and a struggle, and a farce it all is!—What a seeming, and a sham!—Why did I ever accept this detestable hat? Why should I have been put off with it? Why should not I have been Grand Duke of Florenceinstead of Alessandro? I am of the elder branch, and any way I would have played my part better. O, Giulia, why would not you have me? It would have been better for both of us!" And he got into the way of fancying that all his faults wereherfault.
He was just in that state that he lay open to any temptation. And temptation is never long coming, when we are in that case. He was ready for anything that seemed to promise to put him in Alessandro's place; and there was a large body of banished Florentines, orfuoruscitias they were commonly called, who burned to dethrone the tyrant and abolish tyranny. Their views were larger and more patriotic than Ippolito's, for he only wished to transfer his cousin's power to himself: however, Felippo Strozzi, the richest and most crafty citizen in Florence, knew enough of both parties to think he could make them serve his own purposes.
Felippo Strozzi therefore opened his mind to Ippolito on the subject of getting rid of Alessandro, and found it easier to do than it might have been, because Ippolito was already a guilty man concerning his cousin—he had already been trying to induce the Archbishop of Marseilles to assassinate him. What churchmen!—That scheme had not answered, but his part was taken now; with a colour of patriotism in it; for he must keep his selfish views out of sight of thefuorusciti, or they would have nothing to say to him.
The simplest way appeared to be to get Charles the Fifth to change the government of Florence by an act of his sovereign will; and then, no assassination need be in question.
This appeared so bright an idea to the Cardinal, that, without troubling himself to take counsel with his confederates, he sent a trusty messenger on his own account to the Emperor, to lay such a statement before himas would, he hoped,convincehim of the justice and expediency of subverting Alessandro's government. But alas, the messenger brought back word that the Emperor would have nothing to say to it; the Cardinal had nothing to expect from him.
On this, Ippolito had recourse to his bad adviser, Strozzi, and put it to him—
"What say you? Shall I, under these circumstances, please the Emperor by making up matters with Alessandro, and accept the ecclesiastical preferments which have, in that case, been offered me?"
"Please yourself," says Felippo, with his cynical smile. "I wouldn't, if I were you, but that's not my affair. Such a peace-making would doubtless be very acceptable to the Duke, as relieving him of a dangerous enemy; but it would be both injurious and disgraceful to yourself. At least, that's the wayItake it."
"Here am I all at sea again, then," said the Cardinal.
"You talk of a reconciliation as if it could really be made," pursued Strozzi; "whereas it would assuredly come to nothing: because such matters have already passed between you as that Alessandro would never really trust you; and this feeling on his part would make you, or ought to make you, equally distrustful of him. So that you never could live safely in Florence as long as he was in power there. And as to the appanages he has promised you, depend upon it, that as soon as his alliance with the Emperor was secured he would snap his fingers at you, and you might go whistle for them!"
"If you thinkthat—" said Ippolito.
"I do think that, I promise you," said Felippo Strozzi. "I don't want to make differences between relations, not I; but if you ask me for my plain opinion, there youhave it. He would take care to gain the ear of the Emperor so as that you should never have one of those benefices, for his cue will be to keep you down as much as he can."
"Nay then—" said the Cardinal.
"Besides," continued Strozzi, "such a reconciliation would make you despicable in the sight of all the world; for every one knows your opinion of Alessandro, and would be quite aware that nothing but mere hope of profit could have brought you to make it up with him—they would never believe in any more honourable motive."
"Then again—" resumed he, seeing that Ippolito was in a painful state of vacillation, "by adopting a more spirited line of action, and uniting yourself with thefuorusciti, you would gain immortal honour and glory as the deliverer and true father of your country,and would see your arms put up all over the city!"
This last bait was too much for Ippolito to resist. His eye kindled, and he half started from his seat.
"And this would even be your wisest course of action," pursued his cunning tempter, "should you feel inclined to make yourself absolute master of the state instead of liberating it, inasmuch as it would obtain such popularity for you in the first instance. All the old friends of your house are so disgusted and alienated by the conduct of Alessandro, that they would gladly transfer their allegiance to you. AndIwill undertake, if you will only be prudent, to make thefuoruscitiespouse your cause. With the French money and favour which my influence can secure to you, you may be certain of success!"
