Leonora D'Orco: A Historical Romance
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CHAPTER XX.
On, those days of happiness, how soon they come to an end! Poets andphilosophers have attempted in vain to convey to the mind by figuresand by argument the brevity of enjoyment, and the great master onlycame near the truth when he declared it was--
"Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That in a spleen unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say--Behold! The jaws of darkness do devour it up."
Enjoyment is the most brief of all things, for its very nature is todestroy time. Like the fabled monster of one of the Indian tribes--wedrink up the waters in which we float, and leave ourselves at last ona dry and arid shore. But if enjoyment be so transient, hope ispermanent. Well did the ancients represent her as lingering behindafter all else had flown out of the casket of Pandora. She does lingerstill in the casket of every human heart, whether it be joys or evilsthat pass away.
"Quando il miser dispera La speranza parla e dice, Sta su, tienti, vivi, e spera Che sarai ancor felice.
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"Ogni casa al mondo manca La speranza mai si perde."
So sang Serafino l'Aquilano, a poet of the days of Lorenzo andLeonora, and for a time at least they found the song true.
Hope remained after happiness had passed; but yet how bright werethose days and nights of happiness which the two young lovers passedin Florence!
Are you old enough to have forgotten, reader, how, in your earlyyouth, you deified the object of your love? How her very presenceseemed to spread an atmosphere of joy around her? How her look wassunshine and her voice the song of a seraph? Can you remember it? Thenthink what must have been the feelings of Lorenzo Visconti andLeonora d'Orco, at an age when the fire of passion is the brightest,because the purest--where all those attributes of beauty, andgrace, and excellence with which imagination is wont to invest thebeloved objects were really present, and when the fancy of the heartspread her wings from a higher point than she commonly can find onearth. Think what must have been their feelings when in a lovelyclimate, amidst beautiful scenes, in a land of song, where thetreasures of ancient and of modern art were just beginning to unfoldthemselves--the one issuing from the darkness of the past, the otherdawning through the twilight of the future; think what must have beentheir feelings, when, in such scenes and with such accessories to theloving loveliness in their own hearts, they were suffered, almostunrestrained, to enjoy each other's society to the full, when andwhere they liked.
The old cardinal, plunged deep in politics and worldly schemes andpassions, took little heed of them. Mona Francesca was no restraintupon them. Sometimes in long rambles by the banks of the Arno,sometimes mingling with the gay masked multitudes that thronged thestreets on the clear soft autumnal nights, sometimes seated in thebeautiful gardens of the city of flowers, sometimes reposing in theluxurious apartments of the Casa Morelli, the days and greater part ofthe nights were passed during the stay of the French army in Florence.It was a dream of joy, and it passed as a dream.
Gradually, however, the shadow stole over the sunshine. The day forthe 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 remainbehind in Florence. They were to part, in short; and the sorrow ofparting came upon them. But then there was hope--hope singing hereternal song of cheering melody, picturing the coming time when abright reunion would wipe out the very memory of sorrow, and when,perhaps, the link of their fate might be riveted too firmly for anyfuture separation. The old cardinal encouraged the idea, and promisedto give the blessing on their union, and Mona Francesca sighed, andthought, perhaps, matrimony the next happiest state to widowhood.
The day came: the last parting embrace was given--the last, longclinging kiss was taken--the last wave of the hand, as the troop fileddown the street, and then Leonora d'Orco was left to the solitude ofher own thoughts. The multitude of turbulent emotions which hadthrilled through her heart were all still. It was as when a gay crowdthat has been laughing, and singing, and revelling, suddenly departsand leaves the scene of rejoicing all silent and solitary. The wordsof 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 arosetransient. 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 thesadness that followed them, and proceed with Lorenzo Visconti on themarch towards Rome and Naples; not that I intend to dwell upon battlesor sieges, intrigues or negotiations; but I merely purpose to give aslight sketch of the historical events that followed, with one or twodetached scenes more in detail, where public transactions affected thefate of those of whom I write. With audacity bordering upon folly,Charles VIII. advanced rapidly upon Rome, without having taken anyefficient steps to guard his communications with France. Each steprendered his position more perilous, and had there been anything likeunity amongst the Italian princes or states it is probable thatneither the King of France nor his gallant army would ever have seenParis again. The pope, too, thundered at him from the Vatican,admitted Neapolitan troops into Rome, and endeavoured to raise thepartisans of the Church in the imperial city, to aid him in repellingthe advancing enemy. But Alexander found no support. No one loved, noone respected him, and his call upon the citizens was made in vain.On, step by step, the French monarch advanced, but, as he neared thecity, which had once been the capital of the world, a degree ofuncertainty came over him, and discord manifested itself in hiscouncil. The Cardinal of St. Peter's urged him strongly to depose themonster whose brow defiled the tiara; several other bishops andcardinals joined in the demand. Some of the stern old military men,too, argued on the same side, but the smooth Bishop of St. Malo andmany of the king's lay-counsellors recommended negotiation; advisedthat the march of the army should be retarded or stopped, and thatskilful diplomatists should be sent forward to treat for peacefuladmission into Rome.
