a fiercer contest, but these were claimed by the relations of the slain, and hurried to private burial; and the ashamed and awe-stricken citizens silently traversed the streets, or slunk to their homes, scarcely daring to whisper of the tumult of the night, lest their own share in it should be questioned.

Towards evening, Andrew Doria returned to Genoa, and was welcomed with acclamations of joy. His cheek looked paler and his brow more furrowed than usual, for the death of his nephew sat heavy at his heart, and perhaps he might think of all that he had done for his country and the poor return he had reaped, but he made no complaints, and the remainder of his days passed calmly and undisturbed. "The decree," says Robertson, ❝issued by the senate against the conspirators, did not exceed that just measure of severity which was requisite for the support of government; and was dictated neither by the violence of resentment, nor the rancour of revenge *."

* Robertson's Charles the Fifth, book 8.

THE FALL OF FLORENCE.

A. D. 1530.

CHARLES the Fifth received the Italian crown at Bologna from the hands of the pope, and returned to Germany, after having firmly riveted the chains of slavery on the peninsula, with the exception of one solitary state. Monarch of the Two Sicilies, invested with the iron crown of Lombardy, the acknowledged sovereign of the lords of Milan, Savoy, Ferrara, Mantua, Urbino, and the republics of Genoa, Savoy, and Lucca-the pope his mere servant, and Venice trembling at his frown-"all these profited him nothing" so long as Florence refused to bow down. Florence alone, among all the king's servants that did obeisance, maintained her unyielding attitude; and her haughtiness grated as harshly on the feelings of the conqueror as the scorn of Mordecai on those of the jealous Persian.

It was evident that Florence, amid a circle of slaves, would not long be permitted to retain her freedom; and Andrew Doria, admiring her con stancy and trembling for her safety, offered to secure for her, by his mediation, the protection of Charles the Fifth, but his offer was steadily rejected.

The emperor, incensed at what he deemed the obstinacy of the Florentines, prepared to punish it,

and sent an army into Tuscany, under the Prince of Orange, to reduce the refractory state to obedience. This had been expected; and the Florentines, though destitute of a single ally, prepared with cheerfulness and magnanimity to hold out to the last in defence of their freedom. All their dependence was necessarily on their national militia: the weaver forsook his loom, the smith his anvil, the mason his chisel, to acquaint himself with the use of arms, for the service of his worshipped republic. Three thousand Florentine youths, of the highest rank, marched in procession to the cathedral, and took a solemn oath to die or conquer; two thousand elders, in the presence of their families, bound themselves by the same sacred engagement. Michael Angelo flew to the defence of his native city, poured his glorious earnings into her coffers, and assumed the office of director-general of the fortifications. The nobility freely consented to the destruction of their splendid villas and gardens without the walls, and even assisted in razing them to the ground. The most sublime sacrifices were made with cheerfulness, and as their circle became narrowed by the approach of the enemy, each felt drawn closer to his neighbour's heart by their approach to one common centre. Niccola Capponi, convinced of the impossibility of ultimately saving the republic, died of a broken heart; and many that

had pledged themselves on the scriptures to conquer or die felt a gloomy presentiment that the struggle would be fatal, yet none were less determined by their forebodings to risk their lifeblood in the glorious cause.

At length the army of the Prince of Orange appeared within sight of Florence. On beholding, from the eminence on which they stood, the lovely city in the vale below, the splendour of its buildings, and the beauty of its situation, the troops clashed their arms in rude transport, and shouted, "Get ready, oh Florence! thy golden brocades; for we are come to purchase them with our spears*."

The Prince of Orange, having reduced the opencountry, surrounded the city on every side with intrenchments, and commenced a regular blockade. His army consisted of forty thousand men, yet against this powerful force the Florentines successfully opposed themselves for above twelve months, and the issue of the contest seemed often doubtful. During a brilliant sally of the citizens, the Prince ! of Orange was slain, but this was more than overbalanced by the fall of the brave Florentine commander, Francesco Ferucci, and the destruction of his detachment. The imperialists were, however,

* Lady Morgan's Italy. Varchi. Istor.

thrown into such confusion by the death of their leader, that historians suppose, if the Florentines had seized that opportunity of making a general sortie on the camp, they might have delivered their city. But long confinement, pestilence, starvation, and the secret machinations of spies, had severed the silver cord of unity which had long bound this unfortunate people. Baglioni, the Captain-General of Florence, had entered into treaty with the enemy, and on receiving orders from the signory to attack the imperial camp, he positively refused obedience, well aware that he had a strong party within the walls who would support him. The Medici, ever since their expulsion from Florence, had been seeking to found their own grandeur on her ruins, and were now actively at work to promote treachery and treason. Won over by their bribery, Baglioni, to his eternal disgrace, admitted the imperial troops into the city, and all was lost!

The signory, beholding their ruin, submitted in despair to their fate, and as a last resource, endeavoured to procure honourable terms for their country. They obtained a grant of general forgiveness, and the preservation, under certain restraints, of Florentine liberty; with which they were well satisfied: but the treaty had scarcely been signed before it was shamefully broken; a