A Franciscan Pope and a Franciscan Cardinal.—A notable illustration
of the proverb concerning mendicant's rides.—The Nemesis of Despotism.
The first news that reached the Court of Milan, after the return of the
Duke, full of gratified vanity and glorification from his progress, was
that of the death of Pope Paul II.,—that superb old man, who, if he
had none other of the qualities befitting the head of the Church, yet
at least looked every inch a Pope; of whom one of the chroniclers of
the time says, that not having succeeded very well in his attempts at
literary culture, "he determined to make his pontificate reputable by
ornamental pomp, in which his majestic presence, and pre-eminently tall
and noble person helped him not a little, giving him, as it did, the
appearance of a new Aaron, venerable and reverend beyond that of any
other Pontiff."
And the tidings of the death of this magnificent lay-figure Pope were
very shortly followed by the yet more interesting news of the election
of his successor, on the 9th of August, 1471.
[Sidenote: A FRIAR POPE.]
This successor was Francesco della Rovere, who had risen from the cell
of a Franciscan friar by his merit as a scholar and theologian, and
by his eloquence as a preacher, to be first, General of his order,
then Cardinal; and now reached, as Sixtus IV., the highest aim of an
ecclesiastic's ambition. He was the son of a poor fisherman of the
coast near Savona. For the fiction of the heralds, who found for him
a place in the genealogy of the noble family of the same name, was an
afterthought of the time, when such a relationship was acceptable to
all the parties concerned. For though the Borghesi decidedly objected,
as we have seen, to own any connection with a _roturiere_ saint, the
Della Rovere were well pleased enough to find a kinsman in a Pope,
whose greatness manifested an immediate tendency to take a quite
terrestrial and tangible shape.
For this barefooted mendicant friar—the vowed disciple of that St.
Francis whom no degree of poverty would satisfy short of meeting his
death naked and destitute on the bare earth—this monk, sworn to
practise an humility abject in the excess of its utter self-abnegation,
was the first of a series of popes who one after the other sacrificed
every interest of the Church, waded mitre deep in crime and bloodshed,
and plunged Italy into war and misery, for the sake of founding a
princely family of their name.
It is curious to observe, that generally throughout the pontifical
history, scandalously infamous popes and tolerably decent popes, are
found in bunches, or series of six or eight in succession; a striking
proof of the fact that when they have been of the better sort, the
amelioration has been due to some force of circumstance operative from
without. Never were they worse, with perhaps one or two exceptions,
than during the century which preceded the first quickly-crushed
efforts of the Reformation in Italy—from about 1450, that is to say,
down to 1550. Competing Protestantism then began to act on the Roman
Church exactly as competing Methodism acted on the Anglican Church
three centuries later; and a series of Popes of a different sort was
the result.
But the conduct of the great family-founding popes, which strikes us,
looking at it through the moral atmosphere of the nineteenth century,
as so monstrous, wore a very different aspect even to the gravest
censors among their contemporaries. The Italian historians of the time
tell us of the "royal-mindedness" and "noble spirit" of this ambitious
Franciscan, Pope Sixtus, in a tone of evident admiration. And the gross
worldliness, the low ambition, and the unscrupulous baseness, of which
he may fairly be accused, did not seem even to Du Plessis Mornai,[53]
and the French Protestant writers of that stamp, to be sufficient
ground for denouncing him and the system which produced him. Otherwise
they would not have disgraced themselves and their cause by asserting
that he was guilty of hideous and nameless atrocities, for which, as
the less zealous but more candid Bayle[54] has sufficiently shown,
there is no foundation either in fact or probability.
[Sidenote: A POPE'S NEPHEW.]
The new Pope lost no time in turning the papacy to the best possible
account, in the manner which had for him the greatest attractions.
And it so happened that he was singularly well supplied with the raw
material from which the edifice of family greatness he was bent on
raising was to be furnished forth. He had no less than nine nephews:
five of them the sons of his three brothers, and four the sons of his
three sisters!—a field for nepotism sufficiently extensive to satisfy
the "high-spirited" ambition of even a Sixtus IV. But among all this
wealth of nephews, the two sons of his eldest sister, Girolamo and
Pietro Riario, were distinguished by him so pre-eminently, that a
great many contemporary writers, thinking it strange that he should
prefer them to those of his own name, have asserted that these young
men were in fact his sons.[55] Giuliano della Rovere, the eldest of
all the nine, who received a cardinal's hat from his uncle, but could
obtain from him no further favour, was nevertheless destined, as Pope
Julius II., to become by far the most important pillar of the family
greatness. The course of Catherine's fortunes, however, will justify
the present reader in confining his attention, as all Rome was doing in
the year 1472, to the two fortunate young men on whom the pontifical
sun shone brightest.
