Next day I insisted on getting up. Andrea helped me to dress, and we
went out together.
'No one would mistake you for a gentleman to-day,' he laughed.
My clothes were shabby enough in the first instance, and in the scuffle
of the previous day they had received usage which did not improve them;
moreover, I had a two days' beard, and my head muffled up in bandages,
so that I could well imagine that my appearance was not attractive. But
I was too sore at heart to smile at his remark, or make retort. I could
not help thinking of the terrible scene which awaited us.
We found the piazza crowded. Opposite the Riario Palace was erected a
stage on which were seats, but these were empty. The sky was blue, the
sun shone merrily on the people, and the air was soft and warm. Nature
was full of peace and goodwill; but in men's hearts was lust of
blood.... A flourish of trumpets announced the approach of Caterina and
her suite. Amid ringing cheers she entered the square, accompanied by
her half-brother, the Duke of Milan, and by the Protonotary Savello.
They took their seats on the platform, the Duke on her right, Savello on
her left. She turned to the priest and talked most amiably to him; he
smiled and bowed, but his agitation was shown by the twitching of his
hands fidgeting with the lappet of his cloak.
A beating of drums was heard, followed by a sudden silence. A guard of
soldiers entered the piazza, tramping steadily with heavy footsteps;
then two steps behind them a single figure, without a doublet, hatless,
his shirt all torn, his hands tied behind his back. It was Marco
Scorsacana. The foul mob broke out into a yell at the sight of him; he
walked slowly, but with his head proudly erect, paying no heed to the
hooting and hissing which rang in his ears. On each side walked a
barefooted monk, bearing a crucifix.... He was followed by another troop
of soldiers, and after them came another bare-headed figure, his hands
also tied behind his back; but he kept his head bent over his chest and
his eyes fixed on the ground, shrinking at the yells of derision. Poor
Pietro! He, too, was accompanied by the solemn monks; the procession was
finished by the drummers, beating their drums incessantly, maddeningly.
They advanced to the platform, and there, the soldiers falling back, the
prisoners were left standing before their judges.
'Marco Scorsacana and Pietro Albanese,' said the Countess, in a clear,
calm voice, 'you have been found guilty of murder and treason; and as it
was you who cast the body of my dear husband out of the Palace window
on to the hard stones of the piazza, so you are sentenced to be hanged
from that same window, and your bodies cast down on to the hard stones
of the piazza.'
A murmur of approval came from the populace. Pietro winced, but Marco
turned to him and said something which I could not hear; but I saw the
glance of deep affection, and the answering smile of Pietro as he seemed
to take courage.
The Countess turned to Savello.
'Do you not agree that the judgment is just?'
'Most just!' he whispered.
'The protonotary says, "Most just!"' she called aloud, so that all
should hear. The man winced.
Marco looked at him scornfully, and said, 'I would ten times rather be
in my place than in yours.'
The Countess smiled at the priest and said, 'You see, I carry out the
will of God in doing unto others as they themselves have done.'
She made a sign, and the two men were led to the Palace and up the
stairs. The window of the Hall of Nymphs was thrown open, and a beam
thrust out, to which was attached a rope. Pietro appeared at the window,
with one end of the rope round his neck.
'Good-bye, sweet friend,' he said to Marco.
'Good-bye, Pietrino,' and Marco kissed him.
Then two men hurled him from the sill, and he swung in mid-air; a
horrible movement passed through his body, and it swayed from side to
side. There was a pause; a man stretched out with a sword and cut the
rope. From the people came a huge shout, and they caught the body as it
fell and tore it to pieces. In a few minutes Marco appeared at the
window, but he boldly sprang out into space, needing no help. In a
little while he was a hanging corpse, and in a little while more the mob
had fallen on him like wolves. I hid my face in my hands. It was awful!
Oh, God! Oh, God!
Then another beating of drums broke through the tumult. I looked up,
wondering what was coming. A troop of soldiers entered the square, and
after them an ass led by a fool with bells and bauble; on the ass was a
miserable old man, Orso Orsi.
'Oh,' I groaned. 'What are they going to do to him?'
A shout of laughter burst from the mob, and the clown flourished his
bauble and bowed acknowledgments from side to side. A halt was made
before the stage, and Caterina spoke again.
'Orso Orsi. You have been sentenced to see your palace destroyed before
your eyes--stone by stone.'
The people shouted, and a rush was made for the Orsi Palace. The old man
said nothing and showed no sign of hearing or feeling. I hoped that all
sensation had left him. The procession moved on until it came to the old
house, which stood already like a wreck, for the pillagers had left
nothing which could be moved. Then the work began, and stone by stone
the mighty building was torn to pieces. Orso looked on indifferently at
the terrible work, for no greater humiliation can be offered to the
Italian nobleman than this. The Orso Palace had stood three hundred
years, and the most famous architects, craftsmen and artists had worked
on it. And now it was gone.
The old man was brought back into the piazza, and once more the cruel
woman spoke.
'You have received punishment for yourself, Orso, and now you are to
receive punishment for your son. Make room!'