ROME.
As we rode up to the ruinous stretch of the battered wall, and saw
before us the gate, lying open against the mottled green and grey
high-ground of the Aventine, that old hill, covered with straggling
and unkempt vineyards, and studded with the walls of monasteries, I
was moved more than I can tell, for I was about to realise a dream of
my life, and put foot once again in the place of my birth, a spot not
only bound to me by that tie, but sacred with the hundred legends of
my forefathers' history, men who had for centuries played so great a
part in its fate, until our house was cast forth by the mother-city,
to wander as exiles over the land. It is true that since the days of
my childhood I had not seen Rome, it is true that such memories of it
as I had were dim and misty, and that to recall them was like trying
to bring back before one's eyes, when awake, the vague but pleasant
visions of a delightful dream; nevertheless my heart filled with a
strange joy, and my pulse began to beat more rapidly, as each stride
of my horse brought me nearer home. In short, I was a Roman come back
to Rome, and in these words sum up my feelings.
Filled with such thoughts, I tightened the reins half unconsciously,
and my horse, doubtless upset by his voyage, and the hard going from
Ostia, very willingly slackened his pace to a walk. Jacopo, as in duty
bound, followed my example, and immediately began to buzz into speech.
"It is nearly six years since I last saw that gate, excellency, when
with Count Carlo Orsini we rode up, just as it was closed behind
Cesare Borgia."
"That was when you left me for a time, on my taking service with
Venice."
"True, your worship; I had no mind for the galleys," and Jacopo
shuddered at the recollection of his recent voyage. "My courage," he
continued, "is firm enough on firm ground, but when the sea plays cup
and ball with me, I have no soul to think of my own salvation, let
alone fighting. _Ohime!_ But on that villainous craft we have left,
there were times when I was only too anxious not to live."
I smiled as I inquired, "And after your service with the Orsini where
did you go?"
"Well, your worship, no sooner did Count Carlo drive those scorpions
of the Colonna and Borgia back to Rome, than the Most Serene Republic
must needs step in and cause peace to be made. This threw me and
sundry other honest fellows out of employment, and on to the edge of
starvation, so we boldly rode into Rome, and changing from the bear to
the bull, tendered our services to the Borgia, and they were snapped
up I can tell you. I was lucky enough to find a master in the Duke of
Gandia."
"Lucky, you call it."
"Ay, your worship! for Giovanni Borgia had an open purse and a free
hand. I was with him until he was murdered, and then, affairs being
warm in Rome, and hearing you had come back from the sea, why, I came
back to the old banner."
"It is said that Gandia was murdered by the Cardinal Ascanio Sforza."
"Indeed no, your excellency! I saw the deed done. It was in this way:
the Duke and his brother Cesare, then Cardinal of Valencia, supped at
the house of their mother, the Lady Vannozza. After supper they must
needs walk home together; I was the Duke's sole attendant, but Cesare
was accompanied by his cut-throat Michelotto and half-a-dozen others.
On the way some mention was made of Donna Sancia, Don Giuffre's wife,
and the brothers came to blows. The Cardinal stabbed the Duke with his
own hand, and he gave a great cry and fell down dead. Seeing it was no
use trying to help a dead man, and being in no hurry to trouble St.
Peter myself, I knocked down the strangler Michelotto, and making a
run for it, escaped with a whole skin. The body of the Duke was flung
into the Tiber, and was discovered by a charcoal monger of the
Ripetta, whom Cesare hanged at Tor di Nona, as a reward for his
intelligence. They buried the Duke, as you know, signore, in Santa
Maria del Popolo--poor man!"
"And you mean to say that this was never known to the Pope?"
"I never said anything about that, your worship; a secret cannot be
kept by half-a-dozen, and I dare swear our Lord knows all about it or
else the Cardinal Ascanio would hardly be in the Cesarini as he is.
These things, however, must not be spoken of in Rome. Men's tongues
should be weighted with lead when the Borgia's name crops up."
