CHAPTER XIX.
From the rejoicing gates of Pisa--set free by the King of France from the burdensome yoke of Florence--the royal army took its way to the daughter of Fiesole. Steadily, though slowly it marched on, and Lorenzo Visconti led the van. Oh what thoughts, what struggles of feeling, what various emotions perplexed him when he saw the walls and towers of Florence rising before him! There his early infancy had passed after his father had perished in the successful effort to rid his country of a tyrant, but only, alas, to give her another. There had his youth been protected, his life saved, his education received, his fortunes cared for, his happiest days passed. And now he approached the cradle of his youth at the head of an invading army.
With his lance upon his thigh and his beaver raised he gazed upon the beautiful city with apprehension but not without hope. He knew that Florence had no power to resist; that her walls were too feeble, her towers not strong enough to make any successful defence against the tremendous train of artillery which followed the French army. He trembled to think of what might be the consequence of one bombard fired from those battlements, one gate closed upon the foe. The scenes of Vivizano returned to his imagination, and he thought he saw the forms of well known friends and early companions exposed to the licence and brutality of the cruel soldiery.
"I at least come not as an enemy," he thought, "and perchance if it be God's good will, I may do something in return for all that Florence has done for me."
He looked anxiously round as he continued his march, but he could see no signs of resistance. Now his eyes rested upon the calm Arno flowing on, alternately seen and lost; and then he caught a glimpse of the Mugnione, and a torrent but now a brook, rushing down from the Apennines. Many a winding road caught his eye, but nothing appeared upon them but trains of peasantry seemingly seeking shelter from the apprehended pillage by the light troops of the French army.
Many a time he sent a message back to the king to say that all was quiet and peaceable; and more than once he fell somewhat into the rear of his party to speak a word or two to some one in a litter, well guarded, which had followed during the last three days' march. But still all remained quiet, and he saw no reason to suppose that the rumors which had been current in the French camp had any foundation. Those rumours had imported, that the acts of Pierre de Medici, who had sought the King of France and humbly submitted to any terms which the monarch's council thought fit to dictate, had been disavowed by the Signoria, Pierre himself obliged to fly in disgrace, and that the citizens were resolved to defend their homes to the last. It is true that he had never seen such a number of peasants seeking the city before; and he remarked that there were few, if any, women, and no children amongst them. But there stood the gates wide open, with nothing but half a dozen armed men at some of the entrances to indicate that it was a fortified place. No order had been given to halt at any particular spot, and Lorenzo rode on till he was not more than three hundred yards from the Pisa gate, when a large party of the king's fouriers and harbingers, accompanied by a trumpeter, passed him at the gallop and rode straight up to the city. The trumpet blew, and admission for the King of France was demanded in a loud tone, when one of the officers on guard stepped forward and replied, "We have no orders to oppose the king's entrance."
Just at that moment the Cardinal Julian came up on a fine swift mule, followed by numerous cross bearers and attendants, and paused by the side of Lorenzo, saying, "Follow me into the city, my son. I have the king's order to that effect. We will first carry our young charge to the house of Madonna Francesca, and then both you and I may have some charitable work on hand to mediate between the monarch and the citizens."
"But whither does his majesty direct his own steps?" asked Lorenzo eagerly, "how shall we find him?"
"He goes direct to the palace of the Podesta," said the cardinal; "come on--come on, before the crowd of soldiery overtakes us."
The troop moved on and was the first body of regular soldiers to pass the gates. There was some noise and confusion, the fouriers, a loud and boisterous body of men, asking many questions of the Florentine soldiers at the guard-house, to which but sullen answers were returned; and Lorenzo judged it a point of duty to relieve the Tuscans of the charge of the gate and place a French guard there to ensure against anything like treachery. The cardinal coinciding, the change was soon made without resistance, and the troops passed on into the city. The day was dark, and the tall fortress-like houses of the streets looked sad and gloomy, though through the narrow windows of the massive walls peered forth a crowd of human faces watching in silence the passage of the French men-at-arms. No smile was upon any countenance, no look of admiration at the rich surcoats and glittering arms; but everything bore the same stern and gloomy aspect, and Lorenzo remarked that many of the persons he saw were heavily armed.
