CHAPTER V.
"Who is that man?" asked Lorenzo Visconti in a low tone, while Leonorastood before the stranger, silent and, as it were, subdued.
"That is her father, Ramiro d'Orco," answered Bianca Maria; "he hasjust returned from Romagna, I suppose; he has not been here for ayear, and I heard he was there."
"Her father!" exclaimed the youth; "and is it so a child meets afather? Oh God! had I a parent living who came back from a longabsence, how I should spring to receive his first caress! how thefirst tone of his voice--the first sound of his footstep, would movethe whole blood within me. I do believe the very proximity of hisspirit would make my whole frame thrill, and I should know that he waspresent before one of my senses assured me of the fact. My father! oh,my father! could you rejoin your son, should I meet you as a stranger,or bow before you as a ruler?"
"It is not her fault, Lorenzo," said her cousin, eagerly, zealous inher friend's cause; "I do not know how to tell you what he is,Lorenzo. He is hard, yet not tyrannical; cold, yet not withoutaffection. There is no tenderness in him, yet he loves her better thanaught else on earth, except, I have heard my grandfather say, exceptambition. He is liberal to her, allowing her all she wants or wishes,except, indeed, his tenderness and care. You and I are both orphans,Lorenzo, and perhaps we let our fancy lead us to picture exaggeratedjoy in the love and affection of parents."
"I love him not, Bianca," answered the young man, with a slightshudder; "there is something in his look which seems to chill theblood in one's heart. I can see in that gaze which he bends upon her,why it is her arms are not thrown round his neck, why her lips are notpressed to his, why words of love and affection are not poured forthupon her father when she meets him after a long absence. She is hischild, but he is not a father to her--perhaps a tyrant."
"Oh, no, no!" answered the young girl; "he loves her--indeed he does,and he does not tyrannize over her. But whether it is that there is anatural coldness in his manner, or that he affects a certain Romanhardness, I cannot tell; he only shows his love in indulging her ineverything she desires, without a tender look or tender word, such asmost fond fathers bestow upon a well-loved child."
"And such a child!" said Lorenzo, musing. "Well, it is strange,Bianca; perhaps he may love her truly, and more than many fathers whomI have seen in France fondle their children as if their whole soul waswrapped up in them, and then sacrifice their happiness to the merestcaprice--perhaps it may be so, and yet I do not like his looks. Icannot like him. See how he gazes at us now! It is the gaze of aserpent, cold, and hard, and stony. Who was her mother? She can havegained no part of her nature from him."
"Oh, no," cried the young girl, feeling all that he felt, thoughunwilling to allow it; "she is like him in nothing, except, indeed,the forehead and the shape of her face. Her mother was almost asbeautiful as she is. I remember well; it is not three years since shedied. She was a great heiress in the Ghiaradda. All she had was on hermarriage secured by the forms of law to herself and her children, andthey say he strove almost cruelly to make her give it up to him. Afterher death he obtained possession of it, but not entirely for himself.It was decided that he should possess it till Leonora married, makingsuitable provision for her maintenance, but that, when she married,the great estates at Castellano should go to her and her husband. Mygrandfather, who was her mother's uncle, took much interest in thematter, and for a time he and Signor d'Orco were at bitter enmity; butwhen the case was decided, and it was found that Leonora's fatherassigned her more for her portion than the law would have demanded, mygrandfather became convinced that he had striven only for what heconceived a right, and became reconciled to him. Indeed, he is quiteliberal in all things concerning her; allows her the revenue of aprincess, and is himself a man of small expense; but it seemshis is an unbending nature. He lets her do what she wills in mostthings--seldom thwarts her; but when he speaks his own will, there isno appeal from it--neither to his heart nor his mind. I can oftenpersuade my grandfather, though he is quick and hasty, as you know,and sometimes convince him, but it is of no use to try to do eitherwith Ramiro d'Orco."