We had by this time come opposite the Monte Testaccio, that curious
mound made of old pottery, which lies towards the river, south-west of
the Ostian Gate, and so engrossed were we in our talk, that we did
not observe a large party of riders of both sexes, with an escort of
men-at-arms, coming at a hand gallop from our right, straight in our
direction. Our attention was however sharply drawn to the fact by the
cry of an equerry who was riding well in advance of the others, and
this man shouted:
"The road! The road! Way for His Holiness! Way! Way!"
We drew off at once to the side, Jacopo dismounting and sinking to his
knees. I however contented myself with uncovering, and watching with
no little astonishment the party as they came up. They were evidently
returning from hawking, and at the head of the clump of riders were
two men in full Turkish costume.
"Who are those Turks?" I asked Jacopo, and the knave still kneeling,
and holding his hands up in supplication, answered hurriedly--
"One is the Soldan Djem, excellency--O Lord, I trust we may not be
hanged as an afternoon's amusement--the other, the fair one, old
Alexander VI. himself--O Lord! What cursed luck! Kneel, excellency; it
is our only chance."
"Tush!" I replied, and remembered at once that the brother of Bajazet,
the Grand Turk, was a hostage in Rome, practically a prisoner in the
hands of Alexander, a legacy he had inherited from the Cibo, and which
brought him forty thousand ducats annually. I could understand Djem in
Eastern costume, but the Pope masquerading in broad delight as a Moor!
It was as wonderful as it was disgusting to me. And then the
remembrance of Corte's daughter came to my mind, and as they
approached, I could hardly refrain from making a dash to rid the world
of the monster who sat in St. Peter's chair. I barely saluted as they
passed, but Jacopo roared out for a blessing, and the papal hand
airily cast a benediction at us. Alexander was apparently in a high
good-humour, for, turning in his saddle, he made some joking remark to
a lady who rode a trifle behind him, whereat she laughed loudly, a
harsh unmusical laugh, and glanced at me with a half-amused air, from
under her heavy lashes as she went by. The rest of the party,
spurring, laughing and chattering were a few yards behind; and as they
clattered on to the road, Djem, giving a wild shout of _Allah_!
_Allah!_ threw the reins on the neck of his barb, and galloped through
the gate at full speed, followed by Alexander and the rest of the
riders, who urging their mounts to a racing pace, and, both men and
women, yelling in imitation of the Moor, vanished through the gate
after him in a whirlwind of dust. So quickly did all this happen, that
I had hardly time to observe the faces of those who passed me, and
indeed, so astonished was I, that I had scarce room in my mind for any
other feeling. I had of course heard wild tales of the Vatican, and
strange and horrible stories of the Borgia himself, indeed there was
one crime that should have brought down God's lightning on the man,
for all that he was the Vicar of Christ; but I never for one moment
conceived it possible that Alexander could so far forget his place as
to appear in public robed as a heathen, and gallop through the streets
of Rome like a drunken madman.
When they had gone, Jacopo arose from his knees, and dusting them with
his hands whilst he looked up at me, said: "_Corpo di Bacco!_ But I
gave up all for lost. I vow a candle to St. Mary of--I forget
where--but to the shrine nearest to the place we dine, for this lucky
escape."
"Come, sirrah!" I said, a little annoyed, "mount. There never was any
danger."
"Your excellency is pleased to say so," he replied, swinging himself
into the saddle, "but if you saw two old men and a half-dozen old
women strung up for merely blocking the way, as I did at Tor di Nona,
perhaps your worship would think as I do."
I made no reply, allowing Jacopo the run of his tongue to relieve his
feelings, and we went on slowly until we reached the gate. Here I
spoke, "As you know Rome better than I do, Jacopo, you had best lead
the way; but I want to pass by the two houses of my family before we
make for the Strangers' Quarters, where we must find a lodging for the
night."
"Very well, your worship!" and Jacopo drew a little to the front.
"There they go," he said, shading his eyes with his hands, and turning
to the left, where a dun cloud of dust on the Via della Marmorata
marked the progress of the Borgia. "The best way, signore," he
continued, "is over the hill; we will get a view from there, and then
passing by the places you want to see, make for a quiet hostel I know
of in the Strangers' Quarters."