At length, in the Via Ghibelina, Julian de Rovera stopped his mule before a large heavy entrance-gate, and commanded one of his palfreniers to seek admittance. The whole cavalcade was eyed attentively by more than one person through a small iron-grated window at the side of the door, and though it was announced to the observers that no less a person than the Cardinal of St. Peter's sought admission to see his cousin, Mona Francesca, he was not permitted to enter till one or two embassies had passed between the wicket and the saloons above. At length he was suffered to pass into the court with his own train alone; but Lorenzo and his band, and even Leonora and her women, were kept waiting in the street, subject to the gaze of many an eye from the houses round.
The two young lovers did not fail to employ the time of expectation to the best advantage. It was a painful and somewhat embarrassing moment, and required both consolation and consideration. They were about to be separated, after having enjoyed unrestrained a period of sweet companionship and happy intimacy which falls to the lot of few young people so situated towards each other. Lorenzo leaned into the litter and spoke to her he loved with words little restrained by the presence of Mona Mariana, of whose kindness and discretion he was by this time well aware, and whom he had bound to himself for life by a more valuable present than any one else was at all likely to bestow.
What matters it what he said? It would be strangely uninteresting to others, though his words caused many an emotion in her to whom they were addressed, and sprang from many an emotion in his own heart. He sketched eager plans of future meeting; he proposed schemes for evading the strictness and severity of the lady Francesca, whom neither of them knew; he arranged the means of communication when the king's forward march should prevent the possibility of any personal intercourse.
Vain! vain! as every scheme of man regarding the future. Fate stands behind the door and laughs while lovers lay their plots. Half the schemes of Lorenzo were needless, and the other half proved impracticable.
The cardinal detained them but a short time, and when he returned Lorenzo found he had been throwing away stratagems.
"Haste! hand the dear child from her litter," he said, "and both of you come with me. Mona Francesca agrees to receive and protect her as her own child, provided you will give her the security of a French guard; for she mightily fears the Swiss and the Gascons. I have assured her that you will leave twenty men here for the present, and that I will obtain the consent of King Charles to your being quartered with all your troops in the court and the lower story; the men must be quartered somewhere, you know."
"Certainly," replied Lorenzo, with almost too much readiness, "and why not here--if it be the wish of your Eminence--as well as elsewhere?"
While speaking he advanced to the side of the litter, and aided Leonora to descend. She was somewhat paler than usual, for the feeling of being in a strange city, occupied suddenly by foreign troops, upon whom there was no knowing how soon a fierce and active population might rise, was more terrible to her than even the sight of actual war.
Expectation almost always goes beyond reality both in its fears and in its hopes. It is uncertainty which gives its sting to dread. The cardinal, however, took her by the hand and led her into the court-yard, where a few old men and two or three younger, but perhaps not more serviceable persons, were assembled in arms, and turning sharp to the right ascended the great staircase to the principal apartments of the palace. A magnificent hall and several large saloons intervened between the first landing and the smaller cabinet in which Mona Francesca awaited her visitors.
What a different personage presented herself at length to the eyes of Leonora and Lorenzo from that which either had expected to behold.
The one had pictured her distant cousin as a tall, thin, acerb-looking Madonna, more fitted for the cloister than the world. The other had figured her as a portly commanding dame, to whose behests all were to bow obsequiously. But there sat the future guardian of Leonora, the picture of good-humoured indolence. The remains of a very beautiful face, a countenance rather sweet than firm, a figure which might have once been pretty, but which was now approaching the obese, a pretty foot stretched out from beneath her dress, with fine hair and teeth, made up almost altogether the sum of Mona Francesca. She had been for ten years a virtuous wife. She had been for twelve or thirteen years a discreet and virtuous widow. She loved her ease and her independence too well to risk again matrimony, once tried, and with some feelings of devotion, and a good deal both of time and money to spare, she had gained with the clergy and with the religious orders of Florence almost the character of a saint--by doing nothing either wrong or right.