Lorenzo fancied he comprehended, at least in a degree, the characterwhich, in her youthful way, she strove to depict; but yet there wassomething in the look of Leonora's father which left a dark,unpleasant impression upon his mind. There are faces that we love not,but which afford no apparent reason for the antipathy they produce.There is often even beauty which we cannot admire--grace which affordsno pleasure. There is, perhaps, nothing more graceful upon earth thanthe gliding of a snake, never for a moment quitting what the greatmoral painter called "the line of beauty." There is nothing more richand resplendent than his jewelled skin, and yet how few men can gazeupon the most gorgeous of that reptile race without a shudderingsensation of its enmity to man? Can it be that in the breast of thereasoning human creature, God, for a farther security than mereintellect against a being that is likely to injure, implants aninstinct of approaching danger which no fairness of form, noengagingness of manner can at first compensate? It may be so. At allevents, I have seen instances where something very like it wasapparent. And yet, with time, the impression wears away; the spirithas spoken once its word of warning; if that word is not enough, itnever speaks again. The snake has the power of fascinating the birdwhich, in the beginning, strove to escape from him; and we forget themonitor which told us our danger.
In an hour from that time Lorenzo was sitting at the same table withRamiro d'Orco, listening well pleased to searching and deep views ofthe state of Italy, expressed, not indeed with eloquence, for he wasnot an eloquent man, but with a force and point he had seldom heardequalled.
It would not be easy to give his words, for, even were they recorded,they would lose their strength in the translation; but the substancewe know, and it would give a very different picture of Italy in thatday from any that can be drawn at present. We see it not alone dimmedby the distance of time, but in a haze of our own prejudices. We maygather, perhaps, the great results; but we can, I believe, in nodegree divine the motives, and most of the details are lost. Read thehistory of any one single man in those days, as portrayed by modernwriters, and compare one author with another. Take for instance thatof Lorenzo de Medici, as carefully drawn by Roscoe, or brightlysketched by Sismondi. What can be more different? The facts, indeed,are the same, but how opposite are all the inferences. In both we havethe dry bones of the man, but the form of the muscle, and the hue ofthe complexion are entirely at variance. Writers who undertake torepresent the things of a past age are like a painter required tofurnish portraits of persons long dead. Tradition may give them someguidance as to the general outline, but the features and the colouringwill be their own.
It is therefore with the great facts of the state of Italy at thattime that I will deal, as nearly in the view of Ramiro d'Orco as Ican; but it must be remembered that his view also was not without itsmistiness. If we cannot see early on account of the remoteness of theobjects which we contemplate, his vision also was indistinct, obscuredby the prejudices of class, interest, party, hope, apprehension, andabove all, ambition. He painted the condition of Italy only as Ramirod'Orco believed it to be. How much even of that belief was to beascribed to his own desires and objects, who can say?
Lombardy, the great northern portion of Italy, indeed, had ever beenisolated from the rest in manners and habits of thought. Italians theLombards certainly were; but the characteristics of the northernconquerors predominated in that portion of the peninsula. Except atGenoa and in Venice, republicanism in no shape had taken any deeproot. From very early times, although the voice of the people hadoccasionally proclaimed a republic here and there, the babe wasstrangled ere it got strength, even by those that gave it birth. Theepoch of democratic independence in Lombardy lasted barely a centuryand a half. No republic flourished long north of the River Po, exceptthose I have named, and even the two which took some glory from thename little deserved it. Less real liberty was known in Venice thanperhaps existed under the mo
st grinding tyranny of a single man; andGenoa, in her most palmy days, was a prey to aristocratic factions,which soon made the people but slaves to princes. But it must not besupposed that nothing was obtained in return: a more chivalrous andwarlike spirit existed in that division of Italy than in the centralportion. It was not so early refined, but it was not so speedilysoftened. Corrupt it might be, and indeed was, to even a fearfuldegree; but it was the corruption of the hard and the daring, ratherthan of the weak and effeminate. Men poisoned, and slew, and torturedeach other, and the minds of all became so familiar with blood andhorror, that much was endured before resistance to oppression wasexcited; but conspiracies were generally successful in their primaryobject, because the conspirators were bold and resolute. A tyrantmight fall only to give place to another tyrant, but still he fell;and you rarely saw in Lombardy such weakness as was displayed in theenterprise of the Pazzi.
