Gradually, however, the shadow stole over the sunshine. The day for the march was named, and came nearer and nearer. Lorenzo had to go on, fighting his way with the forces of the king; Leonora was to remain behind in Florence. They were to part, in short; and the sorrow of parting came upon them. But then there was hope--hope singing her eternal song of cheering melody, picturing the coming time when a bright reunion would wipe out the very memory of sorrow, and when, perhaps, the link of their fate might be riveted too firmly for any future separation. The old cardinal encouraged the idea, and promised to give the blessing on their union, and Mona Francesca sighed, and thought, perhaps, matrimony the next happiest state to widowhood.
The day came: the last parting embrace was given--the last, long clinging kiss was taken--the last wave of the hand, as the troop filed down the street, and then Leonora d'Orco was left to the solitude of her own thoughts. The multitude of turbulent emotions which had thrilled through her heart were all still. It was as when a gay crowd that has been laughing, and singing, and revelling, suddenly departs and leaves the scene of rejoicing all silent and solitary. The words of Leonardo da Vinci's song came back to her mind--
"Oft have I wept for joys too soon possessed!"
And retiring to her own chamber she gave way to very natural tears. Nor were they soon over, nor was the emotion in which they arose transient. Nothing was evanescent in the character of Leonora d'Orco. Even young as she was, all was deep, strong, and permanent.
But I must leave her alone for the present with her tears, or with the sadness that followed them, and proceed with Lorenzo Visconti on the march towards Rome and Naples; not that I intend to dwell upon battles or sieges, intrigues or negotiations; but I merely purpose to give a slight sketch of the historical events that followed, with one or two detached scenes more in detail, where public transactions affected the fate of those of whom I write. With audacity bordering upon folly, Charles VIII. advanced rapidly upon Rome, without having taken any efficient steps to guard his communications with France. Each step rendered his position more perilous, and had there been anything like unity amongst the Italian princes or states it is probable that neither the King of France nor his gallant army would ever have seen Paris again. The pope, too, thundered at him from the Vatican, admitted Neapolitan troops into Rome, and endeavoured to raise the partisans of the Church in the imperial city, to aid him in repelling the advancing enemy. But Alexander found no support. No one loved, no one respected him, and his call upon the citizens was made in vain. On, step by step, the French monarch advanced, but, as he neared the city, which had once been the capital of the world, a degree of uncertainty came over him, and discord manifested itself in his council. The Cardinal of St. Peter's urged him strongly to depose the monster whose brow defiled the tiara; several other bishops and cardinals joined in the demand. Some of the stern old military men, too, argued on the same side, but the smooth Bishop of St. Malo and many of the king's lay-counsellors recommended negotiation; advised that the march of the army should be retarded or stopped, and that skilful diplomatists should be sent forward to treat for peaceful admission into Rome.
An eminent position is a curse for the weak, and a peril for the strong. Till we can see into the hearts of men, no king can ever know the secret motives, the dark selfishness, the pitiful objects, the vain, the mercenary, the ambitious ends which lie at the bottom of all the advice, and every suggestion they receive. We see the honest and the true neglected; we see the noble and the wise make shipwreck, and we know not whence it comes. The man who would map out the currents of the ocean would confer a signal benefit upon his race and accomplish a most laborious task; but he who would trace and expose all the under-currents of a court would undertake a more herculean enterprise still. Nor can the wisest and the best of those who rule the destinies of men escape such pernicious influences. They can but judge by what they see, while it is what they do not see which is bearing them wrong. They may consult the magnet or the pole-star; they may reckon closely and well, but they can neither calculate nor perceive those undercurrents which are bearing them upon the shoals or rocks of injustice or of danger. Nor are they in most cases to blame. Suffice it, if in regard to great and plain facts where there can be no deceit, their unassisted judgment leads them right. I myself, accustomed to courts, have seen the wisest, the very firmest of men misled to do small acts of wrong to their most deserving of friends. Could I blame them even if I myself suffered? Oh, no! The whispered word, the well-improved opportunity, the casual insinuation--all the arts which the noble will not stoop to practise, are engines in the hands of the crafty, which will blind the clearest eye, deceive the most perspicacious mind.
How much more allowance should be made for a young, inexperienced, and half-educated monarch like Charles VIII. if he did not discover that the hope of a cardinal but swayed Breconnel in his advice; that this counsellor had been promised a sum of money; or that had hopes of a castle or an estate in Romagna; that one aimed at being prothonotary; or another an archdeacon of the Roman hierarchy. All these things were going on in his court and camp, and all these influenced the advice he received; but how could he know it?
The party of the negotiators succeeded. Charles sent envoys into Rome. to treat with Alexander. They went away full of confidence; they told the king that in a few days they would return with all the stipulations he required, assented to. What was his surprise to hear that his envoys had been arrested, two thrown into prison, and two given up to the Neapolitan troops which were in the city.
Rage and indignation took possession of him, and he gave orders that the army should march the next morning; but there were still peaceful counsellors near at hand; the march was put off till next day, and before that hour the news arrived that two of the envoys had been set free. Two, however, were still detained, and the further advance of the army began.
Still Alexander vacillated and hesitated, now giving way to bursts of furious passion, now yielding to immoderate terror; but that vacillation had now to give way. A military envoy appeared at the court of the sovereign pontiff, and with very little ceremony delivered his message in the presence of Ferdinand, the young prince of Naples, who stood at Alexander's right hand.