Rome, still grand even in her ruin, was in the hands of Charles of
France. He had never in his life seen a stroke stricken in actual
warfare, except at the insignificant town of Vivizano; he had never
made a conquest more important than that of a village, nor obtained a
victory over more than a score or two of men, and yet he felt himself
almost on a par with Charlemagne when he stood in Rome exercising all
the powers of an emperor. "He suited his corps de gardes and placed
his sentinels in the squares of the noble city," says Old Brantome,
"with many rounds and patrols, planted his courts of justice with
gallowses and whipping-posts in five or six places; requisitions were
made in his name; his edicts and ordonnances were cried and published
with the sound of the trumpet as in Paris. Go find me a King of France
who has ever done such things, except Charlemagne; and even he, I
think, proceeded not with an authority so proud and imperious."
The morning dawned and found Charles in possession, full and entire,
of all Rome, except the Castle of St. Angelo; and what is of more
importance than the mere fact of being in full possession, he was so
with the cordial assent of the whole Roman people. They had groaned
under oppression and wrong for years, and the very fact that the
oppression was exercised by the most despicable of men, had driven the
iron deeper into their souls. Any change was to them a deliverance;
and so strongly was this felt, that when at daybreak some women stood
to gaze at the corpse of a robber who had been caught and hanged by
his provosts in the night, they shrugged their shoulders, with a
laugh, saying, "No more robbers now."
Not long after that early hour, and not far from the spot where some
of the orations of Cicero were poured to the admiring people, a young
gentleman, in the garb of peace, but with sword by his side and dagger
in his girdle, walked slowly up and down, as if waiting for some one,
and presently after a small man, in a monk's gown, whom Lorenzo had
once seen before, came up, and saluting him led him away in the
direction of some buildings, at that time appropriated to the use of
distinguished visitors or great favourites of the Papal Court.
They were not unwatched, however; for from behind an old column which
stood there not many years ago--it may stand there still for aught I
know--glided out the figure of our friend Antonio, and followed them
at some distance, keeping in the deep shade cast by the rising sun
upon the eastern side of the street. His keen sharp eye was fixed upon
them with a suspicious and even anxious look; "By my faith," he said,
"good old Master Esopas was right when he warned us not to warm
vipers. I fear me still that one which I helped to save when he was
tolerably well frost-bitten, will some day turn and bite me, or, what
is worse, bite young Lorenzo. Perhaps I had better warn his youthful
knighthood. He is mighty docile for a young man, and will take a hint
from me. But then he knows I love him, and that is the secret of it, I
do believe; for love's a rarity as this world goes, and, poor boy,
having neither father nor mother, who is there to love him but
Antonio. By Hercules! I had forgotten the signorina. I am half jealous
of the girl, and the only way I can manage to escape being so quite is
to love her myself. Ha! they are stopping at that gate; Ramiro lodges
there for a score of ducats. Well, well, I will even go in after them,
and have a chat with my friend the friar. It is well the holy man
should know that he has an intimate acquaintance near."
By this time Lorenzo and the monk had disappeared under the archway
and ascended a staircase on the right. It was dirty and dark enough,
but the door at the top led into a suite of rooms of almost regal
splendour and oriental luxury. The first and the second chambers were
vacant; but in the third Ramiro d'Orco was walking up and down with
slow steps, and his stern, thoughtful eyes bent upon the ground. It is
probable that he had heard the step of Lorenzo from his first
entrance; but he was one of those men who never show emotion of any
kind, whatever they may feel--men who are never known to start; and it
was not till the young man and the friar were quite near that he even
looked up.
"Welcome to Rome, Lorenzo," he said, without embracing him as most
Italians would have done, or giving him his hand as an Englishman
would not have failed to do. "Friar, you may leave us, and do not let
us be interrupted. Sit, Lorenzo, sit! Will you rest on that pile of
cushions or on that stuffed dais--stuffed with the inner down of some
strange northern bird?"