She welcomed Leonora kindly, and perhaps none the less that she was accompanied by a young and handsome cavalier,--for though her weaknesses never deviated into indiscretions, he had a great taste for the beautiful, and was a true connoisseur of masculine beauty. She made Leonora sit beside her, and gave Lorenzo her jewelled hand to kiss, entering with him at once into a conversation which might have been long, had not the impatient cardinal interfered.
"Well, well," he exclaimed, "you can talk with him about all that hereafter. You will have plenty of time. At present we must follow the king to the Podesta."
"Stay, stay," cried Mona Francesca. "Do not forget he is to leave twenty men on guard. Ah! I fear those dreadful Frenchmen terribly! They tell me the widows suffered more than any at Vivizano."
"I doubt it," said the cardinal; but Lorenzo consoled her, by assuring her that twenty men should certainly be left to protect her, without adding that they were all those dreadful Frenchmen whom she seemed to fear so much; and then followed the cardinal to the court-yard, where his arrangements were soon made. A French ensign was hung out above the great gate, a couple of soldiers stationed on guard in the street, and a sufficient force left within to ensure the safety of the place against any body of those licentious stragglers which followed all armies in those days in even greater numbers than they do at present.
In the meantime the cardinal had ridden on, accompanied by his own train; and Lorenzo followed, guiding his men himself through the well-remembered streets, where so much of his own young life had been spent. It was not without some uneasiness that he marked the aspect of the city. There was many a sign, or rather many an indication that though the Florentines had admitted the army of the King of France within their walls, they were prepared to resist even in their own streets, any attempt at tyrannical domination. Few persons appeared out of shelter of the houses, and those few were well armed. But the multitudes of faces at the windows, and the glance of steel at every door that happened even to be partly open, showed a state of preparation equal to the occasion, and the youth, calculating the chances of a struggle between the army and the population of the city, should a conflict arise, could not but come to the conclusion that, shut up in streets and squares of which they knew nothing, surrounded by houses, every one of which was a fortress, and opposed by a body vastly more numerous, the French force might find all its military skill and discipline unavailing, and have cause to rue the rash confidence of the king.
Just as he was entering upon that great square, near which are collected so many inestimable treasures of art, a man fully armed, started forth from a gateway, and laid his hand upon his horse's rein. Lorenzo laid his hand upon his sword; but the other without raising his visor, addressed him by name in a stern voice: "I little thought to see you here, with a foreign invader, Lorenzo Visconti," he said, "but mark me, and let your king know. Florence will be trodden down by no foreign despot. Let him be moderate in his demands, calm and peaceful in his demeanour, or he will leave his last man in these streets should we all perish in resisting insolence or tyranny. Look around you as you go, and you will see that every house is filled with our citizens or peasantry; and though willing to concede much for peace, we are ready to dare all for liberty. Let this be enough between us. Ride on, and ride fast, for on this very moment hangs a destiny. At the first sound of the bell, a conflict will begin that will seal the fate of Italy. Ride on, I say. You know our customs. Take care that the bell does not ring."
"Who are you? What is your name?" asked Lorenzo; but the man made no reply, and retreated under the archway whence he had come.
Winding through the crowds which occupied the Piazza, the young knight and his party overtook the cardinal just as he was dismounting at the gates of the great heavy building, known as the Podesta; and springing to his stirrup, Lorenzo in a whisper communicated to him rapidly the fears he entertained of some sudden and terrible conflict between the citizens and the French soldiery, should the demands of the king be excessive or tyrannical.
"It is right his Majesty should know the state of the city," he said; "and if I can obtain speech of him, he shall know it; for no one can judge of the signs around us better than myself, whose boyhood has been passed in these streets and squares."
"You shall have speech of him," said the cardinal, "follow me quickly. They must be at it already. Where is the king, boy?--where is the council?"
A page whom he addressed led him up the great staircase, and hurrying his pace, he was soon in that great council chamber where the fate of Florence had been so often decided.
