_Death of the Emperor.--Uguccione, tyrant of
Pisa, restores Castruccio at Lucca.--Euthanasia._
Quitting Cremona, Henry engaged himself in the siege of Brescia, which
made a gallant resistance, and yielded only on honourable conditions, in
the month of September. Castruccio served under the emperor during this
siege; but his nature was shocked by the want of faith and cruelty of
this monarch, who punished his enemies by the most frightful tortures,
and treated his friends as if they had been his enemies. Castruccio
therefore resolved to separate himself from the Imperial army; and, when
Henry quitted Lombardy for Genoa, he remained with his friend, Galeazzo
Visconti.
The petty wars of Lombardy could only interest those engaged in them;
and all eyes were turned towards the emperor during his journey to
Genoa, his unsuccessful negotiations with Florence, his voyage to Pisa,
his journey to Rome; where, the Vatican being in the hands of the
contrary party, he was crowned in the Lateran. And then, his army
diminished by sickness, and himself chagrined by the slow progress of
his arms, he returned to Tuscany, made an unsuccessful attack upon
Florence, and retired to the neighbourhood of Sienna, where he died on
the eighteenth of August 1313; leaving Italy nearly in the same
situation with regard to the preponderance of the Guelph party, but more
heated and violent in their factious sentiments, as when he entered it
two years before.
During this long contest Florence was the head and heart of the
resistance made against the emperor. Their detestation of the Imperial
power, and their fears of the restoration of their banished Ghibelines,
excited them to exert their utmost faculties, in gaining allies, and in
the defence of their own town. The death of Henry was to them a
bloodless victory; and they hoped that a speedy change in the politics
of Italy would establish the universal ascendancy of the Guelphic party.
Pisa had always been constant to the Ghibelines, and friendly to the
emperor; by his death they found themselves thrown almost without
defence into the hands of the Florentines, their enemies; and they
therefore gladly acceded to the moderate terms offered to them by the
king of Naples and his ally, Florence, for the establishment of peace in
Tuscany. If this treaty had been fulfilled, the hopes of the Ghibelines
would have been crushed for ever, nor would Castruccio ever have
returned to his country; the scenes of blood and misery which followed
would have been spared; and Florence, raising its benign influence over
the other Tuscan states, would have been the peace-maker of Italy.
Events took a different turn. To understand this it is necessary to look
back.
Immediately on the death of Henry, the Pisans, fearful of a sudden
incursion of the Florentines, for which they might be unprepared, had
engaged in their service a _condottiere_, Uguccione della Faggiuola, who
with his troop of a thousand Germans, took on him the guard of their
city. War was the trade of Uguccione; he therefore looked with dismay on
the projected peace, and resolved to disturb it. The populace of the
Italian towns, ranged under party names, and ever obedient to the
watchword and signals of their party, were easily moved to fall on the
contrary faction. The Pisan people were Ghibelines; and, while the more
moderate among them had advanced far in the negociating of a peace,
Uguccione caused live eagles, the ensigns of the Ghibelines, to be
carried through the streets; and the cry of, "Treason from the Guelphs!"
was the rallying word of fury to the populace. The magistrates in vain
endeavoured to assert their authority; their partizans were dispersed,
their captains taken prisoners and put to death, and Uguccione declared
general of the war against the Florentines. This active chieftain lost
no time in his operations; he marched against the Lucchese, the allies
of Florence, ravaged their country, brought them to terms, and made
peace with them on condition of their recalling their Ghibeline exiles.