Ippolito's breast heaved. It seemed "a good plot—an excellent plot"—though a voice in his heart made its stifled accents heard againstit. And so, in evil hour, the decision was made; and he became the tool of this wicked man, who designed, through him, to wreak his own vengeance on Alessandro.
But a bird of the air carried the matter to the Grand Duke; else how should he have heard of it? He, ready enough to fight conspirators with their own weapons, communicated secretly with Ippolito's steward, Giovan Andrea di Borgho San Sepolcro, and covenanted with him to do a certain deed for a certain sum of money.
Meantime, Strozzi negotiated with the leaders of thefuorusciti, who, knowing his character for craft and treachery, were not at all ready to meet him half way, and sometimes drove him to such desperation with their answers to his advances that he was almost minded to throw up conspiracy altogether, and retire upon his enormous fortune to Venice, and live quietly like an honest man. Well if he had!
The Cardinal, meantime, hearing that the Emperor was fitting out an expedition to Tunis, resolved to follow him thither, accompanied by certain of thefuorusciti, and lay his complaints before him in person.
No sooner had he decided on this step than he hastened his preparations for departure. He loved action and the bruit of arms: he would have made a pretty good soldier: probably a noted commander. To supply himself with the necessary funds, he broke up and sold all his plate, and borrowed ten thousand ducats of Felippo Strozzi. Having hired twenty horses for his personal attendants and four Florentines who were to accompany him, he started from Rome at the latter end of July, 1535,en routefor the little town of Itri, near Fondi, where he purposed awaiting the vessel in which he was to embark at Gaeta.
The reason he meant to wait at Itri ratherthan Gaeta was that he believed Giulia to be at Fondi—in which he was mistaken.
As he was in the act of mounting his beautiful mare, she fell beneath him, without any apparent reason; which was afterwards looked back on as an evil omen.
The Emperor Charles the Fifth had been very indignant when he heard of the sack of Fondi, and the attempt to seize the Duchess. Some months afterwards, when Muley Hassan, whom Barbarossa had driven from Tunis, appealed to him for assistance, Charles, who was ambitious of military renown, resolved at once to rid the coast of a dangerous invader, and avenge an injured prince, by heading an expedition against Hayraddin.
The united strength of his dominions was therefore called out upon this enterprise, which he intended to increase his already brilliant reputation. As the redresser of wrongs, his cause was popular, and drew on him the applause of Christendom. A Flemish fleetconveyed his troops from the Low Countries; the galleys of Naples were loaded with the Italian auxiliaries, and the Emperor himself embarked at Barcelona with the flower of his Spanish nobility, and considerable reinforcements from Portugal. Andrea Doria commanded the Genoese galleys, and the Knights of Malta equipped a small but powerful squadron, and hastened to the rendezvous at Cagliari.
All this mighty armament to hunt down a Lesbian pirate, the son of an obscure potter!
Hayraddin was, however, no contemptible foe. Ambitious and relentless, a skilful and a generous chief, his lavish bounties among his partizans made them his blind adherents: while his wondrous versatility had enabled him to ingratiate himself with the Sultan and his Vizier. It was therefore to be war to the knife between the Crescent and the Cross.
As soon as Barbarossa heard of the Emperor'sformidable preparations, he called in all his corsairs from their different stations, drew from Algiers what forces could be spared, summoned Moors and Arabs from all quarters to his standard, and inflamed their fanaticism by assuring them he was embarking in a holy war.
Twenty thousand horse and a considerable body of foot answered his summons, and drew together before Tunis. Hayraddin knew, however, that his greatest dependence must be on his Turkish troops, who were armed and disciplined in the European manner. He therefore threw six thousand of them, under Sinan, the renegade Jew, into the fortress of Goletta commanding the bay of Tunis; which the Emperor immediately invested.
Three separate storming parties attacked the fort; Sinan raged like a lion at bay: frequent sallies were made by his garrison, while the Moors and Arabs made diversions.But nothing could withstand the fury of the assailants; and a breach soon appeared in the walls of the fortress, which the Emperor pointed out to Muley Hassan.
"Behold," said he, "the gate through which you may re-enter your kingdom!"
With the Goletta, Barbarossa's fleet fell into the Emperor's hands; and he was driven to extremities. Having strongly entrenched himself within the city, he called his chiefs to a council of war, and proposed to them, that before sallying out to decide their fate in battle, they should massacre ten thousand Christians whom he had shut up in the citadel.
