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's _fouriers_ and 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, the _fouriers_, 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.