An eminent position is a curse for the weak, and a peril for thestrong. Till we can see into the hearts of men, no king can ever knowthe secret motives, the dark selfishness, the pitiful objects, thevain, the mercenary, the ambitious ends which lie at the bottom of allthe advice, and every suggestion they receive. We see the honest andthe true neglected; we see the noble and the wise make shipwreck, andwe know not whence it comes. The man who would map out the currents ofthe ocean would confer a signal benefit upon his race and accomplish amost laborious task; but he who would trace and expose all theunder-currents of a court would undertake a more herculean enterprisestill. Nor can the wisest and the best of those who rule the destiniesof men escape such pernicious influences. They can but judge by whatthey see, while it is what they do not see which is bearing themwrong. They may consult the magnet or the pole-star; they may reckonclosely and well, but they can neither calculate nor perceive thoseundercurrents which are bearing them upon the shoals or rocks ofinjustice or of danger. Nor are they in most cases to blame. Sufficeit, if in regard to great and plain facts where there can be nodeceit, their unassisted judgment leads them right. I myself,accustomed to courts, have seen the wisest, the very firmest of menmisled to do small acts of wrong to their most deserving of friends.Could I blame them even if I myself suffered? Oh, no! The whisperedword, the well-improved opportunity, the casual insinuation--all thearts which the noble will not stoop to practise, are engines in thehands of the crafty, which will blind the clearest eye, deceive themost perspicacious mind.
How much more allowance should be made for a young, inexperienced, andhalf-educated monarch like Charles VIII. if he did not discover thatthe hope of a cardinal but swayed Breconnel in his advice; that thiscounsellor had been promised a sum of money; or that had hopes of acastle or an estate in Romagna; that one aimed at being prothonotary;or another an archdeacon of th
e Roman hierarchy. All these things weregoing on in his court and camp, and all these influenced the advice hereceived; 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 toldthe king that in a few days they would return with all thestipulations he required, assented to. What was his surprise to hearthat his envoys had been arrested, two thrown into prison, and twogiven up to the Neapolitan troops which were in the city.
Rage and indignation took possession of him, and he gave orders thatthe army should march the next morning; but there were still peacefulcounsellors near at hand; the march was put off till next day, andbefore that hour the news arrived that two of the envoys had been setfree. Two, however, were still detained, and the further advance ofthe army began.
Still Alexander vacillated and hesitated, now giving way to bursts offurious passion, now yielding to immoderate terror; but thatvacillation had now to give way. A military envoy appeared at thecourt of the sovereign pontiff, and with very little ceremonydelivered his message in the presence of Ferdinand, the young princeof Naples, who stood at Alexander's right hand.
"What have you to say, Signor de Vitry?" asked the pope, affecting atone of calmness which he was far from feeling.
"Merely this, Holiness," answered Vitry, "the army of my SovereignLord the King of France is within an hour's march of the walls; hedesires to know if you are prepared to receive him within them. Theday is nearly spent; he will have no time to force the gates to-night,and the men must be lodged somewhere."
Alexander trembled--partly, perhaps, with rage, but certainly withfear also. He looked to the Prince of Naples; he looked to his son,the Cardinal Borgia, upon whose handsome lips there was a sort ofserpent smile; but no one ventured to utter one word of advice, tillRamiro d'Orco slowly approached his chair, and spoke a few words in alow tone.
"Well," said the pontiff, "tell the King of France, that I will notoppose his entrance. The Church does not seek to drive even herdisobedient children to sacrilege. For myself, I will make notreaty--no stipulation with one who can disregard the repeatedinjunctions he has received. But for this young prince and his forcesI demand a safe conduct."
"Not for me, your Holiness," said Ferdinand, raising his head proudly."I need none. My sword is my safe conduct, and I will have no other."
"Then my errand is sped," said De Vitry. "I understand there will beno opposition to the king's entrance?"
The pontiff bowed his head with the single word, "None," and the envoyretired from his presence and from the city.
"And now to St. Angelo with all speed," cried Alexander. "Quick,Burchard, quick. Let all the valuables be gathered together andcarried to the castle. Come, C?sar--come, my son, and bring all themen you can find with you. The place is well provisioned already;" andhe left the room without bestowing another word upon the young Princeof Naples.
Ferdinand paused a moment in deep thought, and then, with a heavysigh, quitted the Vatican. Half an hour after he marched out of Romeat the head of a few thousand men, and beheld, by the fading light,the splendid host of the king who was marching to strip his fatherand himself of their dominions, winding onward--like a glitteringsnake--towards the gates of Rome.
Here, as at Florence, the fouriers and harbingers of the monarch rodeon before the rest of the army, and passed rapidly through the ancientstreets filled with the memories of so many ages, marking out quartersfor the troops and lodgings for the king and his court. They took noheed to triumphal arch, or broken statue, or ruined amphitheatre; butthey marked the faces of the populace who thronged the streets andgathered thickly at the gates, and they saw a very differentexpression on those countenances from that which had appeared amongstthe Tuscans. To the Romans Charles came as a deliverer, and anoccasional shout of gratulation burst from the people as the strangehorsemen passed. Hasty preparations only could be made, for the royalarmy was close behind, and just after sunset on the last day of theyear 1494, the French army reached the gates of Rome. Those gates werethrown wide open; and shout after shout burst from the multitude asthe men-at-arms poured in. Charles himself was at their head, armedcap-?-pie; "with his lance upon his thigh," says an eye-witness, "asif prepared for battle." The drums beat, the trumpet sounded; andevery tenth man of the army carried a torch casting its red glare uponthe dazzling arms and gorgeous surcoats of the cavalry, and upon theeager but joyous faces round. Shout after shout burst from themultitude; and thus, as a conqueror, Charles entered Rome.