Even his pirate chiefs were staggered at this proposal; and Barbarossa, seeing they would not support him in it, yielded the point with a gesture of disgust at their want of hardihood. Charles and his chivalry were meanwhile painfully toiling, under a blazing African sun,across the burning sands which encompass Tunis, without so much as a drop of water to cool their tongues:
"Non e gente Pagana insieme accolta,Non muro cinto di profonda fossa,Non gran torrente o monte alpestre e foltaSelva, che 'l loro vïaggio arrestar possa."
"Non e gente Pagana insieme accolta,Non muro cinto di profonda fossa,Non gran torrente o monte alpestre e foltaSelva, che 'l loro vïaggio arrestar possa."
"Non e gente Pagana insieme accolta,Non muro cinto di profonda fossa,Non gran torrente o monte alpestre e foltaSelva, che 'l loro vïaggio arrestar possa."
"Non e gente Pagana insieme accolta,
Non muro cinto di profonda fossa,
Non gran torrente o monte alpestre e folta
Selva, che 'l loro vïaggio arrestar possa."
La Ger. Lib.,Canto I.
Hayraddin, sallying out upon them with his best troops, made a desperate onset, but was so vigorously repulsed that his forces surged back to the city, and he himself was irresistibly borne along with them like a straw on the tide.
Meanwhile, a pale girl, a Christian slave, who had been within earshot of the council, carried the report of Barbarossa's ferocious proposal to the keepers of the citadel. They were revolted at his cruelty, and her entreaties, backed by the clamours of the despairing wretches in their charge, prevailed on them to release the Christian prisoners and strike offtheir fetters. Forth came Tebaldo Adimari, the pride of Fondi; forth came many a grey-haired senator, illustrious cavalier, and venerable hidalgo, some in their full strength, others wasted with long captivity, but nerved at this moment to strike a blow for freedom. Unarmed as they were, they flung themselves on the surprised guard, and turned the artillery of the fort against Barbarossa himself as he and his discomfited troops poured back in disorderly retreat. O, fell rage and despair of the defeated pirate, late the sovereign of two kingdoms, as he now heard Christian war-cries defying him from his own battlements! gnashing his teeth, and cursing the comrades whose humanity compelled him to spare those who were now manning the walls, he sought safety in ignominious and precipitate flight.
Then what a cheer arose, as the Christians saw the turbans in retreat, and themselvesmasters of the city! The Emperor was first made aware of the turn affairs had taken, by the arrival of deputies from Tunis, who brought him the keys, and piteously besought him to check the violence of his troops. In vain! They were already sacking the city, killing and plundering without mercy; and thirty thousand defenceless people were the victims of that day, while ten thousand more were carried away as slaves.
It is said that Charles lamented this dreadful slaughter, and that he declared the only result of his victory which gave him any satisfaction was his reception by the ten thousand Christian captives, who fell at his feet, blessing him as their deliverer. In all, he freed twenty thousand slaves, whom he sent, clothed at his own expense, to their own homes; and they, as may well be supposed, made Europe ring with their praises of his goodness and munificence. It was a bright day for Fondi whenTebaldo Adimari returned! Though the Duchess was at Naples, and though Isaura was in her train, he had seen them both on his way home, and ratified his vows of love and constancy. The Duchess had promised to smile on their espousals, which were shortly to take place; and meanwhile his friends and relations got up a festa to welcome him, and there was church-going and bell-ringing, and eating and drinking, and dancing and singing, without any drunkenness, stabbing, or even quarrelling.
If such was the public joy in a little town of four thousand people at the return of a young fellow of no mark or likelihood whatever, except that he was comely, merry, brave, ingenuous, with a good word for everybody and with everybody's good word,—it may be supposed what a stir the Emperor's arrival at Naples made, and how that pleasure-loving capital nearly exhausted itself in demonstrationsof welcome. The mole, when he landed, was so crowded, that you may be sure a grain of millet thrown upon it would not have found room to reach the ground. Nothing was to be heard but bell-ringing, acclamations, and the thundering of cannon; nothing to be seen but gold, velvet, silk, and brocade, festoons of flowers, triumphal arches, processions, deputations, triumphal cars, prancing steeds, waving plumes, and bronzed cavaliers looking up at the balconies of fair women waving their handkerchiefs, among whom, rely on it, were Vittoria Colonna and Giulia Gonzaga.