"I thank you, Signor d'Orco," replied Lorenzo, "but I have been lately
taught to sit and lie hard enough. You have, indeed, every sort of
luxury here."
"Do not call them mine," said Ramiro, with a bitter smile. "They
belong to my landlord, the holy and noble Cardinal Borgia. Men propose
to themselves different objects in life, young sir. Some judge our
short space here was given only for enjoyment; others, again, think it
should be a time of active enterprise; one man seeks glory; another
power; another wealth. They mostly imagine that they are only, in
every object, seeking a means to an end--the covetous will enjoy his
wealth hereafter--the ambitious only desires power to benefit his
friends or crush his enemies--but they deceive themselves. Only Cæsar
Borgia and I admit the naked truth. He says enjoyment in life. I say
ambition is enjoyment. But an ambitious man must not sit on soft
stools. There is my common seat," and he drew towards him an old
wooden chair of the rudest and most uneasy form.
"So," he continued abruptly, after they were seated, "you have not
brought Leonora with you."
"My lord, the matter was decided without me," replied Lorenzo; "the
Cardinal of St. Peter's, your near relation, judged that this was not
a fit place for her: but I will not conceal from you that I should
have brought her with great reluctance, though every hour of her
company is dearer to me than the jewels of a monarch's crown."
"The cardinal was right, and you were right," said Ramiro d'Orco, and
plunging into thought, remained silent for several minutes, then
looking calmly up in Lorenzo's face he said, "You are not married
yet?"
"Assuredly not, my lord," said the young man, with his cheek somewhat
burning from a consciousness of thoughts--nay, of wishes, if not
purposes--which had come and gone in his own heart. "You gave your
consent to our betrothal, but not to our marriage."
Ramiro d'Orco's eye had been fixed upon him with a cold steadfast gaze
while he spoke, and the colour in his cheek still deepened.
"I have placed great confidence in you, Lorenzo Visconti," said
Leonora's father. "I do not believe you would abuse it. I do not
believe you would wrong her or wrong me. See that you do not."
"I am incapable of doing either, Signor Ramiro," replied Lorenzo,
boldly. "I may sometimes have thought for a brief moment, that the
only mode of removing some difficulties that presented themselves to
us, was to take your consent for granted and unite my fate to hers by
a tie which would give me a right both to direct and protect her; but
the half-formed purpose was always barred by remembrance of the trust
you had reposed in me; and Leonora herself can testify that I never
even hinted at such a course."
Ramiro d'Orco again paused in silence for a moment, and then said,
"Lorenzo Visconti, I have loved you well from causes that you know
not. Listen for a moment; there are some men who are so formed that a
kindness received or a wrong endured is never forgotten. They are
perhaps not the best men in the world's opinion, they have their
faults, their frailties; they may commit sins, nay crimes, according
to the world's estimation---they may be considered cold, selfish,
unprincipled; but the waters of these men's hearts have in them a
petrifying power which preserves for ever the memories of other men's
acts towards them. They cannot forgive, nor forget, nor forbear like
other men. A kind word spoken, a good act done towards them in times
of difficulty or danger will be remembered for years--ay, for long
years--twenty? more than that; and a wrong inflicted will equally cut
into the memory and will have its results, when he who perpetrated
will himself have forgotten it. I am one of those men, Lorenzo; and,
though I speak not often of myself, I would have you know it. But let
us talk of other things," he added in a less severe and serious tone.
"Now tell me truly, did you not think when I told Leonora to come on
to Rome, that I had changed my purposes towards yourself, or that, at
least, they were shaken; that some more wealthy match presented
itself, or some ambitious object led me to withdraw my approbation of
your suit? You doubted, you feared--was it not so?"
As he spoke another person entered the room with a gliding but stately
step. He was dressed richly in a morning robe of precious furs, and
his remarkably handsome person was set off to every advantage by the
arrangement of the hair, the beard, and the garb. Ramiro d'Orco only
noticed his coming by rising and inclining his head, while the other
cast himself gracefully down upon the pile of cushions, and began to
eat some confections which he took from a small golden box.