Peter Riario was, like his uncle, a Franciscan monk, and was twenty-six
years old when the latter was elected. Within a very few months he
became Bishop of Treviso, Cardinal-Archbishop of Seville, Patriarch of
Constantinople, Archbishop of Valentia, and Archbishop of Florence!
From his humble cell, from his ascetic board, from his girdle of rope
and woollen frock renewed yearly, and baked occasionally to destroy the
vermin bred in its holy filth, this poverty-vowed mendicant suddenly
became possessed of revenues so enormous, that his income is said to
have been larger than that of all the other members of the Sacred
College put together! The stories which have been preserved[56] of
his reckless and unprecedented expenditure at Rome, would seem almost
incredible were they not corroborated by the fact that he had in a
very short time, besides dissipating the enormous wealth assigned to
him, incurred debts to the amount of sixty thousand florins! He gave a
banquet to the French ambassadors which cost twenty thousand crowns,
a sum equal to more than ten times the same nominal amount at the
present day. "Never," says the Cardinal of Pavia, "had pagan antiquity
seen anything like it. The whole country was drained of all that was
rare and precious; and the object of all was to make a display, such
as posterity might never be able to surpass.[57] The extent of the
preparations, their variety, the number of the dishes, the price of the
viands served up, were all registered by inspectors, and were _put into
verse_, of which copies were profusely circulated, not only in Rome,
but throughout Italy, and even beyond the Alps."
Girolamo, the brother of this spendthrift monk, and equally a
favourite of his uncle, was a layman; and the process of enriching and
aggrandising him was necessarily a somewhat slower one. Not even a
fifteenth-century pope could accomplish so monstrous an iniquity and
insult to humanity as the promotion of Peter Riario in any other branch
or department of human affairs save the Church! Girolamo, however, who
was, we are told, "not literate," was at once made Captain-General of
the pontifical troops, and Governor of the Castle of St. Angelo. And
for his further advancement measures were adopted, which, among other
advantages, have conferred upon him that of occupying a prominent place
in these pages.
[Sidenote: SLIP BETWEEN CUP AND LIP.]
For it so happened, that the elevation of Sixtus IV. to the papal
throne turned out to be the "slip" which dashed from poor Guidazzo's
lips the cup he was waiting for in the shape of the bride, who was
to bring back to him as her dower his lost principality of Imola. The
tidings from Rome, which were astonishing all history with accounts
of the wonderful and unprecedented "greatness" achieved by the Riario
brothers, produced a prodigious sensation at the court of Milan.
Here was evidently a rising sun worth a little worship! And now, how
valuable became our little "legitimatised" Kate, as a means of hooking
on our ducal fortunes to the career of this "high-spirited" Pope, and
the magnificent nephews so evidently marked out for high destinies!
What was Guidazzo and his little state of Imola in comparison to the
favourite nephew of a "high-spirited" Pope? And besides, there is no
reason to give up Imola, because we give up Guidazzo. Imola is in our
own hands, and will make a dower for our daughter by no means unworthy
of the consideration of a Franciscan monk's reputed son, about to start
on his career of sovereign prince. So Guidazzo may go whistle for his
patrimony!
The gorgeous accounts of the Cardinal Peter Riario's unprecedented
splendour and reckless prodigality especially touched a sympathetic
chord of admiration in the bosom of Maria Galeazzo. The splendid Duke,
who lavished on upholstery, festivals, and courtezans, the substance
wrung from a groaning people, recognised a kindred spirit in the
princely churchman, who expended the revenues of a dozen sees on a
banquet and revel. The spirit of noble rivalry, too, was awakened in
the Ducal bosom. Here was a man in whose eyes it was worth while to
shine, and whose admiration would confer real glory.
It was to the Cardinal, accordingly, that Galeazzo caused the first
cautious overtures to be made; and the reception of them was such as
to encourage him to entreat his Eminence to honour his poor court with
a visit. The Cardinal was nothing loth to accept the invitation. He,
too, recognised in the Duke of Milan that "greatness" which was most
calculated to excite his sympathy and admiration. He, too, felt, that
here was a spirit of his own calibre,—one with whom he would willingly
pull together in the arduous work of furthering their mutual fortunes,
and vie in the ostentation of magnificence.
