glories, the processions, the ceremonies, the cheers, the frolic, the
feasting. Now comes the darker side; for if ever a boy was to be in
trouble, worried, badgered, and disappointed, that boy was "the Most
Illustrious and Most Reverend Lord Cardinal Giovanni de Medici." For, like
a sudden shock, with many an accompanying "portent" and "sign" that caused
the superstitious Florentines to shake their heads in dismay, came the
news that Lorenzo the Magnificent was dead. Still in the prime of life,
with wealth and power and a host of followers, a mysterious disease laid
hold upon him, and on the eighth of April, 1492, he died at his beautiful
villa among the olive groves of Careggi, where the windows overlooked the
fair valley of the Arno and the "Beautiful Florence" that he had ruled so
long. From Rome to Florence, and from Florence to Rome again, the young
cardinal posted in anxious haste, as following fast upon the death of his
much-loved father came the sudden illness and death of his other patron
and protector, Pope Innocent VIII. This occurred on July 25, 1492, and
soon again was Giovanni posting back to Florence, a fugitive from Rome,
proscribed by the new Pope, Alexander VI., the bitter and relentless enemy
of the house of Medici.
But, in Florence, Lorenzo the Magnificent was dead, and in his place ruled
his eldest son, Messer Pietro. Rash, headstrong, overbearing, vindictive,
wavering, proud, and imprudent, this wayward young man of twenty-one
succeeded to a power he could not wield and to possessions he could not
control. Enemies sprung up, old friends and supporters dropped away, the
people lost confidence, and when, by a final blunder, he unnecessarily
surrendered to the king of France important Florentine fortresses and
territory, the anger of his fellow-citizens broke out in fierce
denunciation and open revolt.
There is no merry shouting of titles, no gay carnival dress, no glittering
pageant now, as, on the morning of Sunday, the ninth of November, 1494,
the young cardinal and his cousin Giulio pass anxiously down the grand
staircase of the Medici palace to where in the great entrance-hall the
pikestaffs and arquebuses of the Swiss guard ring on the marble floor.
"Think you the Signory will admit him?" Giulio asked of his cousin, as
they awaited the return of Pietro from his demand for admittance to the
palace of the Signory, the city hall of Florence.
"'T is a question for an older head than mine, Giulio," replied Giovanni.
"Pietro's hot-headedness and the Signory's unreasonable demands may cause
a conflict, and the people, I fear me, are so excitable that----but hark!
what was that?" he asked hastily as there fell upon their ears the long
_boom_--_boom_--of a tolling bell.
"By San Marco, the people are up!" said Giulio, excitedly. "'T is the
_campana_; 't is the mad bellow of the old cow of the Vacca! Quick, stand
to your arms, Giovanni, for soon all Florence will be at your doors!"
Too well the boys knew the meaning of that tolling bell--the great bell of
the Palazzo Vecchio, "the old cow of the Vacca," as the Florentines
called it. Its loud _boom_--_boom_--meant "Danger for Florence!" And, as
its clang sounded over the city from gate to gate, every citizen, no matter
what he might be doing, answered the summons by snatching up the arms that
were handiest and hastening to the great square of the Vecchio.
"Pietro is lost!" shouted the cardinal. "_Palle, palle!_ Medici to the
rescue!" But, before the guard could rally to his summons, the door burst
open, and in rushed Pietro de Medici, called the Lord of Florence,
white-faced and bespattered with mud, while at his heels followed a dozen
equally terrified men-at-arms. Without, the yells and hootings of an angry
mob filled the air, and the deeper cry of "Liberty, liberty for the
people!" sounded above the din.
"Well, my brother?" was all the cardinal said.
Messer Pietro caught him by the arm. "Quick, send for Orsini and his
troops!" he cried excitedly. "Send now, or all is lost, Giovanni. The
people are up! The Signory refuses me--me, the Lord of Florence--admittance
to the palace. Magistrates whom our father honored and appointed reviled
and insulted me; men and women who have lived on our bounty, nay, even the
very children hooted and pelted me as I turned from the wicket of the
Signory, and now, by the claws of the _marzoccho_! I will have in Orsini's
troops and drench the streets with blood."
"Hold, hold, Pietro; not so fast, I pray," Giovanni exclaimed. "Is there
no loyalty, no respect for the Medici left in Florence? To horse, and
follow me! It shall not be said that the sons of Lorenzo the Magnificent
lost their lordship without a struggle."
Again the palace gates were swung open; again the lily-banner of Florence
and the ball-escutcheon of the Medici flashed through the city streets as,
followed by Giulio and the Swiss halberdiers, the boy cardinal rode toward
the palace of the Signory.