Almost without pause, Ramiro proceeded: "Did you not think so? You
were wrong, Lorenzo, if you did. I have consented to your marriage
with my daughter, I wish your marriage with her. I here, in the
presence of this noble prince, give my full consent, and had you
brought her on here, I would have joined your hands ere you go hence.
But it is well as it is. And now let us again to other objects; my
lord cardinal, your Eminence wished to see my young friend here."
"He is very handsome," said Cæsar Borgia; for he it was who lay upon
the cushions. "He is very handsome, and I am told that the Signora
Leonora is very beautiful, too--nay, a marvel of loveliness--is it not
so?"
"In my eyes certainly," said Lorenzo drily, for there was something in
the tone of the man he did not like.
"Marry her soon--marry her soon," said Cæsar Borgia, "a peach should
always be tasted ere it is too ripe. I envy you your privileges, sir.
I who am bound to a sour life of celibacy, may well think you happy
who are free and blessed."
Lorenzo rose and raised his bonnet from the floor where he had cast
it, as if to depart.
"Stay, stay," said Ramiro d'Orco, "these French-bred gentlemen, my
lord cardinal, are very touchy upon some points. They understand no
jests where their lady loves are concerned. We in Italy, and
especially you in Rome, are somewhat too light-tongued upon such
matters."
"Well, then, let us talk of other things," cried Borgia, starting up
with a look entirely changed, the soft, indolent, almost effeminate
expression gone, the eye fiery and the lips stern and grim. "You are
right, Ramiro: we are too light-tongued in such matters. I meant
not to offend you, sir, but as yet you are unaccustomed to our
manners here. I wished to see and speak with you from the reports
I have heard of you. You have, I think, served the King of France
well---marvellously well for one so young. I have heard of your doings
at Vivizano, and I have heard moreover that you are high in the
personal esteem of Charles of France himself. Nay, more, it seems, by
what means I know not, but they must be extraordinary, for scripture
says the deaf adder stoppeth her ears and will not heart she voice of
the charmer--it seems, I say, that by some means, you have won the
confidence of Julian of Rovera, an enemy of me and of my father's
house. With both this cardinal and this king you must have
opportunities of private communication."
He kept his eye fixed upon Lorenzo's face while he spoke, marking
every change of expression, and probably adapting his discourse to all
he saw there; for no man was ever more terribly endowed with that
serpent power of persuasion which bends and alters the wills and
opinions of others, not by opposing force to force, but by instilling
our thoughts in the garb of theirs into the minds of even our
opponents. By that power how many did he bring to destruction, how
many did he lure to death!
"I wish not," he continued, "to lead you to do or say aught that can
be prejudicial to the King of France. I know that you are incapable of
it; but it is for that very reason I have desired to see you. I seek
no communication with those whom I can buy, and who the day after will
sell themselves to another. I desire to address myself to one eager to
serve his lord, and who will dare to tell him the truth, even if it be
first spoken by the mouth of an enemy. Such a man I believe you to be,
Signor Visconti, and therefore I sought this interview. Now, sir, King
Charles is surrounded with men who will not let the truth reach his
ears. You may ask why? what is their object? I will tell you. They
have Rome in their power. My father, it is true, is safe up there--but
still Rome is theirs; and, if they can but prevail upon the King of
France, by false statements--by cunning persuasions--by the
suppression or distortion of facts--to use his advantage ungenerously,
they calculate upon forcing his Holiness to buy them wholesale. Ay,
buy them, sir; for there are not two in all the king's council who
cannot be bought--by benefices, by gold, by estates, by dignities.
This is the reason they keep the truth from the monarch's mind; for
they well know that, if his position and his duties were once clearly
stated to him, full peace and alliance would soon be re-established
between the crown of France and the Holy See; and they would be
deprived of the power of extracting from my father the last ducat in
his treasury, the last benefice in his gift. Do you understand me?"