Charles, with his Spanish gravity ever uppermost, took it all very soberly; heard what people had to say, enjoyed it in his way, said very little himself, and in the proverb style; went to the cathedral, heard Fra Bernardino Ochino preach, and afterwards observed, composedly, "That man would make the stones weep!"—his own eyes being quite dryall the while. Also if anything inexpressibly funny were said, he remarked, "How very diverting!" but did not smile. He was best at business, and he entered upon Giulia's affairs.
Itri, the birthplace of the notorious Fra Diavolo, is a regular robber's-nest, picturesquely placed on the side of a lofty hill, and crested by a ruined castle.
In Ippolito de' Medici's time the castle was not ruined; and there was also a monastery, where he and his attendants were suitably entertained.
On the afternoon of the 2nd of August, after a meal which we should call luncheon, but which the early habits of those days distinguished as dinner,—succeeded by a moderate siesta,—the court-yard was all alive with preparations for a gallant riding-party, in the full heat and glare of the day. Groups of cowled and bare-headed monks stood curiouslyabout, admiring the Cardinal's beautiful mare; and groups, too, of robber-like, shaggy-looking men, and bright-eyed women and girls with golden bodkins in their hair, hung about the gates and passed their comments on the cortége. The Cardinal came forth, talking to the Prior, whose pale, attenuated face and hollow eyes formed a notable contrast to the vivid colouring of his own healthy, well-fed countenance. He was within an ace of losing his good looks from too much eating and drinking. In dress, the Cardinal was superb, with a touch of the church militant. A smile was on his lip as he patted his mare and examined her trappings, saying,
"She will not serve me that sorry trick again, I hope."
"Fear not, my Lord Cardinal," said his groom; and he threw himself into the saddle. The Florentines also mounted their horses.
At this moment, Piero Strozzi stepped forward,saying, "This, from my father," with a meaning smile; and gave him a billet.
This Piero was son of Felippo, and had something of the same cold, sly look.
The billet only contained these words: "All goes well." The Cardinal read it with a gay smile, and tossed it back to Strozzi.
"Good news to start with," said he to his companions, as they rode out of the yard.
"The sun can scarce be hotter in Africa than it is here to-day, I think," said Donati, one of thefuorusciti.
"Not a whit too hot for me; I enjoy it," said the Cardinal. "And the road is in our favour, for it is all down-hill."
"Facile descensus," said Capponi. "What a vibrating haze!"
"We shall enjoy the shade and the coolness at Fondi," said Ippolito. "You know I have undertaken to show you the fairest lady in Italy."
"And I maintain, beforehand, that she cannot be so fair as the Marchesana del Vasto," said Donati.
"Allowing for difference of years, you mean," said Capponi. "The Duchess is a little past her prime."
"No such thing," said Ippolito quickly; and he used the spur, though there was no need. The mare sprang forward; the others were obliged to quicken their pace, and they had ridden a mile or two before another word was spoken.
Then the Cardinal slackened his speed, and began to talk of matters quite different; of the brilliant African campaign; of the likelihood of Muley Hassan holding his own, now he was reinstated; of the probable movements of Barbarossa; of the glut of Moorish slaves in the market, and so forth.
Arrived at Fondi, the Cardinal was preparing to alight, when the Duchess's grey-haired seneschal came forward and announced the mortifying intelligence that his lady was from home.
It may be matter of surprise that the Cardinal should not have been apprised of her absence at Itri; but, in fact, he had learnt from what he had considered good authority, that she was to return to Fondi a little before this time, so that he had made sure of finding her at her castle.
His chagrin was extreme; not only because he had counted much on this visit, and had now no hope of seeing her before he sailed, but because he had given out to his companions that he possessed such perfect knowledge of her movements and such security of a cordial reception, that he was now open to their raillery, whether or no they spared it.
The seneschal, who knew him well, respectfully besought him to partake of such poor refreshment as the castle afforded; but theCardinal was vexed, and rode off again, without compassion for man or beast.
The Florentines looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders, but were too wise to remonstrate. They followed him, panting, across the steaming plain, where groups of cream-coloured oxen, cropping the rank herbage, looked up at them with dreamy, wondering eyes. When they reached the covert of cypress, poplar, and gnarled old olives, they loitered dangerously in the shade; and then, when well chilled, spurred on again, making themselves and their horses hotter than ever. And of course, as there was a descent all the way going, there was an ascent all the way back.