Men in the north fought openly in the field for counties, andmarquisates, and dukedoms; but there was little finesse or diplomaticskill displayed except by Venice. There was cunning, indeed, but itwas always exercised to gain some military advantage. The ambition ofthat part of the land was warlike, not peaceful. It was not luxury,and ease, and graceful enjoyment that was desired in combination withpower, but it was splendour, and pomp, and domination. Weak tyrantswere sure to fall; merely cruel ones generally retained their power;and cunning ones were frequently successful; but it was only bywielding the sword, either by their own hands or those of others.
At the time in which Ramiro d'Orco spoke, every vestige of liberty wasextinct in Lombardy. The Visconti, and after them the Sforzi, inMilan; the house of Della Scala, and after them the Visconti, inVerona; the Gonzagas in Mantua; the D'Estes in Ferrara; the Carrarasin Padua; the Bentivogli in Bologna, and a hundred other princelyhouses, had attained power by both policy and the sword, and Genoa hadpassed frequently from anarchy to subjection, and subjection toanarchy. But the great military school of Alberic de Barbiano hadraised up a vigorous and healthy spirit in the people, which, had itlasted, would have secured to both Romagna and Lombardy strength toresist foreign enemies, even if it could not control intestinedivisions. But the great company of St. George, founded by Barbiano,was succeeded by two others, who, though they possessed all the energyof their predecessors, and were led by men of very superior abilities,were merely the companies of adventurous soldiers known as theBracceschi and Sforzeschi. Their swords were at the command of thosewho could pay them best, and their leaders were men who sought tofound dynasties upon military success. In this object Braccio deMontana failed. He was mortally wounded at Aquila in 1424, and hisformidable band gradually dispersed, after having passed under thecommand of several others. Though Sforza perished in passing thePescara ere he attained the power at which he aimed, the object wasaccomplished by his son Francesco, who established himself in theducal throne of Milan.
Thus, at the time when Ramiro d'Orco spoke, in 1494, the whole ofLombardy was under the domination of various princes, commonly and notunjustly called tyrants; but the chivalrous spirit of the people wasby no means extinct; and even the course of the arts showed thetendency of the popular mind. It is true, Milan itself was more famousfor the manufacture and even the invention of arms than for the finearts, but in the pictures of that country during this and thepreceding centuries saints and martyrs, angels and demons, arefrequently represented in knightly harness, and in some it would bedifficult to distinguish the messenger of peace from one of theterrible legionaries of the great companies.
It seemed, indeed, as if Lombardy had returned to its normal feudalnotions, in which chivalry was inseparably attached to monarchy andaristocracy.
The central states of Italy clung to republican forms of governmentlong after they had been extinguished in the north; but it wasrepublicanism founded upon wealth, not upon purity of character orsimplicity of manners--no, nor upon real patriotism. A celebratedwriter of late days has spoken of "the virtue of Florence" in thisvery century. Let us see how that virtue was depicted by the bestjudges of the times of which he, at this late day, speaks. "I neverimagined," said Piero de Medici, father of Lorenzo, on his death-bed,addressing the chief citizens of Florence, "that times would come whenthe conduct of my friends would force me to esteem and long for thesociety of my enemies, and wish that I had been defeated instead ofvictorious." He then went on to reproach them with their vices andtheir crimes. "You rob your neighbours of their wealth," he said, "yousell justice, you evade the law, you oppress the weak, and exalt theinsolent. There are not, throughout all Italy, so many and suchdreadful examples of violence and avarice as in this city."
Again Machiavelli describes the youth of Florence as having become"more dissolute than ever, more extravagant in dress, feasting andother licentiousness," and says that, "being without employment theywasted their time and means on gaming and women, their principal carebeing how to appear splendid in apparel, and obtain a craftyshrewdness in discourse." Nor can I look upon the persevering effortsof that republic to subjugate all the neighbouring cities as a proofof virtue or of love of liberty.