"Methinks I do," answered Lorenzo, who had seen good reason to believe
that Borgia's view of the characters of the French counsellors was not
far from the truth. "But what is it, your Eminence, that the King of
France should know that he does not know? He has about his person many
a clear-sighted military man who is competent to perceive the truth
and too honest to conceal it."
"Not exactly, my young friend," replied the cardinal; "the truth is
not always so easy a thing to find as you imagine. The negotiators, at
all events, have the king's ear--civilians or ecclesiastics--all. We
know not that these military friends of yours have discovered the
whole truth; or, if they have, that they have revealed it. Now, what I
wish is, that you--you, Lorenzo Visconti, should learn the whole
truth, and should seize the very first opportunity of telling it to
the king. I will give you a correct and accurate statement of the true
position of affairs--at least, as I see them. If I am wrong, your own
clear mind will detect the error: for, of course, though I cannot
pretend to speak without some prejudice, you can have none. An Italian
by birth--about to wed an Italian lady, many of your sympathies must
be with us, while gratitude and education afford a fair counterpoise
in favour of France. But listen to my statement."
He then went on with the most skilful and artful, but apparently the
most unpremeditated eloquence, to set before the young knight a
totally different view of the questions between Alexander and the King
of France. He dwelt long and severely upon the scandal to all
Christendom exhibited by the eldest son of the Church--a title of
which French monarchs had ever been proud--forcing his way into the
holy city, contrary to the repeated injunctions of the Church's head.
He asked if it were the part of one who pretended and hoped to drive
back the wave of Mahomedan invasion from Europe and plant the Cross
itself in Constantinople, to commence his enterprise by setting at
nought the power and authority of the Vicar of Christ, driving him
from his home to take refuge in a fortress, to despoil him of his
means, and to trample on his dignity. "They speak ill of his Holiness,
indeed," continued Borgia, "they calumniate him and misrepresent all
that he does. Let us even admit, however, all that they say against
him, that he has the passions which afflict all men of ardent
temperaments--that he has at times indulged the propensities common to
all men--that he has done openly, in short, and without hypocrisy, all
that his predecessors have done covertly and hypocritically--that he
calls his son his son, and not his nephew--never forgetting, however,
that all these faults occurred before his elevation to the holy see;
but granting all, admitting every charge, I will ask you, Lorenzo, if
these faults of the man, which affect not the holy office, are so
great a scandal to the Church as to see the first of--I had almost
said pretended--the first of Christian monarchs set at nought the
authority, oppress the person, and plunder the property of the
representative of the apostles? But I have dwelt too long upon this
aspect of the question. Perhaps it does not affect you; it may not
affect the King of France, and I did not intend to speak of it at
length. I meant to deal with the political view of the case--of that
which touches the king's material interests, and I now turn to that."
The bright, comprehensive, and sagacious picture which he now drew of
the actual position and future prospects of the King of France, was
perhaps unequalled by any of the most splendid efforts of the man with
whom Macchiavelli himself found it hard to cope; and well might one so
young and inexperienced as Lorenzo have been carried away by his
eloquence, even if there had not been much truth in the details, much
accuracy in the reasoning. But there was far more of both than of
falsehood or rhetoric. He stripped the position of the King of France
from its fictitious splendour: he painted him as in the midst of a
foreign country, with no communications open behind him, without a
fleet, and with an exhausted treasury, without a sincere friend in
Italy, with a resolute enemy before him, and without one faithful ally
behind. He showed and asserted he could prove that Ludovico Sforza was
busily weaving the web of a confederation against him; that the Duke
of Ferrara was already gained; that the Venetians were arming in
haste, and that Florence was eager to avenge the humiliation she had
received, by giving aid to the league; that even the Emperor and the
King of Spain, though bought off for a time by sacrifices disastrous
to France, showed signs already of wavering in their faith to the
young king, and were only true to their policy of treachery.