Arrived at Itri, the Cardinal, throwing himself from his horse, called loudly for iced water.
"My lord, you are very hot," said Giovanni Andrea, with seeming kindness. "Let me prevail on your Eminence to take this brothinstead. It will be safer, and will repair your strength."
The Cardinal took the broth, which was temptingly seasoned, and turned away with a sigh of relief. It was the early supper-hour, and the tables were already spread in the vaulted refectory, with abundance of better cheer than the Prior's larder usually afforded, some of which had been brought by his illustrious guest. And soon the hungry visitors took their places, and a long Latin grace was said, and the first course of confetti was served; and then the trencher of each man was filled with a large piece of meat that had been stewed with almonds and sugar.
And while this was being disposed of, the Cardinal's servants and rubicund lay-brothers covered the table with dishes of boiled meat, fowls, small birds, kids, wild boar, and other viands. And after this course, another was tosucceed, of tarts and cakes covered with spun sugar.
But before the banquet reached this stage, the Cardinal, who had scarcely spoken since he sat down to table, and who had frequently changed colour, suddenly exclaimed—
"Take me hence—I am strangely ill!"——
Every eye was upon him in a moment—many started from their seats—one or two noted gourmands feigned deafness, and helped themselves to the best. Bernardino Salviati, the Cardinal's personal attendant, caught him in his arms.
"Lean on me, my Lord Cardinal," said he. "We will bear you to your chamber."
"Treachery, treachery, Salviati!" murmured the Cardinal, almost inarticulately. "I am poisoned."
Giovanni Andrea, his other supporter, making believe to wipe the clammy dew from his face, held the handkerchief overhis mouth, so as to muffle his voice. Above it glared the Cardinal at him fiercely.
"Stand back!" said Salviati to him, roughly.
"My Lord Cardinal is delirious, he raves," said Giovanni Andrea, shrinking away.
"Prior! don't let that man come near me," said Ippolito, faintly.
The Prior, with solicitude, bent his ear to his lips, but only saw them move. The next instant they were contorted with a spasm.
By this time, they had carried him to his bed-room, which, though the best guest-chamber of the monastery, was furnished with ascetic plainness; a crucifix, a bénitier, and a wooden pallet, comprising most of its moveables, the meagreness of which contrasted strangely enough with the crimson satin cushions and mattresses the Cardinal had brought with him, and which belonged to his horse-litter.
"Air! air!" he said, feebly, as his friends pressed round him.
"It will be well, I think, for all of you to leave the chamber," said the Prior, "except Salviati, Brother Marco, and myself. The Cardinal is in a high fever—I will open a vein for him."
"Not on your life," gasped Ippolito.
Meanwhile, all retired from the room except those whom the Prior had named.
"Marsh miasma, no doubt," said Donati, as he returned to the refectory. "There was a pestiferous vapour on the marshes to-day."
"And he would ride so fast," said Capponi, resuming his seat at table. "For my part, I wonder we are not ill too. I feel quite spent, and want something solid. I dare say a good night's rest will set him up again. He is of a full habit, like many of the Medici: it does not do for them to over-heat themselves. He takes everything too violently.What excellent beccaficoes! I prefer, however, thrushes stuffed with bergamots."
While these two were composedly resuming their repast, there were others who did not even sit down to table, but stood apart in a little knot, anxiously debating whether the Cardinal had or had not exclaimed,
"Ahí! tradimento!"—
Anxious looks were cast towards the door; and once or twice an envoy was despatched to the sick room. The first of these came back with disturbed aspect, saying,
"His Eminence positively refuses to be bled, and the Prior is at his wit's end."
"What a pity!" said Strozzi. "There is no finer remedy."
"If it were any one else," pursued the first, "the Prior might take the matter into his own hands; but 'tis ticklish meddling with a Cardinal."
"Especially when that Cardinal's a Medici," said young Strozzi, with his father's unpleasant smile. "I'll go and see to it myself."
Presently Strozzi returned, saying mysteriously,
"A courier is instantly to be despatched to the Pope, to beg of him a certain oil he possesses, known to be a sure antidote to all poison."
"Poison!" repeated they all.
"Can it be so?" said Capponi, wiping his lips, and rising from table. "This ought to be looked to."
"Nay, I say not that itisso, I only say that he thinks so," replied Strozzi. "At all events, I'm going instantly to despatch a messenger."