The three years which these events occupied were spent by Castruccio in
Lombardy. He made each year a campaign under one or another of the
Ghibeline lords of that territory, and passed the winter at Milan. He
formed a sincere and lasting friendship with Galeazzo Visconti: but,
although this amity contributed to his advancement, his character
suffered by the congeniality of sentiment which he acquired with this
chief. As they rode, hunted, or fought together, often employed in
mutual good-offices one for the other, their affection became stronger;
and it was as disinterested and generous as it was firm. Galeazzo
sincerely loved Castruccio, and opened to him the dearest secrets of his
heart; but these secrets were such as to initiate the latter in the
artful policy and unprincipled motives of the Milanese lord, and to make
him regard treachery and cruelty as venial faults. He had no saving
passion, which by its purity and exalted nature, although it permitted
him to forgive, would make him avoid the faults of Galeazzo. Ambition
was the ruling feeling of his soul; an ambition for power, conquest and
renown, and not for virtue, and that fame, which as the phœnix, cannot
live at the same period as its parent, but springs from his ashes with
the strong pinions of immortal being.
It was this aspiring disposition which strongly recommended him to
Galeazzo. For it was not with him the wild desire for what he had
neither qualities nor capacity to obtain; it was combined with
transcendant talents, an energy of action and a clearness of judgement,
which greatly surpassed that of his companions. Castruccio was fond of
power; yet he was neither arrogant nor tyrannical; words of kindness and
winning smiles he bestowed at will on all around. He appeared to fit
himself for each scene in which he was to take a part; in the camp he
was energetic, valorous, and swift of action; in council he was as
prudent and cautious as a grey-haired minister of state; at balls, or
during a hunting party, he recommended himself by grace, agility, wit,
and a courtesy whose sweetness was untarnished by vanity or presumption.
His beauty took a more manly cast; and somewhat of pride, and more of
self-confidence, and much of sensibility, were seen in his upturned lip;
his eyes, dark as a raven's wing, were full of fire and imagination; his
open forehead was shaded by the hyacinthine curls of his
chesnut-coloured hair. His face expressed extreme frankness, a frankness
that did not exist in his mind; for his practices among the wily chiefs
of Lombardy had robbed him of all ingenuousness of soul, although the
traces of that which he once possessed had not faded from his
countenance. Amidst all the luxury of Lombardy he was abstemious, nor
spent in personal magnificence the money which he rather applied to the
equipment of his troop. At length the patient improvement which he had
bestowed upon his powers, and his perseverance in preparing for
advancement, obtained their due reward; and he among the other Lucchese
exiles returned to his native city.
But Castruccio was ill content to return as is were by the endurance of
the opposite party; on the contrary he wished to raise his faction to
that supremacy which would invest him with dominion as its chief. He
therefore carried on a treaty with Uguccione's army, requiring their
assistance for the overthrow of the Guelphs of Lucca, and for placing
him in authority over his native town; while the tyrant of Pisa should
in return gain a faithful ally, and one more step should be taken
towards the final establishment of the Ghibeline ascendancy.
After arranging this scheme, Castruccio and his companions passed the
defile of the Serchio; and, advancing towards Lucca, assumed a warlike
appearance, and endeavoured to force the gate of San Frediano; the
Guelphs opposed him, and a battle ensued. In the mean time Uguccione
arrived in another direction, and, not finding free entrance at any of
the gates, began to batter the wall. The Guelphs, defeated by the
Ghibelines, were in no condition to resist; the Ghibelines, headed by
Castruccio, considered Uguccione as their ally, and thought not of
impeding his operations; indeed they were fully employed in resisting
their adversaries, who, though worsted, would not yield. The breach was
effected, Uguccione entered triumphantly, and, treating Lucca as a
conquered town, delivered it over to be sacked by his troops; while he
himself made a rich booty of the treasure of the Pope which had been
preserved in the church of San Frediano; Lucca having been selected as
the safest deposit for such a treasure.
Uguccione thought no more of his promises to Castruccio, and both
parties in Lucca were oppressed alike, by one who believed that the best
security for a governor was the cutting off the tallest flowers in the
field. The prompt exertions of Castruccio alone saved his native city
from utter ruin. He collected his partizans, formed them into a troop,
and ranging them under the banners of Uguccione, accepted a command in
this chief's army; thus quieting the invaders' fears of a resistance
which would have been rash and vain, but having at the same time ready
at Castruccio's smallest signal a well armed and disciplined troop,
nominally in the service of the tyrant, but really devoted by affection
and military oaths to the cause of their immediate commander. Nor did he
again betray the confidence of his fellow citizens; but, entering into
Uguccione's counsels, and assuming a tone of power which this chieftain
could not resist, Castruccio at the same time opposed a boundary to his
arrogance and cruelty.
