This is a cold age of a cold world. Not more than one man or woman, in
many, many thousands can sympathise with--nay, can conceive the warm,
the ardent love which existed between the two young hearts new
separated. But it must be remembered that theirs was an age and a land
of passion; and where that passion did not lead to vice and crime, it
obtained sublimity by its very intensity.
It may be asked if such feelings were not likely to be evanescent--if
time, and absence, and new objects, and a change of age would not
diminish, if not extinguish the love of youth. Oh, no! Both were of
firm and determined natures; both clung long and steadily to
impressions once received; and yet, when they next met, how changed
were both!
They were destined to be separated far longer than they anticipated,
and to show what was the reason and nature of the change they
underwent, it would be necessary to follow briefly the course of each
till the youth had become a man and the young girl a blossoming woman.
When Lorenzo reached Pisa with his little band, he found the army of
the King of France about to march; indeed, the vanguard had already
gone forward. In the retreat, however, the corps of men-at-arms to
which he was attached brought up the rear, and thus he was spared the
horror of seeing the butchery committed by the Swiss infantry at
Pontremoli.
Riding slowly on by the side of his commander and friend, De Vitry, he
conversed with him from time to time, but with thoughts far away and
an insurmountable sadness of spirits. Indeed, the elder was full of
light and buoyant gaiety; the younger was cold and stern. The cause
was very plain; the one was leaving her whom he loved, the other
approaching nearer every day to the dwelling of Blanche Marie. Many a
danger and difficulty, however, hung upon the path before them. Hourly
news arrived of gathering troops and marching forces, of passages
occupied, and ambuscades; and at length, in descending from the
Apennines towards the banks of the Taro, near its head, the scouts
brought in intelligence that the allied forces were encamped at Badia,
determined to oppose the passage of the river. It soon became evident
that a battle must be fought somewhere between the small town of
Fornovo and Badia, and the great numerical superiority of the
confederate army rendered the chances rather desperate for France.
With the light-hearted courage of the French soldier, however, both
men and officers prepared for the coming event as gaily as for a
pageant, but the lay and clerical counsellors of the king saw all the
dangers, and lost heart. Again they had recourse to negotiation, and
the confederate princes, with cunning policy, seemed willing for a
time to sell, for certain considerations, a passage towards Lombardy
to the King of France. They knew that Fornovo, where he was encamped,
could only afford a few days' supply of provisions, and there is every
reason to believe that they hoped, by delaying decision from day to
day, to starve the royal army into a surrender. The king's counsellors
might perhaps have been deceived; but his generals saw through the
artifice, and it was determined at length to force the passage of the
Taro.
I need not enter into all the details of the battle of Fornovo, the
only one at which the young King of France was ever present, but it is
well known that if in the engagement he did not show all the qualities
of a great commander, he displayed all the gallantry of his nature and
his race. By sheer force of daring courage and indomitable resolution
the passage was forced, and not by skill or stratagem. More than once
the king's life or liberty was in imminent danger; and once he was
saved by the boldness of a common foot-soldier, once rescued out of
the very hands of the enemy, by Lorenzo Visconti. It may easily be
believed that the affection which existed between the young king and
his gallant cousin was increased by the service rendered, and to the
hour of Charles's death Lorenzo received continued marks of his
regard, though some of them, indeed, proved baleful to the young man's
peace.
The victory at Fornovo proved only so far beneficial to the King of
France as to enable him to negotiate with his adversaries from a
higher ground. Slowly he advanced toward Milan, in order to deliver
the Duke of Orleans, who, in bringing reinforcements to the monarch's
aid, had been drawn into Novara and besieged by the superior forces of
Ludovic the Moor. The position of both armies was dangerous. That of
the king was lamentably reduced in numbers, and little was to be hoped
from the French garrison in Novara, which was enfeebled by famine and
sickness.
The army of the Duke of Milan, on the other hand, had much diminished
since he commenced the siege, and his ancient enemies, the Venetians,
were daily gaining a preponderance in Italy, which he saw would be
perilous to his authority. The usual resource of negotiation followed.
Peace was re-established between Charles and Ludovic Sforza. Novara
was surrendered to the latter, but the Duke of Orleans was suffered to
march out with all the honours of war, yielding up the city in
conformity with the terms of a treaty of peace, and not of a
capitulation wrung from him by force of arms.
The king paused for a short time in Lombardy; festivities and
rejoicings succeeded to the din of war; large reinforcements from
France swelled his army to more than its original numbers, and for
some time the idea was entertained at the court that Naples would be
again immediately invaded, and its conquest rendered more complete.
But hour by hour, and day by day, came intelligence from that kingdom
more and more disastrous for the cause of France. A fleet of French
galleys suffered a disastrous defeat; the people of Naples rose
against the small French force remaining in the city, and drove them
into the two citadels; town after town returned to the allegiance of
the House of Arragon; and the very day after the Battle of Fornovo the
young King Ferdinand re-entered in triumph his ancient capital.
These events might well cause a change of purpose at the court of
France; the work of reducing the kingdom of Naples was all to be done
over again; and it was impossible for even the most oily flatterers of
the king to conceal the fact that the attempt would be attended by
difficulties which had not been experienced in the previous
expedition. In fact, the people of Naples had learned what it was to
submit to the yoke of France; all their vain expectations had been
disappointed; they had found the burden intolerable; they had cast it
off, and were resolved to die rather than receive it again.
In the meantime, however, from the aspect of the court and camp of
France, no one could have supposed that it was a time of disaster and
distress; all was gaiety, merriment, and lighthearted irregularity;
and friendships and loves, which had been formed the preceding year,
were now renewed as if neither coldness nor hostilities had
intervened.
In the midst of all these events a small party left the camp of the
King of France and took its way toward the city of Pavia. They went
lightly armed, as if upon some expedition of pleasure, and, indeed,
the country for fifty miles on the other side of the Po was quite safe
and free from all adverse forces; but beneath the Apennines on either
side lay the armies of the confederates, blockading every pass, and
cutting off communication between Northern and Southern Italy, except
by sea. Thus, with no offensive and but little defensive armour, the
party rode securely on till they reached the gates of the Villa
Rovera, where the two first horsemen dismounted and entered the
gardens.
The aspect of all things about the villa was greatly changed since
Lorenzo and De Vitry had been there before. There was a stillness, a
gloomy quietness about the place which somewhat alarmed them both. In
the great hall was seated but one servant, and when they inquired of
him for the old count and the young lady, he answered,
"Alas! my lords, you do not know that his excellency is at the point
of death."
Such was the state of affairs when Lorenzo and his friend reached the
dwelling of Blanche Marie, and what resulted from it must be told
hereafter.