The Cardinal's visit to Milan was accordingly arranged with as little
delay as possible. He left Rome with a train more like that of the most
magnificent of popes, say the chroniclers, than what might befit a
cardinal, and reached Milan on the 12th of September, 1473.[58] Great
were the preparations made to receive him, and bitter were the groans
of the magnificent Duke's hapless subjects under the new extortions
necessitated by their master's gorgeous "hospitality." The glittering
cavalcade of the lay prince met the no less glittering cavalcade of
the ecclesiastical prince at the gates of the city; and, as those were
"ages of faith," both proceeded at once to the cathedral to inaugurate
the pleasure and business of the meeting by a solemn "Te Deum." So
thoroughly did the sanctifying influences of religion, as has been
often remarked, pervade every affair of life in those happy times!
[Sidenote: DUCAL AMUSEMENTS.]
All Milan was witness to the festal doings on this notable
meeting,—the processioning, revelling, tailoring, gilding, and
reckless profusion, which marked the noble rivalry between these two
great men. This friendly emulation was pushed to an intensity, which
seems unhappily to have led the lay champion in the generous contest
to have recourse to disloyal arms against his rival. For a tell-tale
gossip of the pestilent race of scribblers has recorded that the
great Galeazzo purchased secretly a quantity of imitation gems, and
passed them off for real;[59] an anecdote extremely creditable to
the fifteenth century artificers in that line. In all the ordinary
pastimes and pleasures of the princes of that day, of whatever sort,
the splendid Cardinal, though so recently a mendicant friar, was able
and willing to run neck and neck with his secular host. But some of
Maria Galeazzo's favourite enjoyments were not ordinary. He was ever
an avid eye-witness of the executions, tortures, and mutilations,
which his duty as a sovereign obliged him frequently to inflict on his
subjects. We have indeed on record a sufficient number of instances
of princes who had this taste, to justify our deeming it part of a
despotic ruler's natural idiosyncrasy. But Galeazzo had stranger, if
less maleficent, propensities. He revelled in the sight of death, and
human decay. Some strange touch of that insanity, which so frequently,
and with such salutary warning, develops itself in minds exposed to
the poison that wells out from the possession of unchecked power,
influenced, as in such cases it is apt to do, his moral rather than
his intellectual nature. He would cause himself to be brought into
the presence of the suffering, the dying, and the dead, for the mere
pleasure of witnessing pain and destruction. He would rifle graves
to gaze on the process of corruption, and haunted charnel-houses,
impelled by the instinct of the ghoul, rather than by any touch of
that sentiment, which impels the morbid fanatic to seek in such
contemplatio a moving sermon on the vanity of human wishes. This
man, whose wishes, hopes, and ambitions were as unbridled in their
violence as low and vain in their aims and scope, would hurry from the
death-chamber to the revel, and from the charnel-house hasten to plot
long-sighted intrigues in the council-hall.
For the latter the pleasure-loving Cardinal was as ready as for gala
making and revelry. Long conferences were held between the host and
his guest in the secrecy of the Duke's private chambers. But princes
are more than other men subjected to the vigilant surveillance of
those who form their pomp or minister to their service. And their
secrets, therefore, are rarely absolutely secret. Accordingly, Corio,
the page, chamberlain, and annalist—a dangerous pluralism for better
sovereigns than Galeazzo Sforza!—Corio informs us, though qualifying
his assertion with a cautious "si dice," that these prolonged
discussions had for their object the terms of a bargain between the
Duke and the Cardinal, by virtue of which the former was to be exalted
into King of Lombardy by the acquisition of sundry provinces from the
smaller princes around him, and especially by the conquest of the
terra-firma possessions of Venice; while the latter was to be insured
the succession to his uncle on the papal throne. This statement of the
chamberlain and page has been believed by most subsequent historians.
Verri, without any qualification, writes that such was the fact.
Rosmini contents himself with saying that such is believed to have been
the case.
[Sidenote: DONE AND DONE.]
But alas! for the short span which should forbid such long-sighted
hopes. To men who live such lives as his Eminence the Cardinal Riario,
the span is apt to be especially short. And as for the Duke ... there
are Cola Montano the scholar, and his three young pupils, all the time
of this splendid revelry in Milan, reading Roman history harder than
ever!