Following him, we rode up the Aventine, until we reached the old wall
of Servius Tullius, here we stopped to observe the view. To the west
and south-west we could see the green of the Campagna merging into the
distant grey of the Roman Maremma, whilst beyond that a clear blue
line, below the flush of the coming sunset, marked the sea. Beneath us
lay the Tiber and the Island, the yellow water of the river stirred
into ripples by the breeze, and looking from the distance like
hammered brass. Beyond the Tiber rose Monte Gianicolo, behind which
the top of the Vatican Hill was just visible. To the north the view
was a little shut in by the Palatine and the church of St. Prisca
above us, and far off rose the cone of Soratte. North-east and east
lay the Palatine, the Esquiline, with the campaniles of Santa Maria
Maggiore and San Pietro in Vincoli. Over Monte Coelio we could see the
heights of the Sabine Hills, and running our eyes along the Appian
Way, we could almost descry the Alban Lake, the mountains being
distinctly visible. We stayed for a few moments drinking in the view,
and then going onwards, turned north-west, past St. Prisca, and began
the descent, by a winding way, held in by vineyards. Coming down we
caught a glimpse of the three churches of the Aventine, namely S.
Sabina, S. Maria Aventina, and St. Alessio, which was held by the
monastery of St. Jerome, whose walls rose hard at hand. A look to the
right showed us the Circus Maximus, above which towered a huge obelisk
surrounded by four lions. At length we came to the Vicola di San
Sabina, and at the corner of the street rose the grey walls and square
tower of the castle of the Savelli. I drew rein, and looked at it with
a bitter heart, and a sigh I could not control escaped me, as I saw
the breeze catch and spread to the wind the silken folds of the
standard of the Chigi, who bore quartered on their shield the star of
the Savelli and the tree of De la Rovere. It flaunted there, in all
the insolent pomp of a new house, whose moneybags were full, and the
sight of it was enough for me. Jacopo must have caught the look on my
face, for he said kindly--
"Who knows, excellency--luck may turn."
Well meant as the words were, they jarred on me, and without replying
I moved on, silently raising my sword to the salute, as I passed the
grim gates from which my ancestors held the road as far as the river,
and almost held Rome itself.
As we went past the Island, I did not even raise my head to see the
Theatre of Marcellus, within which lay another and the oldest of our
family houses, having come to us through Pierleone towards the close
of the eleventh century.
Jacopo was for going straight on past the monastery of the Aracoeli,
on the Capitol; but unluckily I discovered that my horse had cast a
shoe, and this was a matter not to be neglected. So we turned to the
right, and entered the Campo Vaccino, formerly the Forum of Rome. It
being now sunset, here were collected hundreds of oxen and buffaloes,
and from the height of Monte Caprino we could hear the bleating of the
herds of goats which were pastured thereon, and the tinkling of their
bells as they moved slowly down towards their shelter for the night. A
hundred fires were blazing cheerfully, and served to dissipate the
blue vapour which began to hang over the place. Round these fires were
groups of people, mostly countrymen, who seemed in the best of
spirits, as they listened to songs, or watched numbers of their party,
who danced merrily to the tune of a pipe. Hard by were a number of
sheds, used by mechanics, and the blaze, which showed a forge in work,
soon attracting our attention, we made there at once, and had the
horse attended to.
Whilst the smith was beating out a shoe, I sat down on a rough bench,
my horse being fastened to a wooden post, and Jacopo holding his nag
by the bridle paced up and down, occasionally stamping his feet on the
ground to free them, as he said, from the ants. In other words he was
suffering slightly from cramp. To my right was a large crowd,
evidently enjoying a show of jugglery, and from their cries of
wonderment and pleasure, they seemed to be having their money's worth.
So I rose and elbowed my way to a good place, unfortunately only in
time to see the end of the affair. The juggler was robed in a doctor's
gown, and after performing a trick, he distributed nostrums for
various ailments, free of payment. Imagine my surprise, in recognising
in him no other than Mathew Corte; and as I came up, he placed a
tambourine in his little dog's mouth, and bade him carry it round for
subscriptions. Coppers were freely flung in, and as the little animal
stopped before me, I dropped in a florin, and stooped to pat its head.