"_Palle, palle!_ Medici! ho, Medici!" rang the well-known cry of the great
house as the armed guard of the cardinal pressed through the crowded
streets.
"Hollo, my Lord Cardinal; well met again!" shouted a mocking voice, and
around from the great square of the Duomo came Francesco Albizzi and a
motley crowd of followers.
"Back, Albizzi, back!" Giovanni commanded. "Our business is with the
Signory and not with feud-breeders such as art thou."
"Ho, hark to the little Illustrissimo! _Popolo! ho, popolo!_" Albizzi
shouted, and the surging and excited mass swarmed around Giovanni's little
band with the ringing cry: "_Popolo, popolo! Liberta, liberta!_" (The
people, the people! Liberty for the people.)
All the stout bravery of the lad flashed into his olive cheeks, and the
power that belonged to his title of cardinal gave him strength and nerve.
"Men of Florence," he cried, as he rose in his stirrups, "have ye no
memories of past benefits received from the house of Medici, ever the
helpers of the people? Have ye no memories of the good Lorenzo, the
brother of the citizens of Florence? Have ye no reverence for the Church
whose instrument I am? Francesco Albizzi, traitor to Florence and the
Church,--back, back, on thy life, or I,--even I,--the Cardinal de Medici,
will cast upon thy head the curse of Holy Church!"
The crowd wavered and fell back before the determined stand of the young
prelate, and even Albizzi's head bent under the priestly threat. But, just
then, there sounded again on the air the sullen _boom_--_boom_--of the
_campana_, and the cry, "_Popolo, popolo!_" rose again from the mob.
"Fly, fly, my Lord Cardinal," said a quick voice, and, turning, Giovanni
saw a masked figure and felt a touch upon his bridle-arm. "'T is I,
Buonarotti," said the new-comer, slightly raising his visor. "The Signory
have declared both thee and Pietro rebels and outlaws! A price is set upon
thy head. Pietro has fled already, and when once the news is known, not
even thy cardinal's robes nor thy noble name can save thee from the mob."
Giovanni looked at the rapidly increasing crowd, looked at his
insufficient guard, already deserting him in fear, and then said, sadly:
"'T were better to die for our house than to desert it, but how will it
avail? Come, Giulio,"--and, slipping from their horses, the two lads,
guided by Buonarotti and a few faithful friends, escaped from the yelling
mob into a small tavern, where disguises were in readiness. The
cardinal's scarlet robes and the knight's crossleted tunic were exchanged
for the gray habits of Franciscan monks, and then, in sorrow and dismay,
the boy cardinal fled from his native city. As he hurried through San
Gallo's massive gate, with the _boom_--_boom_, of that terrible bell still
tolling the doom of his family, and the "_Popolo; liberta!_" of an aroused
and determined people filling the air, he remembered the brilliance and
enthusiasm of other passages through that well-known gate, and with the
words "Ungrateful,--ah, ungrateful," on his lips, he hastened to the villa
at beautiful Careggi, where the defeated Pietro had taken temporary
refuge.
But not long could the banished brothers remain at Careggi. "Two thousand
crowns of gold to him who will bring to the Signory at Florence the head
of either of the outlawed Medici; five thousand crowns to him who will
deliver to the Signory the bodies of these pestilent rebels alive." Thus
read the cruel ban of their native city and, first, Pietro, and next,
Giovanni, turned from the familiar scenes of their loved country-house and
fled in great secrecy toward Bologna. But the hunters were after them, and
for two anxious weeks this young Giovanni, a cardinal of Rome and a prince
of Holy Church, whose boyish days had been filled with pleasure and
brightness, whose slightest wish had ever been gratified, remained
concealed, in the deepest recesses of the Apennines, a rebel and an
outlaw, with a price upon his head.
Eighteen years passed away, and on the morning of the fourteenth of
September, 1512, two full-robed priests, surrounded by a great escort of
glittering lances and a retinue of heavy-armed foot-soldiers, entered the
gate-way of the "Beautiful City." They were the Cardinal de Medici and his
faithful cousin returning to their native city, proudly and triumphantly,
after eighteen years of exile. Boys no longer, but grave and stalwart men,
Giovanni and Giulio rode through the familiar streets and past the old
landmarks that they had never forgotten, to where, at the foot of the Via
Larga, still stood the palace of the Medici. Since the year 1504, when the
unfortunate Messer Pietro--unfortunate to the last--had been drowned on
the disastrous retreat from Garigliano, the Cardinal Giovanni had stood as
the head of the house of Medici. High in favor with the stern old Pope
Julius II., he had, after six years of wandering and anxiety, risen to
eminence and power at Rome. In all these eighteen years, he never gave up
his hope of regaining his native city. Three times did the Medici seek to
return to power; three times were they repulsed. At last, his time has
come. Florence, torn by feud and discontent, with a Spanish army camped
beyond her walls, opens her gates to the conquerors, and the Cardinal
Giovanni rules as Lord of Florence.