But, although his first imprudence in inviting Uguccione to the
possession of Lucca was pardoned by his countrymen, in consideration of
the reparation that he earnestly desired to make, it was looked upon
with far different eyes by states who, hating the Pisan Tyrant, and too
distant to be acquainted with all the palliating circumstances, regarded
Castruccio as a traitor. The news of the entrance of the Ghibeline
exiles into Lucca, and the capture of that town by Uguccione, quickly
reached his Florentine adversaries, and excited grief and rage in all
the hearers. The name of Castruccio as the betrayer of his country was
repeated with indignation and hatred.
There was one gentle heart in Florence which felt deep pain, when it
heard the name of Antelminelli coupled with an opprobrious epithet.
Euthanasia dei Adimari had not forgotten her vow made many years before;
she had treasured in her memory the recollection of her young
playfellow, and often, when travellers from Lombardy mentioned the name
of Castruccio, her fair cheek was suffused by the eloquent blood.
Euthanasia had long been an orphan; her father had died, and by his
death was cut the dearest tie she had to earth. While he lived, she had
confined herself almost entirely to his room, and serving as eyes to his
blinded sense, she was as faithful to his wants as his own orbs had been
before their light was quenched. After his death she mingled more with
the distinguished youth of Florence, and joined in that society, which,
if we may judge from the indications that Dante gives in his prose
works, and from the tender and exquisite poetry of Petrarch, was as
refined, delicate and cultivated, as the best society amidst the boasted
politeness of the present day. Yet among the youth of Florence
Euthanasia was as a lily, that overlooks the less illustrious yet
beautiful flowers Of a garden. Her beauty, her accomplishments, and the
gift of flowing yet mild eloquence that she possessed, the glowing
brilliancy of her ardent yet tempered imagination, made her the leader
of the little band to which she belonged. It is said, that as Dante
sighed for Beatrice, so several of the distinguished youths of Florence
fed on the graceful motions and sweet words of this celestial girl, who,
walking among them, passionless, yet full of enthusiasm, seemed as a
link to bind their earthly thoughts to heaven. Often with her mother's
permission Euthanasia retired for months to the castle of Valperga; and
alone among the wild Apennines she studied and worshipped nature, while
the bright sun warmed the valleys, and threw its beams over the
mountains, or when the silver boat of the moon, which displayed in the
clear air its heavy lading, sunk swiftly in the west, and numberless
stars witnessed her departure. Then again, quitting the eternal,
ever-succeeding pages of nature's volume, she pored over the works she
had before read with her father, or the later written poetry of Dante,
and incorporated the thoughts of the sublimest geniuses with her own,
while the creative fire in her heart and brain formed new combinations
to delight and occupy her.
Her young friends hailed with heartfelt joy her return from her
seclusion; she joined in all their amusements; who could sing the
_canzones_ of those times, or relate a pathetic tale, like Euthanasia?
Besides she was so prudent, so wise, and so kind, that her assistance
was perpetually claimed and afforded in every little misfortune or
difficulty of her friends.
But the age of thoughtlessness and fearless enjoyment passed away, and
Euthanasia advanced to womanhood. At this period a succession of events
deprived her of her mother and her two brothers, so that she remained
sole heiress of the possessions of her family. Independent and powerful,
she was as a queen in Valperga and the surrounding villages; at Florence
she was considered one of its first citizens; and, if power, wealth and
respect could have satisfied her, she must have been happy. She had wept
bitterly the death of her relations; she grieved for the loss of her
brothers, and felt only pain at being advanced to their place. Yet her
mind acquired new dignity, and the virtues of her heart new fervour,
from the entire independence of her situation, and the opportunities she
possessed of doing good. There was none to gainsay her actions, except
the rigid censorship of her own reason, and the opinion of her
fellow-citizens, to whose love and esteem she aspired. Most of her time
was now spent among her dependents at Valperga; the villages under her
jurisdiction became prosperous; and the peasantry were proud that their
countess preferred her residence among them to the gaieties of Florence.