Their military virtues seem to have been upon a par with theirdomestic qualities. Their battles were fought by hired mercenaries,and where the Florentine forces did appear in the field, theyapparently merited the reproach which Machiavelli casts upon themilitary in general of the central and southern portions of Italy. Indescribing the campaign of 1467, he says, "A few slight skirmishestook place, but in accordance with the custom of the time, neither ofthem acted on the offensive, besieged any town, or gave the other anyopportunity of coming to a general battle; but each kept within itstents, and they conducted themselves with the most remarkablepusillanimity." Indeed, his description of all the battles in whichnone of the great condottieri were engaged, is merely ludicrous.Moreover, the political virtues of the people seem, at this time atleast, not to have surpassed those of the heart and mind. Florence hadthe name of a republic, but its government was in reality anoligarchy. There is a consciousness in man that persons whose time isdevoted to daily labour have not those opportunities of mentalculture, and that leisure for deep thought, which alone can fit menfor the task of leading and governing. However strong may bedemocratic sentiment, however jealously tenacious of the name ofequality citizens may be, there is, in the natural course of allcommunities, a tendency to produce an aristocracy. In the warringelements of a political chaos, the first efforts of order are toresolve the people into classes--nay, into castes. The hatred ofhereditary authority generally directs these efforts to elevate richesto the highest place. The wealthy, in whom one sort of pre-eminence isalready obvious, are not so obnoxious at first sight as those who haveno real source of influence but the intangible one of birth; and thusfrom republics, founded frequently upon purely democratic principles,generally rises the most hateful and debasing of all aristocracies,the aristocracy of wealth. This had long been the case with Florenceat the time I speak of: wealth was nobility, and that nobility wasrapidly tending toward monarchy. Lorenzo de Medici had exercised untilhis death, in April, 1492, an anomalous sovereignty, denied thecharacter of prince of a monarchical state, and yet divested of therestraints of a magistrate of a free people. He was addressed by allpublic bodies and all private persons as "Most Magnificent Lord," andswayed the destinies of the country, influenced the character of thepeople, and deeply affected the fate of all Italy, without any legalright or actual station. His was solely a monarchy of influence, and,though even Cromwell felt the necessity of giving to his power thesanction of a name, Lorenzo ruled his countrymen till his death in thecharacter of a citizen.
The south of Italy had in the mean time passed through several phases,and the monarchical element had long predominated in its government.The only question was to whom it should belong. Foreign familiesstruggled for the often contested throne; and Italians then only drewtheir swords or raised their voices in favour of one or anotherusurper. The destinies of the north and the south were sealed; and inTuscany no wide f
ield was offered for ambition. A man might raisehimself to a certain degree by subservience to some powerful prince,but he must continue to serve that prince, or he fell, and would neveraspire to independent domination where hereditary power was recognisedby the people, and lay at the foundation of all acknowledgedauthority. It was alone in central Italy, and especially in Romagnaand in the States of the Church--where a principle antagonistic to allhereditary claims existed in the very nature of the Papal power--thatany adventurer could hope, either by his individual genius or courage,or by services rendered to those who already held authority, to raisehimself to independent rule, or to that station which was onlyattached to a superior by the thin and nearly worn-out thread offeudal tenure.
"Those who would find fortune," said Ramiro d'Orco, "such fortune asFrancesco Sforza conquered and the Medici attained must seek it atRome. There is the field, the only field still open to the boldspirit, the strong, unwavering heart, the keen and clear-seeingmind--there is the table on which the boldest player is sure to winthe most. With every change of the papacy, new combinations, and,consequently, new opportunities must arise, and, thanks to the wisepolicy of the College of Cardinals, those changes must be frequent. Aman there may, as elsewhere, be required to serve in order at lengthto command; but if he do not obtain power at length, it is his faultor Fortune's, and in either case he must abide the consequences. Goodnight, Signor Rovera."
Leonora D'Orco: A Historical Romance Page 5