So the fair city again lost her liberties; so the exiled family returned
to position and power; so the fickle Florentines, who, in a fury of
patriotism, had sacked the palace of Lorenzo, now shouted themselves
hoarse for "_Palle_ and the Medici!"
And within less than six months comes a still higher triumph. Pope Julius
II. is dead, and, by the unanimous voice of the "College of Cardinals,"
Giovanni, Cardinal de Medici, ascends the papal throne, on the third of
March, 1513, as Pope Leo the Tenth.
With his later life, we need not here concern ourselves. The story of the
boy may perhaps lead you to read in history the interesting story of the
man. Only thirty-seven, the youngest of the popes, as he was the youngest
of the cardinals, he wore the triple tiara in the stormy days of the great
Reformation, and made his court the centre of learning and refinement, so
that his reign has been called "the golden age of Italian art and
letters." He is well worth remembrance also as having been the firm friend
of the American Indians amid the cruel persecutions of their Spanish
conquerors. "The best of all the Medici, save his father," and "the only
pope who has bestowed his own name upon his age,"--so the historians
report,--we may, as we read of him, remember the boyishness,
notwithstanding his high position, the diligence, notwithstanding his love
of pleasure, and the loyalty to the name and fortunes of a once powerful
family, that marked the youthful years of Giovanni de Medici, the Boy
Cardinal.
FOOTNOTES:
[V] The _marzoccho_ was the great stone lion of the Palazzo Vecchio.
[W] The _Palle d' Oro_, or golden balls, were the arms of the house of
Medici, and "_Palle, palle!_" was their rallying cry.
[X] The Church of the Reparata, or Santa Maria Novella, in which Lorenzo
the Magnificent was wounded and his brother Giuliano murdered, in the
conspiracy of the Pazzi, in 1478.
[Y] _Palleschi_ was the name given to the adherents and retainers of the
house of Medici.
[Illustration]
IX.
IXTLIL' OF TEZCUCO--THE BOY CACIQUE.
(_Afterward King of Tezcuco, the last of the ruling Aztec princes._)
[A.D. 1515.]
A dusky courier, fleet-footed and wary-eyed, dashed swiftly along the
roadway that, three spear-lengths wide, spanned the green plain and led
from the royal city to the Palace of the Hill, the wonderful rural retreat
of the good 'Hualpilli, the 'tzin[Z] or lord of Tezcuco. Through the
sculptured gate-way he sped, past the terraced gardens and the five
hundred porphyry steps, past the three reservoirs of the Marble Women,
past the Winged Lion and the Rock of the Great 'Tzin to where, in the
midst of a grove of giant cedars, rose the fairy-like walls of the
beautiful summer palace of the king.
"At the baths," said a watchful guardsman, upon whose quilted suit of
cotton mail and on whose wooden wolf's-head helmet glistened the feather
badge of the 'tzin. Scarcely slackening his speed the courier turned from
the palace door-way and plunged into the thick shadows of the cypress
forest. He followed the course of the foaming cascade which came rushing
and tumbling over the rocks through a mass of flowers and odorous shrubs,
and stopped suddenly before the marble portico of an airy pavilion, where
a flight of steps cut in the solid porphyry and polished like mirrors, led
down to the baths of the 'tzin. For an instant the courier stood erect and
motionless as a statue, then, swiftly stooping to the earth, he laid the
open palm of his right hand on the ground and next raised it slowly to his
head, offering with downcast eyes the scroll he had carried in the folds
of his maxtlatl[AA] to the inmate of the marble pavilion--'Hualpilli the
Just, the 'tzin of Tezcuco.
"From the Council?" asked the 'tzin, as he took the scroll.
"From the Council, O King," replied the courier, falling prostrate on the
ground as he heard the voice of his lord.
The face of the 'tzin wore a perplexed and troubled expression as he
unrolled the scroll. "Again?" he said; "Is the boy at his tricks again?
How shall hot young blood be tamed for soberer duties?"