In the winter she visited her friends of that town; and many a noble,
who hoped to rival Dante Alighieri or Guido Cavalcanti, sang of the
miraculous change of seasons that had been operated on his city;--that
their summers were dreary, bare, and deserted, while the soul of
loveliness dwelt among them during the formerly dull months of winter.
It is said that during this period she had never loved; she admired the
illustrious and energetic spirits of Florence, and she bestowed her
affections on several whose virtue and talents claimed by right that
meed; but she had never loved. It appears wonderful, that one so
sensitive of heart and imagination should have attained her
twenty-second year without having experienced the tyranny of that
passion; but, if it be true, how tremendous must be the force of that
power, which could finally break down the barriers piled by reason and
accustomed coldness, and deluge her soul with the sweet waters of
earthly love?
She had just entered her twenty-second year, when Castruccio in 1314
returned to Lucca; when under his auspices, the greatest enemy of
Florence became master of the neighbour city; when war was declared
between the two states, and Castruccio was in arms against the
Florentines. The summer was now far advanced; and she hastened to her
solitude at Valperga. She was hurt at heart; one of her dearest dreams,
the excellence of Castruccio, was overthrown; and she wished for a while
to shut out from her thoughts all memory of the world, which appeared to
bring tumult and discord to trouble her tranquillity. She was unable to
do this: she was too well known, and too much loved, not to be sought by
those with whom she was acquainted; and she was startled to hear from
all sides eulogiums of the talents and soldiership of Castruccio, those
of the Ghibelines mingled with hope, those of the Guelphs with fear.
Is there not a principle in the human mind that foresees the change
about to occur to it? Is there not a feeling which would warn the soul
of peril, were it not at the same time a sure prophecy that that peril
is not to be avoided? So felt Euthanasia: and during her evening
meditations she often enquired from her own heart, why the name of
Castruccio made her cheeks glow; and why praise or dispraise of him
seemed to electrify her frame: why a nameless inquietude pervaded her
thoughts, before so calm: why, tenderly as she dwelt on the recollection
of her infant playmate, she dreaded so much now to see him? And then,
strange to say, being thus agitated and fearful, she saw him; and a calm
more still than the serene depths of a windless heaven, redescended on
her soul, and wrapt it in security and joy.
It was not until October, while Euthanasia still lingered at Valperga,
that Castruccio took up his abode in Lucca. He returned thither, covered
with glory, but highly discontented with Uguccione who feared him, and,
while he shewed him outward honour, took every occasion to thwart his
desires, and to deprive him of all power and voice in his council. But
Castruccio was at the head of a large party, who could ill brook the
rude arrogance of Uguccione, and the unmasked presumption of his sons.
This party augmented every day; it was watched, insulted, and harassed;
but all the Ghibeline youth of Lucca made it their boast to attend the
person, and partake the counsels of Castruccio.
The winter months were spent in apparent idleness, but in reality in
deep plotting on the part of Castruccio. Uguccione was at Pisa, and his
son, Francesco, could ill understand the wiles of the pupil of Alberto
Scoto. He saw his frank countenance, and watched his gay demeanour; but
the conclusion of his observations was, that although Castruccio was
careless of danger, and ambitious of glory, he was too fond of pleasure,
and of too ingenuous a disposition, to enter into any deep scheme, or to
form even the wish of usurping the power of the state.
Castruccio stood on the tower of the Antelminelli palace; young Arrigo
Guinigi was at his side; he was surrounded by half a dozen of his most
intimate associates, and after having for a while discussed their plans
of political conduct, they remained silent. Castruccio was separated
from the rest of the group; the tower of Antelminelli overlooked the
town of Lucca, and being raised far above its narrow, dark streets,
appeared, together with the numerous towers of the city, as forming a
separate and more agreeable town for the nobles over the heads of the
meaner inhabitants. The valley was stretched around the city; its field
bare of vegetation, and spotted with black patches of leafless woods;
and the view was terminated by the hills, crowned with snow, and their
sides clothed with the dark verdure of the ilex, while from among their
folds peeped the white walls of villages and castles.
