Thus, at the time when Ramiro d'Orco spoke, in 1494, the whole of Lombardy was under the domination of various princes, commonly and not unjustly called tyrants; but the chivalrous spirit of the people was by no means extinct; and even the course of the arts showed the tendency of the popular mind. It is true, Milan itself was more famous for the manufacture and even the invention of arms than for the fine arts, but in the pictures of that country during this and the preceding centuries saints and martyrs, angels and demons, are frequently represented in knightly harness, and in some it would be difficult to distinguish the messenger of peace from one of the terrible legionaries of the great companies.
It seemed, indeed, as if Lombardy had returned to its normal feudal notions, in which chivalry was inseparably attached to monarchy and aristocracy.
The central states of Italy clung to republican forms of government long after they had been extinguished in the north; but it was republicanism founded upon wealth, not upon purity of character or simplicity of manners--no, nor upon real patriotism. A celebrated writer of late days has spoken of "the virtue of Florence" in this very century. Let us see how that virtue was depicted by the best judges of the times of which he, at this late day, speaks. "I never imagined," said Piero de Medici, father of Lorenzo, on his death-bed, addressing the chief citizens of Florence, "that times would come when the conduct of my friends would force me to esteem and long for the society of my enemies, and wish that I had been defeated instead of victorious." He then went on to reproach them with their vices and their crimes. "You rob your neighbours of their wealth," he said, "you sell justice, you evade the law, you oppress the weak, and exalt the insolent. There are not, throughout all Italy, so many and such dreadful 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 and other licentiousness," and says that, "being without employment they wasted their time and means on gaming and women, their principal care being how to appear splendid in apparel, and obtain a crafty shrewdness in discourse." Nor can I look upon the persevering efforts of that republic to subjugate all the neighbouring cities as a proof of virtue or of love of liberty.
Their military virtues seem to have been upon a par with their domestic qualities. Their battles were fought by hired mercenaries, and where the Florentine forces did appear in the field, they apparently merited the reproach which Machiavelli casts upon the military in general of the central and southern portions of Italy. In describing the campaign of 1467, he says, "A few slight skirmishes took place, but in accordance with the custom of the time, neither of them acted on the offensive, besieged any town, or gave the other any opportunity of coming to a general battle; but each kept within its tents, and they conducted themselves with the most remarkable pusillanimity." Indeed, his description of all the battles in which none of the great condottieri were engaged, is merely ludicrous. Moreover, the political virtues of the people seem, at this time at least, not to have surpassed those of the heart and mind. Florence had the name of a republic, but its government was in reality an oligarchy. There is a consciousness in man that persons whose time is devoted to daily labour have not those opportunities of mental culture, and that leisure for deep thought, which alone can fit men for the task of leading and governing. However strong may be democratic sentiment, however jealously tenacious of the name of equality citizens may be, there is, in the natural course of all communities, a tendency to produce an aristocracy. In the warring elements of a political chaos, the first efforts of order are to resolve the people into classes--nay, into castes. The hatred of hereditary authority generally directs these efforts to elevate riches to the highest place. The wealthy, in whom one sort of pre-eminence is already obvious, are not so obnoxious at first sight as those who have no real source of influence but the intangible one of birth; and thus from 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 Florence at the time I speak of: wealth was nobility, and that nobility was rapidly tending toward monarchy. Lorenzo de Medici had exercised until his death, in April, 1492, an anomalous sovereignty, denied the character of prince of a monarchical state, and yet divested of the restraints of a magistrate of a free people. He was addressed by all public bodies and all private persons as "Most Magnificent Lord," and swayed the destinies of the country, influenced the character of the people, and deeply affected the fate of all Italy, without any legal right or actual station. His was solely a monarchy of influence, and, though even Cromwell felt the necessity of giving to his power the sanction of a name, Lorenzo ruled his countrymen till his death in the character 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 families struggled for the often contested throne; and Italians then only drew their swords or raised their voices in favour of one or another usurper. The destinies of the north and the south were sealed; and in Tuscany no wide field was offered for ambition. A man might raise himself to a certain degree by subservience to some powerful prince, but he must continue to serve that prince, or he fell, and would never aspire to independent domination where hereditary power was recognised by the people, and lay at the foundation of all acknowledged authority. It was alone in central Italy, and especially in Romagna and in the States of the Church--where a principle antagonistic to all hereditary claims existed in the very nature of the Papal power--that any adventurer could hope, either by his individual genius or courage, or by services rendered to those who already held authority, to raise himself to independent rule, or to that station which was only attached to a superior by the thin and nearly worn-out thread of feudal tenure.
"Those who would find fortune," said Ramiro d'Orco, "such fortune as Francesco Sforza conquered and the Medici attained must seek it at Rome. There is the field, the only field still open to the bold spirit, the strong, unwavering heart, the keen and clear-seeing mind--there is the table on which the boldest player is sure to win the most. With every change of the papacy, new combinations, and, consequently, new opportunities must arise, and, thanks to the wise policy of the College of Cardinals, those changes must be frequent. A man there may, as elsewhere, be required to serve in order at length to command; but if he do not obtain power at length, it is his fault or Fortune's, and in either case he must abide the consequences. Good night, Signor Rovera."
CHAPTER VI.
"What is it, dear girl?--Let me think?" said Leonora to her young cousin. They sat in a small ante-room between their sleeping chambers, which gave entrance from the corridor to each.
"And what would you think of, Leonora?" asked Bianca, laughing wickedly.
Leonora gazed from the window, whence was seen the garden below bathed in moonlight, with faint glimpses of the distant country, and the sparkle of the rays upon the fountain whose voice came murmuring up. She did not answer, but continued silent, with her cheek resting on her hand, and her arm upon the sill of the window.
"I know right well whom you are thinking of," said Bianca, bending down her head so