As I rose I caught Corte's eye, and saw he knew me, but as he made no
sign I stayed quiet. Collecting his money, the doctor bowed his
thanks, and began packing up the instruments of his trade. I went back
to my seat, and watched the smith at work on my horse, thinking that
Corte must have somehow come into funds, and wondering how he had
managed it. After a little time I felt a touch on my shoulder, and
turning round saw him beside me. I invited him to a seat, inquiring
after his health.
"It grows better day by day," he answered, "now that my work is begun.
And you, signore?"
"I can say the same," I answered; "I grow better day by day, now that
my work is begun."
"There is a favour I ask, Messer Donati," he went on.
"What is it?"
"It is this, and do not think me ungrateful. I am here playing a part.
We will meet again, perhaps, under different surroundings. All I ask
is that if we do, you will make no sign of recognition, nor mention to
anyone that you know me."
"As you wish, Messer Corte."
"A hundred thanks, and yet another thing--short reckonings make long
friends," and he pressed into my palm two gold pieces, the amount of
the sum I had left with him the night his daughter died. I had no
desire to take them back, not knowing how Corte stood; but he assured
me he would be deeply offended if I did not, and that he was well
provided with the sinews of war. Where he had got them I know not, and
of course I had no option but to receive back the money I had given
him, though I did this most unwillingly. When this was over, he
pressed my hand once more, and, wishing me good night, hurried off.
By this time the blacksmith had completed his task, and we delayed no
longer, but went off at once. It was fortunate that Jacopo knew Rome
as he did, or we might have been hopelessly lost in the labyrinth of
streets, some of them in total ruin, some of them entirely
uninhabited, for at the time so hideous was the misgovernment of the
city, that all who could do so had fled from Rome, and those who
remained could not have exceeded thirty thousand in number, of whom at
least ten thousand, men and women, were beings who had lost all claim
to the respect of mankind, and were capable of almost any crime. These
are hard words, but true, nor indeed have I ever seen a place where
all that was bad was so shamelessly exposed, as in Rome when Roderigo
Borgia was Pope. At length we reached the Strangers' Quarters, but
Jacopo's hostel was not to be found, and after searching for it in
vain, we were content to pull up before the door of a small inn built
on the lower slope of Monte Pincio, barely a bow-shot from S. Trinita
de' Monte, the church erected by Charles of France in 1495, and a
little beyond the convent of the Dames du Sacre Coeur. I cannot say
that the hostel was an inviting-looking place; in fact it was little
better than one of the common _osterie_ or wineshops with which Rome
abounded; but it was too late to pick and choose, and for the night at
least, I determined to stay here. Our first duty was to attend to the
horses, which we had stabled in stalls, immediately below the room to
be occupied by me, Jacopo having to put up with lodgings in the
stables for the night. After the beasts had been fed and groomed, I
set myself to a plain dinner, washed down with the contents of a
straw-covered _mezzo fiasco_ of Frascati. Jacopo waited on me, and
when I was done, contentedly devoured the remainder of the _manzo_ or
boiled beef, and cooled his throat with a bottle of Marino, which I
presented to him. Whilst he was thus engaged, I went down and had
another look at the horses, and as I patted their necks, and they
whinnied at me, I thought regretfully of the good beast who lay dead
on the Leghorn road, and wondered what had become of Brico, of whom,
notwithstanding his villainy, I could hardly think of without smiling.
It was in truth strange that a man, so arrant a poltroon at heart,
should desert his natural occupation of a lackey, to play the bravo,
and pose as a soldier. How he had ever even obtained the rank of
ancient was a matter of surprise and wonder to me. At length I
dismissed him from my mind, and coming back, found Jacopo at the end
of his meal and his bottle. It was late enough now, and giving him
warning to sleep lightly, and to arouse me at once if necessity arose,
for I liked not the look of the place, I climbed up the ladder leading
to the loft above the stables, which was to serve me as a chamber for
the night.