Castruccio fixed his eye on one of these castles. The forgotten scenes
of his youth thronged into his memory, and oppressed him with their
numbers and life; the low voice of his mother sounded in his ears; the
venerable form of Adimari stood before him, and it seemed to him as if
the slender fingers of the infant Euthanasia pressed his hand. He turned
suddenly round, and asked: "Doe she still live there?"--pointing to the
castle.
"Who? The countess of Valperga?"
"Aye, and her daughter Euthanasia?" Many years had elapsed since he had
pronounced that name; he felt his whole frame thrill to its musical
sound.
"The present countess," replied Vanni Mordecastelli, "is young and
unmarried"--
"And her name is Euthanasia," continued count Ludovico de' Fondi; "she
is the daughter of Messer Antonio dei Adimari, who while he lived was
one of the leaders of the Guelph party at Florence; and through her
mother she possesses the castle and villages of Valperga."
"Aye," cried a youth, "and they say that Ranieri della Fagginola
pretends to Her hand. It is not well, that the credulity of a woman, who
will listen to the first fine speeches that are addressed to her, should
cause so strong a hold as the castle of Valperga to pass into the hands
of that insufferable nest of traitors."
"You are ignorant of whom you talk," said the aged Fondi, "when you
speak thus lightly of the young countess of Valperga. She is a lady of
great prudence, beauty, and learning; and, although for years she has
been sought by the first nobles of Italy, she glories in her
independence and solitude. She mingles little with the citizens of this
town; her friends reside at Florence, where she often passes many
months, associating with its first families."
"Is she as beautiful, as she is said to be?" asked young Arrigo Guinigi.
"Indeed she is lovely to a miracle; but her manners almost make you
forget her beauty; they are so winning and graceful. Unfortunately she
does not belong to our party, but is as strongly attached to the Pope's
as the countess Matilda of old."
"Aye, these women are so easily cajoled by priests."
"Nay, Moncello, you will still be in the wrong, if you apply common
rules to the conduct of the countess Euthanasia. She is attached to the
cause of the freedom of Florence, and not to the power of her Popes.
When I visited her on her return to her castle, I found her full of
grief at the renewal of the war between these states. She earnestly
asked me whether I saw any prospect of peace; 'For,' said she, 'I am
more attached to concord and the alliance of parties, than to any of the
factions which distract our poor Italy.'"----
The conversation then turned on other subjects. Castruccio had listened
silently to the praise which the old count Fondi had bestowed on the
friend of his childhood; and presently after, taking Arrigo aside, he
said: "My young friend, you must go on an embassy for me."
"To the end of the world, if you desire it, my dear lord"--
"Nay, this is a shorter journey. You must ride to-morrow morning to the
castle of Valperga, and ask permission of the countess that I may visit
her. Our families, though of opposite interests, were much allied; and I
ought to have sought this interview before."
On the following day Castruccio waited anxiously for the return of
Arrigo. He arrived a little before noon. "I have seen her," he cried;
"and, after having seen her, I wonder at the torpor of these Lucchese
that they do not all emigrate from their town, to go and surround her
castle, and gaze on her all day long. I seem only to live since I have
seen her; she is so lovely, so enchantingly kind and gentle. I have
heard you say, my good brother, that you never met with a woman whom you
could enshrine in your inmost heart, and thus pay worship to the exalted
spirit of loveliness, which you had vainly sought, and never found. Go
to Valperga, and, gazing on Euthanasia, you will tremblingly unread your
heresy."
"To horse then, my dear Arrigo. Does she consent to receive me?"
"Yes, she desires to see you; and with the most ingenuous sweetness, she
bade me tell you the pleasure it would give her, to renew her
acquaintance with one whom she has not forgotten during a long
separation."