And what is it on the soft and polished surface of the maguey[AB] paper
that so disturbs the worthy 'tzin? It seems a series of comic pictures
painted in vivid green and red. First, a blazing sun; then a boy with a
big head and a boy with a small head topped with two flags; then a
misshapen-looking man with a short cloak and a long staff and above his
head a plume; then a low-roofed house, a footprint under a blazing sun;
and, lastly, a man sitting on the ground. What do you make of all this,
as, especially privileged, you peep over the shoulder of 'Hualpilli the
'tzin, in the portico of his porphyry baths? Nothing, of course. But to
the dusky king, skilled in the reading of Aztec hieroglyphics, the message
from his Council is plain enough. And this is what he reads: "Most dread
and mighty lord, the sun of the world! This is to inform you that the
noble young cacique, Ixtlil', at the head of forty of his wild
boy-followers is raiding the streets of Tezcuco, and has already assaulted
and wofully distressed full four hundred of the townspeople. Hasten, then,
we pray you, your royal feet, that you may see and believe our statement,
lest if we may not stop the noble young cacique in this his dangerous
sport, your royal city of Tezcuco shall be disturbed and overturned as if
by an earthquake."
"Runs he so rudely?" said the 'tzin. "I will even see this for myself. So
much of fighting mettle in a little lad must not waste itself upon those
whom he may one day rule," and borne by his slaves to the villa he ordered
that his litter be made ready at once. It soon awaited him, gleaming with
gold and bright with green plumes. Turning with a sigh from the calm
retreat he loved so much, he ascended his litter and commanded: "To the
city, straight," and the trained litter-bearers were soon speeding across
the green plain, bearing their lord to his royal city of Tezcuco, two
leagues distant, near the shores of the great salt lake. But, ere he
reached the city walls, he descended from his litter, dismissed his
slaves, and, drawing over his kingly dress a _tilmatli_, or long purple
cloak of fine cotton, he mingled with the crowd that surged through the
city gate.
Meanwhile, on one of the wide and smoothly cemented streets that traversed
the beautiful city of Tezcuco there was great commotion and excitement.
For at the head of his amateur train-band of forty Aztec boys, Ixtlil',
the young cacique,[AC] or prince, of Tezcuco, was charging in mimic fight,
past palace gate-ways and low _adobe_ walls, across the great square of
the _tinguez_, or market-place, and over the bridges that spanned the main
canal, scattering group after group of unarmed and terrified townspeople
like sheep before his boyish spears, while the older warriors laughed loud
at the dangerous sport, and the staid old "uncles" or councillors of the
king dared not interfere with the pranks and pleasures of this wild and
unruly young son of the 'tzin, their lord and master.
Near the serpent-sculptured wall of the great _teocalli_, or temple to
'Huitzil the Aztec god of war, a number of citizens, unwilling to be
longer badgered and persecuted by a boy, cacique though he was, had
gathered to make a stand against the rough play of the turbulent lads!
Round from the great market-place, with the shrill Aztec whistle that,
years after, the Spanish invaders learned to know so well, swung the corps
of youthful marauders, their uniform a complete mimicry of the brave
Tezcucan warriors. Gay cotton doublets, surcoats of feather-mail,
bristling wolf-crests dyed with cochineal, plumes and lances, banners and
devices, gleamed in the clear Mexican sunlight, and, leading all this
riot, came a boy of scarce fourteen, whose _panache_, or head-dress, of
bright green feathers denoted his royal birth as it drooped over the long
black hair that covered a face of pale bronze. In his hand, he brandished
a broad _maquahuitl_, or sharp Aztec sword made of the polished _itzli_
stone.
"Ho, yield ye, yield ye, slaves!" he cried; "tribute or bodies to the
lords of the streets!"
"Tribute, tribute or bodies to the young cacique!" shouted his
boy-followers. "Way there; way for the grandson of the Hungry-Fox!"[AD]
Their rush was irresistible, and the terrified townsfolk, repenting of
their determination to stand in their own defence, when once they had
caught the gleam of the _maquahuitl_, and faced the fierce presence of the
boy cacique, turned to hurried flight beneath the walls of the great
_teocalli_.
"What, are ye all cowards to flee from a pack of boys! Women and daughters
of women are ye, and not men of proud Tezcuco!"
The taunt came from a tall and well-built man who strode into the midst of
the rout. His _tilmatli_, or cotton cloak completely enveloped his figure,
while the long staff in his hand showed him to be a traveller, a visitor
probably from Tenochtitlan or distant Cholula. "Back, boys, back," he
commanded, "back, I tell you and let me pass!"