"Sad, sirs, sad!" said Capponi, looking his companions in the face, as Strozzi passed out.
"Nay, I expect not that it will turn out anything serious," said Donati.
"The Strozzi are tender on the subject of poison," observed Messer Giunigi, the fourth Florentine, under his breath, "since the death of Madonna Luisa."
"Hush, sir, that touches me nearly too," gravely said Capponi, who was of kin to Madonna Luisa's husband.
Here the Prior came forth, very irate.
"The Cardinal will none of my assistance," said he, "and yet I have been held to know something. He is out of his head, and yet exacts obedience as if he were himself. Not content with obstinately refusing to lose blood, which would reduce the fever at once, and leave him as cool as a cucumber, he insists that a courier on a fleet horse shall instantly be despatched to Fondi for a certain Jew physician, named Bar Hhasdai, in whom he has more faith than in all the Christian leeches in Italy. The Jew hath never beenbaptised, therefore I cannot consent to send for him."
"Nay, but," said Donati, solicitously, "if the Cardinal himself desires him, I see not how you are exonerated from having him, baptised, or otherwise."
"Send for him yourself, then," said the Prior; "you have plenty of your own people."
"That will I readily," said Donati, and he left the refectory for that purpose.
Those who remained behind, discussed the chances of the Pope's sovereign remedy arriving in time to be of use, and talked over the present political aspect of affairs in Rome, Florence, and Bologna; and of the various deaths of the Medici—which was almost as dreary a subject as their lives.
Meanwhile, there lay the poor Cardinal on his crimson satin mattresses, with his once ruddy, handsome face, now pale as ashes, pressed against a crimson satin pillow fringedwith gold—nothing white, nothing cool and comfortable about him—there he lay, alternately flushing and chilling, torn with pain and languishing with sickness and faintness—and all the while ideas were rushing through his distracted head like clouds across a racking sky; and the one predominant thought was, "Treachery! treachery!"Now, he who had conspired, knew what it was to be conspired against. Oh! what a long, long night! He scarcely knew or cared that people from time to time looked in on him, stooped over him to hear if he breathed, touched his heart, his wrist, drew the coverlet closer over him, and went away. He scarcely knew or cared whether many were around him or only the faithful Salviati. His thoughts were following a fleet horse tearing along the road to Fondi, and striking sparks as it clattered down the lava paved street. Then he seemed to see the yellow-faced Jew, in a red night-cap, peering forth from one of the high, unglazed windows, as the courier shouted out his name—and behind him that Hebrew youth, whether son or acolyte, whom the Cardinal had seen at his door in passing, only a few hours before, with his pale, delicate face, and long, spiral curls, and look of sadness and submission. How singular that that face, only once seen, and seen for a moment, should have stereotyped itself on his mind as the type of Isaac about to be sacrificed!—and now he seemed to see him collecting medicines, while the old Jew hastily threw on his furred gaberdine and came down to the door.
A din of wild church music seemed to come through the air, and to wax insufferably loud, and then die wailing away like a requiem over the Pontine marshes. And then, wild shouts of "Palle! palle!" and citizens, half-dressed and half-armed, rushing through streets, andsome of them crying "Liberty! liberty at last!" And then there was an awful, crushing struggle at a cathedral door; and partisans were rallying round some one who was being borne into the sacristy; and blood was flowing and swords were clashing, and all the while an old pontiff at the altar, who seemed charmed into stone, was holding aloft the consecrated wafer, and the little tinkling bell was perpetually ringing till its shrillness seemed as if it would crack the tympanum of his ears; and sweet childish voices were singing:—
"Et in terra pax! hominibus bonæ voluntatis!"
Then all melted away, and he was aware of a long, long suite of marble halls, their silk and gilding covered with dust; and of an old, old man with hoary hair borne through them in the arms of his servants, and saying with a sigh, as he wistfully looked around them:
"This is too large a house for so small a family!"
After this stalked the dread pageant of his sins—sins of omission and sins of commission—sins that seemed so little once, and that seemed so crushing now—and as he moved his weary head, gibing faces seemed grinning and skinny fingers pointing at him round the bed; and when he closed his burning eyelids, he seemed to see them still, and to hear a voice say, "Son, thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things."
Oh! where were the sacraments of the Church? Where were they? Why did not some one think of them and bring them? Why had he not voice enough to ask for them? or strength enough to sign for them? And if he had, could they do him any good?