Meanwhile the other business, which had to be settled between the
high contracting powers—the marriage of Catherine to Girolamo
Riario—though not unattended with those difficulties which naturally
arise between parties intent on driving a hard bargain, was at length
brought to a satisfactory conclusion. The Duke was to give his daughter
the city and territory of Imola, and sixteen thousand ducats, besides
certain estates in the Milanese for her separate use. The Pope was to
give Girolamo forty thousand ducats, and "expectations;" which, in the
case of such a nephew of such a Pope, might fairly be reckoned at a
high figure.
The youthful bride, just past her eleventh birthday, was accordingly
betrothed publicly to Girolamo Riario, who performed his part of the
ceremony by proxy. The young couple had never seen each other; but
we are told much of the mutual admiration of the future brother and
sister-in-law for each other. The Cardinal was loud in his praises of
the beauty, grace, and accomplishments of the hot-house forced child,
who was to be made so important a stepping-stone to his brother's
fortunes. And she was dazzled and delighted with his magnificence and
splendour, and especially charmed, we are assured,[60] by his eloquence!
The luxuriously-nurtured little lady, it may be fancied, would not
have appreciated so highly the "eloquence" of the mendicant friar, had
he presented himself to her notice in his garb of some three years
previously. But when grave historians[61] assure us, that the fortunate
monk on his elevation "put on a lofty and imperial spirit," and when
all Italy was admiringly marvelling at his cost-despising splendour, a
little girl, and she the daughter of Galeazzo Sforza, may be excused
for being captivated by one, who appeared to possess in a higher degree
than any other man, all that her experience of life had taught her to
value.
When these matters had thus been satisfactorily settled, the Cardinal
prepared to bring his visit to a conclusion, and informed his host
of his intention to pass a short time at Venice before returning to
Rome. The Duke strongly urged him to abandon any such idea. The secret
schemes which they had been engaged in concocting, were mainly based
on the intended spoliation of the great republic. Uneasy suspicions,
as the chroniclers mention, had already been aroused in various
courts by the prolonged conferences of the Duke and his guest. The
Signory of Venice had proverbially long ears, and unscrupulous arms
at its command. It might well be, urged the Duke, that at the present
conjuncture, Venice might not be so safe a place of sojourn for his
Eminence as could be wished. Probably, also, Sforza had jealous
suspicions that Riario's business at Venice might possibly be to play
a double game,—to throw him over in case contingencies might arise to
make such a policy expedient,—and to prepare his way with the Signory
for any such eventualities.
At all events his representations and endeavours were in vain. The
Cardinal was bent on visiting Venice; and to Venice he went. In all
probability his leading motive was to exhibit his magnificence to
the nobles of perhaps the richest and most pleasure-loving capital in
Italy. Nowhere did that taste for show and festive pomp, which was
so especially his own, prevail to so insane a degree as among the
money-making nobles of the Queen of the Adriatic.
[Sidenote: COMPAGNIA DELLA CALZA.]
The celebrated "Compagnia della Calza," or Guild of the Stocking,
was flourishing there, and distinguishing itself by extravagances
altogether in the taste of the brilliant Franciscan Cardinal. This
stocking brotherhood, which derived its name from the circumstance of
each member wearing parti-coloured hose, differently quartered with
brilliant colours, was instituted by the wealthy young nobles,—the
_jeunesse dorée_ of pleasure-loving Venice—for the avowed purpose of
encouraging magnificence in dress, and of providing opportunities for
the exhibition of it by organising those gala spectacles and pomps,
which so many of the gorgeous artists of the republic have perpetuated
on their glowing canvas. The description[62] given us of their costume
is made up of velvet, satin, embroidery, cloth of gold, brocade and
jewels. On the long pointed hood which hung at their backs, was
embroidered the heraldic cognisance of each man's family; which was
repeated on that part of the black or red cap, which hung pendant over
the ear. The hair, which was kept as long and as abundant as possible,
was tied up with a cord of silk. The doublets generally of velvet, were
worn with slashed sleeves showing a portion of fine linen underneath,
and tied with silken cords ornamented with tassels of solid gold. In
the hand it was the mode to carry a ball containing perfumes.
The Cardinal, Archbishop of so many churches, was ambitious of
exhibiting his magnificence among these illustrious youths, and taking
a part in their gorgeous revels. Despite the prognostications of the
Duke of Milan, he was received with all honour by the Venetians, hailed
as a worthy compeer by the heroes of the parti-coloured stocking, fêted
to his heart's content, and taken leave of, when towards the end of
the year he started on his return to Rome, with every demonstration of
respect and friendship.
