The young King of France sat in a small room dressed in a gown of black velvet, with a bonnet or toque upon his head, for the winters were now cold, and, to tell the truth, Roman houses were then, as now, better fitted for the summer than the winter months of the year. Beside him stood Lorenzo Visconti, listening rather than speaking; for although, when he craved through the chamberlain a private audience, he had said that he had matters of great moment to communicate to the monarch, Charles, as was not unusual with him, had begun the conversation with tales of his own griefs and annoyances.
"Upon my life, Visconti," he said, "I am of the mind to trust old men no more, for what they have in wisdom and experience is drowned in selfishness and ambition. A very young man may be a fool, but he is rarely a scoundrel; and it is a sad thing, cousin, to be always doubting whether a man in a grey beard is advising you for your interest or his own. Look you now! they promised me that if I but entered Rome, the pope would be brought to terms at once; and now there he sits up in the castle there, looking down upon us like an eagle from his eyrie, without showing one sign of a desire to treat. I have ordered ten bombards to be brought to the bridge and pointed at the gates, and, on my life, they shall fire unless he shows signs of life before noon."
"I think, sire," replied Lorenzo, "you will not have to give the order. His Holiness may have shown no open signs of a desire to treat, but he seems of your Majesty's opinion, that young men are the best counsellors. In a word, sire, I have had a long interview, unsought and unexpected, with Cardinal Borgia this morning, and it is on that account I have intruded on you thus early."
Charles's attention was now fully aroused. "What!" he exclaimed, "have you been admitted to the castle?"
"No, sire," answered Lorenzo; "I last night received a note from Signor Ramiro d'Orco, appointing a place of meeting, and, judging that his object had reference solely to his daughter, I went. We had not conversed five minutes when we were joined by the Cardinal Don Cæsar Borgia, and he gave me, expressly for your Majesty's hearing, his views of the state of affairs in Italy, and hinted very distinctly what are the terms which his Holiness is inclined to concede."
"Speak! speak! tell me all!" cried the king. "By heaven, I hope we shall not be interrupted. Call in the chamberlain or his page. That bishop comes here about this hour; he should, indeed, be here now; but he is somewhat negligent and unpunctual. He shall have to wait, however, for I will not admit him till your tale is done."
The chamberlain was called in, the king's orders given not to admit even his council, and Lorenzo went on to tell his tale. His memory was good, the words of Cæsar Borgia had impressed themselves deeply on his mind, and Charles lost hardly anything by hearing from another mouth.
The monarch was evidently much struck with the new view of his own situation now presented to him. The old adage that "one story is good till another is told," is constantly applicable to every view we take of ourselves, our fate, our circumstances. Whoever told the other story, it would always be found very different from our own. Charles paused long and meditated in silence. His was neither a quick nor a comprehensive mind: and when the golden visions of glory and ambition have once entered into the brain, it is difficult to displace them; but yet he saw obstacles he had never dreamed of, impediments which had been suggested neither by his own judgment nor by the sagacity of his counsellors, dangers which were more than probable, imminent and menacing. His courage was too great, his ambition too deeply engaged, his honour too much implicated for him to recede from his enterprise against Naples. But he saw strong good sense in the plan suggested and the advice given by Cardinal Borgia, and he concluded that they would not be furnished by an enemy, or that if they were, they could not be furnished in an inimical spirit.
He pondered these matters more at length, and perhaps more profoundly than he had ever considered anything before. Steps were heard in the adjoining chamber, a hand was placed upon the latch, words were spoken, some in a tone of remonstrance, and some almost in that of anger, but they did not rouse the young king from his reverie.
At length the king woke, as if he had suddenly come to some resolution. "I will demand only what must absolutely be granted," he said, looking up--"only what is absolutely needful. We must not, by asking too much, risk the loss of all. Now tell me, cousin--you alluded to certain conditions to which the cardinal said his uncle, or rather his father, would agree. Let me know them distinctly, and be sure that you remember them aright."