The shrill war-whistle of young Ixtlil' rang out loud and clear, and his
fierce young troop with a startling war-cry clattered round the daring
stranger.
"Now by the fire plumes of Quetzal'!"[AE] cried the headstrong young
prince, "who be ye to brave the son of the king? To me, comrades all, and
down with the stranger!"
The be-cloaked unknown backed against the stout walls of the _teocalli_.
With an easy turn of his staff he parried the vicious sword thrust of the
boy cacique and sent his polished _maquahuitl_ spinning through the air.
Then with a swinging sweep he laid lustily about him, right and left,
scattering the throng of boy soldiers until a good dozen or so lay on the
cemented roadway or with aching heads scud out of range of that terrible
staff. With a sudden dash the stranger grasped the young cacique's
feather-cloak, and catching him by the nape of the neck shook him so
roundly that the green _panache_ tumbled from the lad's head and his
princely teeth chattered with the shock.
The timid citizens, reassured by this signal discomfiture of their
boy-pests, had drawn to the aid of the stranger, but they trembled at this
rough handling of the young prince, and the lad's boy-followers, still at
a respectful distance from the stranger's staff, cried loudly: "Ho,
rescue, rescue for Ixtlil' the cacique! Death, death to the sacrilegious
slave who dares lay hand upon the son of the 'tzin!"
The wolf-casques of the king's spearmen came pouring from the
market-place, pressing close behind the royal banner of Tezcuco, the
golden coyatl, or winged fox. A hundred copper lance-heads, aimed for
flight, pointed at the bold stranger's heart. But all unmoved he raised
his staff. "He who lays hands upon the favored of the gods," he said,
"must needs know when and why he does so"; then casting off the purple
_tilmatli_ and drooping hood, that had disguised him, "Now, who shall say
me nay?" he asked, and valiant spearmen, timid citizens, and bold
boy-soldiers, with a startled cry of surprise, went down in the dust in
abject homage before their lord and master, 'Hualpilli the Just, the
'tzin of Tezcuco.[AF]
[Illustration: HUALPILLI THE LORD OF TEZCUCO REVEALS HIMSELF,--"NOW WHO
SHALL SAY ME NAY?" HE ASKED.]
With a loud whistle the 'tzin summoned the slaves who bore his litter.
They came hurrying to his call, and soon, followed by the youthful and
somewhat sobered band of boy-soldiers, wondering townsfolk, and a mass of
royal spearmen, the wild young cacique accompanied his father to the great
palace of the kings of Tezcuco.
Upon the map of modern Mexico you can readily find Tezcuco, now an
insignificant manufacturing town, some sixteen miles north-east of the
city of Mexico, near the shores of the salt lake of Tezcuco. Its _adobe_
or mud houses shelter scarce five thousand squalid inhabitants, and of the
former grandeur of the "Imperial City" of the old Aztec days there
remains, as one traveller remarks, "not a wreck--not even an epitaph."
But, according to the historians of that wonderful achievement of four
centuries back--the Conquest of Mexico--Tezcuco, "City of Rest," was, in
the year of our story, 1515, the mighty capital of one of the most fertile
and lovely sections of the old Aztec land of Anahuac, a city of over one
hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, and second only in population,
power, and magnificence to the royal "City of the Cactus and the
Rock"--Tenochtitlan, known ever to Europeans as the City of Mexico.
Temples and palaces, schools and gardens, aqueducts, causeways, streets,
and walls adorned and defended the beautiful "City of Rest," and so great
was its culture and refinement that, as Tenochtitlan, or Mexico, was
called the Venice, so Tezcuco "claimed the glory of being the Athens of
the New World."
In one of the long and richly decorated arcades which led from the king's
apartments to the baths and gardens of the low-walled but far-reaching
palace of Tezcuco, two boys with their scorers were playing at _totoloque_
the day after young Ixtlil's street combat. Now _totoloque_ was the
favorite ball-game of the Aztecs, young and old. It consisted simply of
pitching balls, made of some hard and polished substance, at a mark, at
long or short distances, according to the expertness of the players, the
first complete score of five throws to take the prize. The game was
frequently close and exciting, as was the case in this particular game in
the arcades of the palace. And the brown-skinned little Tula was scoring
for the cacique Ixtlil', while the young prince Cacama scored for the
cacique Tecocal', the opponent of Ixtlil'. Now the prince Cacama was the
eldest son of the 'tzin 'Hualpilli, and, as older brothers often
will--modern ones as well as ancient--he liked to assert his authority and
superiority over his younger brothers and half-brothers. For that great
palace in old Tezcuco held a large family of boys and girls.