But there were ancient Senators in Venice, very gravely sitting in one
of those thick-walled smaller chambers on the second floor of the Ducal
palace, reading despatches in cypher from secret agents, taking secret
counsel together, and making secret provision for the safety of the
republic, while the _jeunesse dorée_ and the gay and gallant guest, who
had so recently been plotting against the Queen of the Adriatic, were
dazzling the citizens with their gilding and parti-coloured hose....
And it did so happen, that the young Cardinal died from some cause or
other, a few days after his arrival in Rome.
Mnemosyne says nothing; since she knows nothing on the subject,
beyond the facts here set down. But she may be permitted to observe,
on the one hand, that fifteenth-century dissipation was particularly
destructive of human life, and that the Cardinal had evidently for some
time past been leading a life to kill any man;—and on the other hand,
that as a specimen of the good old times, the very general contemporary
suspicion that St. Mark's lion _had_ stretched out on this occasion a
long and stealthy paw, comes much to the same thing as evidence of
character, as if the deed itself were chronicled.[63]
[Sidenote: CARDINAL PETER'S EPITAPH.]
The Cardinal died on the 5th of January, 1474, to the great grief of
Pope Sixtus, says Corio,[64] and to the infinite delight of the whole
college of Cardinals. The indignation caused by the accumulation of so
many scandalous vices, and so many rich benefices on one pair of purple
shoulders, manifested itself after the wonted fashion of the eternal
city in a volley of epigrams and satirical epitaphs more savage than
witty. One somewhat to the following effect,[65] was found placarded on
the monument raised over his remains by the afflicted Pope:
"Once more let worth, and long lost virtue reign,
And vice be banish'd from its throne in Rome!
Rogues, wretches, profligates, and all their train
No more shall find on Latian soil their home;
For he, the plague-spot of our church and state,
Peter, is gone to meet in hell his fate."
Orthodox Burriel, however, assures us, that all the malicious
outpourings of envious hate were silenced and put to shame by the
following victorious couplet in the genuine decorous tombstone style.
"Sage in his prime!—'tis that has caused our tears;
Death from his virtues deemed him full of years."
Among the select minority, who truly mourned the premature death of
this youthful sage, the Duke of Milan and his daughter may be safely
reckoned. The marriage arranged wholly by him might very possibly run
risk of being broken off. And in any case the Duke's ulterior and more
ambitious schemes were nipped in the bud.
Catherine was, however, as her biographer assures us, "infinitely
rejoiced and comforted" by an early courier from Rome, bearing
assurances, that her unseen bridegroom and his august kinsman had no
intention of allowing the Cardinal's death to make any difference in
the arrangements for the marriage.
Let the reader's mind dwell a moment on the "infinite rejoicing and
comfort" of this eleven-year-old princess, at the news that she was not
after all to lose her marriage with an unseen stranger;—remembering
the while that, making allowance for longitude and latitude, we
Northerns may for "eleven" read thirteen or fourteen.
The Duke prudently hastened to make peace with his powerful and
dangerous neighbours, the Venetians, and having accomplished this,
soothed his disappointment by giving a magnificent reception to some
envoys sent to him by the Sultan of Egypt; a circumstance so novel in
Europe, as greatly to exalt, we are told, the name and glory of the
house of Sforza among neighbouring, and even among transalpine, courts
and princes; and which naturally and necessarily required, in order to
do due honour to the occasion, new taxes on the subjects of a dynasty
so distinguished, new pretexts for compelling rich citizens to purchase
pardon for imaginary offences, and new perversions of law for the
purpose of colouring confiscations.
[Sidenote: THE ROMAN HISTORY READINGS COMPLETED.]
These, however, were little matters, which passed in the shade fitted
for such things. The broad sunlight of prosperity shone gloriously on
the house of Sforza, on its apparently durably established fortunes,
and on the gala doings in the gay streets of sunny Milan. The poor
might grumble low down in the social depths out of hearing about
scarcity and dearness of bread; a few citizens might groan over ducats
or lands abstracted, or wives or daughters abducted for the needs or
pleasures of their gracious sovereign; but the admirable principles of
civil and religious duty and subordination, which prevailed in those
ages of faith, were such, that in all probability the great Galeazzo
might have continued to preserve order, and save society in Milan,
had not those gloomy students, whom we have from time to time caught
sight of poring over their crabbed folios, while the merry city was
gazing at some brilliant and costly pageant or other, brought their
studies to a conclusion towards the end of the year 1476. For though
it did so happen,[66] that two out of Cola Montano's three pupils owed
to the Duke's profligacy a sister's shame, while the family of the
third had been unjustly deprived by him of an inheritance, yet the
historians, who have recorded the facts, seem to be unanimously of
opinion, that had it not been for those pernicious historical readings,
they would have borne these misfortunes as meekly as hundreds of their
fellow-citizens did similar mishaps, instead of posting themselves at
the door of the cathedral on St. Stephen's day in December of the year
1476, and there stabbing to death their sovereign lord in the midst of
his guards, and of the assembled crowd.