He knew not how time went. It seemed one long, long night, but in fact it covered a few days. Bar Hhasdai arrived at last—hehad been absent when sent for. The Christian hangers-on scowled and spat on him as he passed. He looked loftily down on them, and he passed on; following the pale-faced Giovan Andrea. Pausing at the door, the Jew looked full at him.
"I want a dog," said he.
"A dog?" repeated the steward, aghast.
"Yes: a four-footed one; not a Christian. And a roll of bread."
He passed into the sick room, where the faithful Salviati rose from the Cardinal's bedside. The Prior, who was telling his beads, drew his robe closer round him and retired as far from the Jew as possible.
Bar Hhasdai took up a lamp, and held it full in the Cardinal's unwinking eyes.
"He does not see it," said he.
He laid the palm of his hand against his heart: then taking some crumb of the roll the steward had brought him, he rubbed itagainst his own face and offered it to the lapdog Giovan Andrea held under his arm. The little dog immediately ate it.
"What next?" thought the steward, in wonder. The Prior stood transfixed, curiously on the watch. Salviati's eyes had something imploring in them: the faithful fellow had not once left his master, and was now haggard with his long vigil.
The Jew silently took another piece of bread and rubbed the Cardinal's clammy face with it: then offered it to the little dog. The little dog smelt it, and resolutely refused to taste it.
"You see," said Bar Hhasdai, fixing the steward with his eye, "the Cardinal is poisoned." Then, to the Prior, "Let him have the sacraments of your Church."
Giovan Andrea reeled back, but recovered himself in time to escape falling.
"Wretch!" exclaimed Salviati, springingtowards him in rage and despair; but Giovan Andrea glided like a serpent from beneath his grasp, and clapped the door after him.
"He will not escape justice," said the Prior. "I have given orders that he shall be watched."
Salviati cast himself on his expiring master in a paroxysm of grief. At the sound of his wild cry, others rushed in: and the Jew quietly passed out. Extreme unction was administered.
Thus perished the brilliant Ippolito de' Medici, who would deserve more pity if he had not designed some very similar end for his cousin Alessandro. He was abundantly regretted; for his companionable qualities and lavish bounties had endeared him to a very large circle of friends, who did not scan his faults too closely; while his death was hailed with intense satisfaction by his enemies. Paul the Third made a frivolous excuse fornot sending him the specific he so urgently requested. Probably it would not have saved him; but the animus of his Holiness was not shown to his advantage on the occasion.
As for the wretched Giovan Andrea, he made straight for the outer gates when he quitted the Cardinal's chamber; but was there collared by a stalwart lay-brother, who, with the assistance of two of Ippolito's retainers, conveyed him to the lock-up room. Here he remained a short time, in full anticipation of being put to the torture; which too surely came to pass. At first he denied any guilt; but that most odious process being persisted in, his agony at length wrung from him the admission that he had administered poison to the Cardinal, having ground it between two stones, which he had afterwards thrown away.
Where had he thrown those stones?
Upon a rubbish-heap outside the buttery-window.
Search was made for the stones. They were found, with marks of some foreign substance upon them. They were shown him: he said they were the same.
The Cardinal's retainers were so enraged with the wretch, that they were with difficulty restrained from falling upon him and putting him to death. Felippo Strozzi had strongly charged his son to deliver him out of their hands, that a regular judicial examination might take place at Rome, and Alessandro's guilt, as the prompter of the crime, be established.
The younger Strozzi, therefore, sent Giovan Andrea, under a sufficient guard, to Rome, where his examination took place; and in the first instance he confirmed his former confession, and stated that he had received the poison from one Otto di Montacuto, a servant of Duke Alessandro's, to be employed as he had used it.
Yet, after this, he deniedbothhis former confessions, and, in spite of all that Strozzi could say or do, was actually let off! He thereupon went straight to Florence, and remained some days in the Duke's palace, openly under his protection. He then retired to his native place, Borgo di San Sepolcro, a little town under the Apennines, some forty miles from Florence. And here, after remaining in safety a few months, whether or no on account of any fresh proof of his crime, he was stoned to death in a sudden outburst of popular indignation.
As for the wicked Duke, his employer, I shall only say that his murder was most horrible: so that Ippolito's death was amply avenged. We may all be very glad to have done with the subject.