"This splendid army will melt away," he continued, "by battle and
disease; while that of the league against you will increase every
hour. Where will you draw reinforcements? how will they reach you if
they can be raised at all? To your enemies men will flow in from every
quarter, and will find all roads open. The remnants of the great
companies will easily be gathered together, all men practised in
warfare under leaders of consummate skill. The Albanian bands of the
Venetians will sweep the country of its provisions, and put a desert
between you and France. What the sword spares, famine and pestilence
will slay, and an expedition begun with festivals and successes will
end in disaster and tears.
"Show me where I am wrong, and I will admit it; but this, Signor
Visconti, is my view, and I give it you plainly and sincerely. Now you
may ask what I would deduce from all this?--that the King of France
should desist from his enterprise, and return with defeat and disgrace
to his own land? Far from it; I would have him push on to Naples with
all rapidity, before the plans of his enemies are mature, or their
preparations made. He may subdue that kingdom rapidly, and with the
command of the sea coast, and a new and defensible position, set his
foes at defiance till his army can be recruited and reinforced. But I
would not have him stay here and waste time, every moment of which is
precious, in trying to humble a pontiff whom he is bound to reverence,
or destroy a sovereign who is ready to be his friend. If such madness
seizes him he is lost. How much better, at no loss of honour or of
interest, but merely by that reverence for the Church, which, as a
Christian king, he is bound to show--how much better to have a
friendly power, though perhaps a weak one, between him and the enemies
in his rear!"
"But what surety has the king that this will prove a friendly power,"
asked Lorenzo, "that these Roman States--this very city will not be
armed against him as soon as he has passed on?"
"The pope will give him securities," said Cæsar Borgia, promptly,
although a slight shade had come over his brow while the young man
spoke. "He shall have ample guarantees; such fortresses to hold as
will ensure him against that danger; and as for myself, I care not if
I go as a hostage with his forces."
Lorenzo paused, and thought without reply, and Borgia added, "Nay
more, Zizim shall be given into his hands, though perchance that act
may bring down the wrath of Bajazet upon Italy, and we may again see
our coasts ravaged by Turkish fleets."
"And who is Zizim?" asked Lorenzo, in surprise.
"It matters not," replied Borgia, "but whisper that name in the king's
ear--only say you have somewhat to tell him regarding Zizim, and he
will give eager audience to all the rest."
"But I must also tell him on what authority I speak," said Lorenzo.
"Do so!" exclaimed Cæsar Borgia, at once, "let him know that you have
seen me in company with this good lord who sits silent here, who knows
the truth of every word I speak."
"I do," said Ramiro d'Orco; "and moreover as you may want proof of the
corruption in the king's council you have heard of, give this small
packet, my son, to the good Bishop of St. Malo--not before you have
conferred with the king, but afterwards--not when the worthy prelate
has company around him; but when he is quite alone."
Lorenzo took the small paper packet which Ramiro held out, not without
some doubts; but it contained something hard and bulky, and evidently
was not a letter, of which he might have hesitated to be the bearer.
"Well," he said, at length, "I presume, sir, that you would not put
upon me any unbecoming task. But your Eminence spoke something
regarding the Cardinal of St. Peter's. What do you desire that I
should say to him?" he continued, addressing Borgia.
A sort of spasm passed over Cæsar's face, and he kept his teeth firmly
pressed together for a moment; but when he answered it was with a
calm, though stern voice, "Tell him that no cardinal who dethrones a
supreme pontiff ever becomes pope. His holy brethren know him too
well. That is all I have to say to him--and now my task is over," he
continued, throwing himself back upon the cushions, "let us taste some
wine. Will you drink, Signor Lorenzo?"
The young lord excused himself, and shortly after took his leave.
"Too young, I fear me," said Ramiro d'Orco, as Visconti quitted the
room.
"All the better," replied Borgia, languidly, "we must work with all
kinds of tools, according to our objects, Ramiro--women, valets, boys,
wise men. A wise man would not suit me now, for he would conceal half
that he has heard. This youth will tell it all, and that is what I
desire."