The names of these misled youths were Giovanni Andrea Lampugnani,
Girolamo Olgiato, and Carlo Visconti. The first was killed by one of
the Duke's attendants immediately after the commission of his crime.
Visconti was arrested, and ordered to immediate execution by being
quartered. Olgiato escaped from the church, and fled to his father's
house. But father and brothers alike refused to afford him any shelter.
His mother alone found means to persuade a certain priest to hide the
murderer in his house. After three days' concealment, the unhappy youth
crept forth to ascertain the aspect of the city, and the feelings of
the citizens thus liberated from their tyrant. The first sight that met
his eyes was the corpse of his friend and fellow criminal Lampugnani,
dragged through the streets by an exulting and ferocious rabble. This
horrible proof of the futility of all his hopes, and of the judgment
passed upon his deed by his fellow-citizens, so drove him to despair,
that he at once gave himself up into the hands of justice. On his trial
for the crime, seeing that none were left alive who could be injured
by the recital, he gave a full account of the whole conspiracy. And
from this document are drawn the narratives of the historians. He was
condemned to be torn to pieces by iron pincers, "tanagliato;"—that
being the proper juridical term to indicate a by no means unprecedented
mode of punishment.
"Stabit vetus memoria facti" were the last words uttered by the dying
regicide, as the living flesh was being rent from the quivering
muscles. And indeed the sad story has been made the subject of a
tragedy much praised by Milanese[67] writers; but which does not seem,
unfortunately, to have so moralised the tale, as to make it likely that
it should at present be represented in the theatres of that city.
[Sidenote: THE DUKE'S CHARACTER.]
And, truly, when we find a man in the position, and of the character
of Verri, writing a grave and learned history at the close of the
last century, and representing in its well-considered pages the deed
of Girolamo Olgiato as similar in kind to that of Oliver Cromwell, we
cannot but become sensible how wholly and irreconcileably different
the views and moral judgments of a law-respecting Anglo-Saxon on such
subjects, must needs be from those of a people, to whom, for centuries,
LAW has been presented only as the expression of a despot's
will. To the inmost heart of nations so trained amiss, we may be sure,
that "the wild justice of revenge" will commend itself with a force of
honest conviction, proportioned ever to the amount of wrong suffered,
and not to the heinousness of wrong done, by those who, at their own
risk and peril, take upon themselves the execution of it.
Thus died at the age of thirty-two years the magnificent Maria Galeazzo
Sforza, our heroine's father. Did these pages profess to give a
biography of him instead of his daughter, it would be necessary to
follow the chroniclers of his time through the long and sickening list
of his cruelties and abominations. This we may spare ourselves. For the
purpose of showing what tendencies and dispositions his daughter may
be supposed to have inherited, and what were the manners and habits of
the home in which, and from which, she received her early impressions
and education, it will be sufficient, in addition to what has been
already said, to mention one or two of the facts which history has put
on record against this man.
There is every reason to believe that he murdered his mother by
poison. All the authorities concur in representing her as an excellent
and very able princess, whose wisdom and energy ensured his quiet
succession to his father's throne. He very soon became jealous of her
authority; drove her by his ill treatment from Milan; and is believed
to have poisoned her at the first halting-place of her journey from
that capital towards her own dower city, Cremona. His guilt was very
generally credited by his contemporaries, and subsequent writers concur
in thinking their suspicions in all probability just.
Enough has probably been said in previous pages to give the reader some
idea of the profligate debauchery which marked the whole course of his
life. It is unnecessary to transfer to an English page the details
of cynical immorality, mingled with a ferocious cruelty, which seems
to mark them to a certain degree with the character of insanity, as
recorded by the old writers,[68] especially by Corio, his own personal
attendant. It is sufficient to have drawn attention to the influences
which must have been exercised by the moral atmosphere of such a court,
and such a home on the young bride, who is about to step from it to a
court of her own.