The young king of Naples did not live long to enjoy his triumphs. On his return from Atella, he contracted an inauspicious marriage with his aunt, a lady nearly of his own age, to whom he had been long attached. A careless and somewhat intemperate indulgence in pleasure, succeeding the hardy life which he had been lately leading, brought on a flux which carried him off in the twenty-eighth year of his age, and second of his reign. He was the fifth monarch, who, in the brief compass of three years, had sat on the disastrous throne of Naples.
Ferdinand possessed many qualities suited to the turbulent times in which he lived. He was vigorous and prompt in action, and naturally of a high and generous spirit. Still, however, he exhibited glimpses, even in his last hours, of an obliquity, not to say ferocity of temper, which characterized many of his line, and which led to ominous conjectures as to what would have been his future policy. [34]
He was succeeded on the throne by his uncle Frederic, a prince of gentle disposition, endeared to the Neapolitans by repeated acts of benevolence, and by a magnanimous regard for justice, of which the remarkable fluctuations of his fortune had elicited more than one example. His amiable virtues, however, required a kindlier soil and season for their expansion; and, as the event proved, made him no match for the subtile and unscrupulous politicians of the age.
His first act was a general amnesty to the disaffected Neapolitans, who felt such confidence in his good faith, that they returned, with scarcely an exception, to their allegiance. His next measure was to request the aid of Gonsalvo de Cordova in suppressing the hostile movements made by the French during his absence from Calabria. At the name of the Great Captain, the Italians flocked from all quarters, to serve without pay under a banner which was sure to lead them to victory. Tower and town, as he advanced, went down before him; and the French general, D'Aubigny, soon saw himself reduced to the necessity of making the best terms he could with his conqueror, and evacuating the province altogether. The submission of Calabria was speedily followed by that of the few remaining cities in other quarters, still garrisoned by the French; comprehending the last rood of territory possessed by Charles the Eighth in the kingdom of Naples. [35]
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Our narrative now leads us on the beaten track of Italian history. I have endeavored to make the reader acquainted with the peculiar character and pretensions of the principal Spanish authorities, on whom I have relied in the progress of the work. This would be superfluous in regard to the Italian, who enjoy the rank of classics, not only in their own country, but throughout Europe, and have furnished the earliest models among the moderns of historic composition. Fortunately, two of the most eminent of them, Guicciardini and Paolo Giovio, lived at the period of our narrative, and have embraced the whole extent of it in their histories. These two writers, besides the attractions of elegant scholarship, and talent, occupied a position which enabled them to take a clear view of all the principal political movements of their age; circumstances, which have made their accounts of infinite value in respect to foreign transactions, as well as domestic. Guicciardini was a conspicuous actor in the scenes he describes; and a long residence at the court of Ferdinand the Catholic opened to him the most authentic sources of information in regard to Spain. Giovio, from his intimate relations with the principal persons of his time, had also access to the best sources of knowledge, while in the notice of foreign transactions he was but little exposed to those venal influences, which led him too often to employ the golden or iron pen of history as interest dictated. Unfortunately, a lamentable hiatus occurs in his greatest work, "Historiae sui Temporis," embracing the whole period intervening between the end of Charles VIII.'s expedition and the accession of Leo X., in 1513. At the time of the memorable sack of Rome by the duke of Bourbon, in 1527, Giovio deposited his manuscript, with a quantity of plate, in an iron chest, which he hid in an obscure corner of the church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva. The treasure, however, did not escape the searching eyes of two Spanish soldiers, who broke open the chest, and one of them seized on the plate, regarding the papers as of no value. The other, not being quite such a fool, says Giovio, preserved such of the manuscripts as were on vellum, and ornamented with rich bindings, but threw away what was written on paper.
The part thus thrown away contained six books, relating to the period above mentioned, which were never afterwards recovered. The soldier brought the remainder to their author, who bought them at the price of a vacant benefice, which he persuaded the pope to confer on the freebooter, in his native land of Cordova. It is not often that simony has found so good an apology. The deficiency, although never repaired by Giovio, was in some degree supplied by his biographies of eminent men, and, among others, by that of Gonsalvo de Cordova, in which he has collected with great industry all the events of any interest in the life of this great commander. The narrative is in general corroborated by the Spanish authorities, and contains some additional particulars, especially respecting his early life, which Giovio's personal intimacy with the principal characters of the period might easily have furnished.
This portion of our story is, moreover, illustrated by the labors of M. Sismondi, in his "Républiques Italiennes," which may undoubtedly claim to be ranked among the most remarkable historical achievements of our time; whether we consider the dexterous management of the narrative, or the admirable spirit of philosophy by which it is illumined. It must be admitted, that he has perfectly succeeded in unravelling the intricate web of Italian politics; and, notwithstanding the complicated, and, indeed, motley character of his subject, the historian has left a uniform and harmonious impression on the mind of the reader. This he has accomplished, by keeping constantly in view the principle which regulated all the various movements of the complex machinery; so that his narrative becomes, what he terms it in his English abridgment, a history of Italian liberty. By keeping this principle steadily before him, he has been able to solve much that hitherto was dark and problematical in his subject; and if he has occasionally sacrificed something to theory, he has, on the whole, pursued the investigation in a truly philosophical manner, and arrived at results the most honorable and cheering to humanity. Fortunately, his own mind was deeply penetrated with reverence for the free institutions which he has analyzed. If it is too much to say that the historian of republics should be himself a republican, it is at least true that his soul should be penetrated to its very depths with the spirit which animates them. No one, who is not smitten with the love of freedom, can furnish the key to much that is enigmatical in her character, and reconcile his readers to the harsh and repulsive features that she sometimes wears, by revealing the beauty and grandeur of the soul within.
That portion of our narrative which is incorporated with Italian story is too small to occupy much space on Sismondi's plan. He has discussed it, moreover, in a manner not very favorable to the Spaniards, whom he seems to have regarded with somewhat of the aversion with which an Italian of the sixteenth century viewed the ultramontane barbarians of Europe. Perhaps the reader may find some advantage in contemplating another side of the picture, and studying the less familiar details presented by the Spanish authorities.