The scene it now presented was very striking. The King of France was seated in a chair of state, with many of his officers and counsellors around, and the Bishop of St. Malo standing at his left hand. Before him stood a number of the magistrates of Florence, richly robed, and on the faces of all present might be seen a sharp and angry expression, as if some bitter words had been already passing. The room was crowded; but as the cardinal and Lorenzo entered, they could see the Bishop of St. Malo take a step across the open space between the king and the magistrates, and hand a written paper to one of the latter, on whose face the very first words brought a heavy frown.
Holding Lorenzo by the hand, Julian de Rovera pushed his way through the crowd, murmuring, "God send we be not too late," and at length reached the monarch's side, where he bent his head to the king's ear, saying abruptly, "This young man has matter of life and death to communicate to you, sire. Listen to him for a moment ere you do aught else."
The king raised his eyes to Lorenzo's face, and then inclined his ear, making the young man a sign to speak.
"My lord," said Lorenzo in a whisper, "no one about you knows Florence as well as I do. You and your army are on the brink of a volcano. The houses all around are filled with armed men. Not only are the citizens prepared to rise at a moment's notice, but the town has been crowded with the neighbouring peasantry, and although your Majesty is in full possession of the town, a conflict in these streets might be more disastrous than can be told."
"Hark," said the king, "the old man is speaking;" and, raising his head, he gazed upon the magistrate who had been reading the paper.
"King of France," said the old man, in a fierce and impetuous tone, "these demands are outrageous. They are insulting to the people of Florence; and thus I deal with them;" and as he spoke he tore the paper in pieces and flung the fragments on the floor. "I tell you, sire," he continued, "that nothing like these terms will be granted. Our course is taken; our minds are made up. We were all willing to pay you due respect,--to grant all that might be requisite for your security, or to assist you for your comfort. But we will not be treated as a conquered people till we are conquered; and, even then, we will be the slaves of no man. Either propose terms in reason, or else--why, sound your trumpets and we will toll our bells, and on him who is the aggressor fall the guilt of all the blood which will dye our streets."
"Good God! the man is mad," exclaimed one of the king's councillors.
"Mère de Dieu!" cried another, "he has had the insolence to tear the edict!"
"We are ready to obey your Majesty's commands," said the stern Montpensier, in a cold tone.
"I go to take orders against an outbreak, sire," said La Tremouille, in a low voice, "it is not to be concealed that we are in a somewhat dangerous position here."
"Sire, you had better get out of the rat-trap," said De Vitry, "I will guard you with my men-at-arms, and keep one gate open for the rest to follow. My head for your safety; and once out we shall soon bring these gentlemen to reason."
"Peace," said the king, "peace, my friends. Let me speak.--You have done wrong, sir, to tear that paper," he continued with an air of much dignity, addressing the bold old man. "We had not read it ourselves. It was far from our intention to demand any outrageous terms; but only such as a republic might expect who had refused our friendship and set at nought our proffers of alliance. Hastily drawn up by our council, and tendered to you here more as an outline of what might be our demands than as what they actually are, the paper may have contained something you could not comply with, but nothing to warrant so much heat, I think. Have you a copy, my Lord Bishop?"
"Here is one, sire," replied the minister, handing him a paper.
The king took it and read it with slowness and evident difficulty. "This is too much," he said when he had done, "Signor Pierro Capponi has some show of reason for his anger. My Lord Bishop, these terms must be mitigated. I will retire to another chamber and leave you with the magistrates of the city to decide upon some more equitable arrangement, with his Eminence here to moderate between you. What I demand is that compensation shall be made in gold for the expense and delay to which I have been subjected by the resistance of strong places in a country professing to be friendly to me; and that sufficient security be given that my return to France, when it pleases me, shall not be interrupted. Your council had better be held in private. There are too many persons present. Let all but my council and the Signoria of Florence follow me."
Thus saying, he rose and left the hall.
The result is well known. A large sum of money, part of which found its way into the purses of the king's counsellors, and vague promises of alliance and security, were all that the Florentines had to pay; and the lesson of the morning was sufficiently impressive to produce better discipline and forbearance amongst the French troops than they had exercised elsewhere.