Lucy, with a voice trembling from shame, grief, and from as much indignation as her gentle disposition and humble station permitted her, declared and protested, that in her village this poor youth had always acted peaceably and honourably, and had obtained a good reputation.

"She wished," she said, "that one of his countrymen were present to bear testimony to the truth." Even respecting the events at Milan, of which, 'twas true, she knew not the details, she defended him, and solely on account of the acquaintance she had had with his habits from infancy.

She defended him (or rather, she _meant_ to defend him) from the pure duty of charity, from love of truth, and as being her neighbour. But Donna Pra.s.sede deduced, from this defence, new arguments to convince Lucy, that this man still held a place in her heart, of which he was not worthy. At the degrading portrait which the old lady drew of him, the habitual feelings of her heart, with regard to him, and her knowledge and estimate of his character, revived with double force and distinctness. Her recollections, which she had had so much difficulty in subduing, returned vividly to her imagination; in proportion to the aversion and contempt manifested by Donna Pra.s.sede towards the unfortunate youth, just in such proportion did she recall her former motives for esteem and sympathy; this blind and violent hatred excited in her heart stronger pity and tenderness. Such conversations could not be much prolonged without resolving Lucy's words into tears.

If Donna Pra.s.sede had been led to this course of conduct by hatred towards Lucy, the tears of the latter, which flowed freely during these examinations, might have subdued her to silence, but as she was moved to speak by the desire of doing good, she never suffered herself to be softened by them; for groans and supplications may arrest the arm of an enemy, but not the friendly lance of the surgeon. After having reproached her for her wickedness, she pa.s.sed to exhortations and advice, mingling also a few praises, to temper the bitter with the sweet, and obtain more certainly the effect she desired. These disputes, which had nearly the same beginning, middle, and end, did not, however, leave any trace of resentment against her severe lecturer in the gentle bosom of Lucy; she was, in other respects, treated with much kindness by the lady, and she believed her, even in this matter, to be guided by good, though mistaken intentions. There did follow them, however, such agitation, such uneasy awakening of slumbering thoughts, that much time and effort were requisite to restore her to any degree of tranquillity.

It was a happiness for Lucy that Donna Pra.s.sede's sphere of usefulness was somewhat extensive; consequently these tiresome conversations could not be so frequently repeated. Besides her immediate household, composed, according to her opinion, of persons that had more or less need of correction and regulation; and besides all the other occasions which presented themselves for her rendering the same office from pure benevolence to persons who required not the duty at her hands; she had five daughters, neither of whom lived at home, but they gave her the more trouble from that very cause. Three were nuns; and two were married. Donna Pra.s.sede consequently had three monasteries and two families to govern; a vast and complicated machinery, and the more troublesome, as two husbands, supported by a numerous kindred, three abbesses, defended by other dignitaries, and a great number of nuns, would not accept her superintendence. There was a continual warfare, polite indeed, but active and vigilant; a perpetual attention to avoid her solicitude, to close up the avenues to her advice, to elude her enquiries, and to keep her in as much ignorance as possible of their affairs. In her own family, however, her zeal could display itself freely; all were governed by her authority, and submissive to her, in every respect, with the exception of Don Ferrante; with him things were conducted in a peculiar manner.

A man of study, he neither loved to obey nor command; he was perfectly willing that his wife should be mistress in all things pertaining to household affairs, but not that he should be her slave; and if, at her request, he lent upon occasion the services of his pen, it was because he had a particular taste for such employments. And, moreover, he could refuse to do it, when not convinced of the propriety of her demand.

"Well," he would say, "do it yourself, since the matter appears so plain to you." Donna Pra.s.sede, after vainly trying to induce him to submission, took refuge in grumbling against him as an original, a man who would have his own way, a mere scholar; which latter t.i.tle, however, she never gave him without a degree of complacency, mingling itself with her displeasure.

Don Ferrante pa.s.sed much time in his study, where he had a considerable collection of choice books; he had selected the most famous works on many different subjects, in each of which he was more or less versed. In astrology he was justly considered more than an amateur, because he not only possessed the general notions, and the common vocabulary of influences, aspects, and conjunctions, but he could speak to the point, and, like a professor, of the twelve houses of heaven, of the great and lesser circles, of degrees, lucid and obscure, of exaltations, pa.s.sages, and revolutions; in short, of the principles the most certain and most recondite of the science. For more than twenty years, in long and frequent disputes, he had sustained the pre-eminence of _Cardan_ against another learned man attached to the system of _Alcabizio_, "from pure obstinacy," said Don Ferrante, who, in acknowledging voluntarily the superiority of the ancients, could not, however, endure the prejudice which would never accord to the moderns, even that which they evidently deserved. He had also a more than ordinary acquaintance with the history of the science; he could cite the most celebrated predictions which had been verified, and reason very skilfully and learnedly on other celebrated predictions which had _not_ been verified, demonstrating that the failure was not owing to any deficiency in the science, but to the ignorance which could not apply its principles.

He had acquired as much ancient philosophy as would have contented a man of ordinary ambition, but he was continually adding to his stock from the study of Diogenes Laertius; however, as we cannot adhere to every system, and as, from among them all, a choice is necessary to him who desires the reputation of a philosopher, Don Ferrante made choice of Aristotle, who, as he was accustomed to say, was neither ancient nor modern. He possessed many works of the wisest and most subtle disciples of the school of Aristotle among the moderns; as to those of his opponents, he would not read them, "because it would be a waste of time," he said, "nor buy them, because it would be a waste of money."

In the judgment of the learned, therefore, Don Ferrante pa.s.sed for an accomplished peripatetic, although this was not the judgment he pa.s.sed on himself, for, more than once, he was heard to declare, with singular modesty, that the essence, the universals, the soul of the world, and the nature of things, were not matters so clear as people thought.

As to natural philosophy, he had made it more a pastime than a study: he had rather read than digested the works of Aristotle himself on the subject. Nevertheless, with a slight acquaintance with that author, and the knowledge he had incidentally gathered from other treatises of general philosophy, he could, when necessary, entertain an a.s.sembly of learned persons in reasoning most acutely on the wonderful virtues and singular characteristics of many plants. He could describe exactly the forms and habits of the syrens, and the phoenix, the only one of its kind; he could explain how it was that the salamander lived in fire, how drops of dew became pearls in the sh.e.l.l, how the chameleon lived on air, and a thousand other secrets of the same nature.

He was, however, much more addicted to the study of magic and sorcery, as this was a science more in vogue, and withal more serviceable, and the facts of which were of pre-eminent importance. It is not necessary to add that, in devotion to such a science, he had no other purpose than to obtain an accurate knowledge of the worst artifices of the sorcerers, in order to guard himself against them. Guided by the great _Martino Delrio_, he was able to discourse, _ex professo_, on the enchantment of love, the enchantment of sleep, the enchantment of hatred, and on the innumerable species of these three chief enchantments, which, alas! are witnessed every day in their destructive and baneful effects.

His knowledge of history, especially universal history, was not less vast and solid. "But," said he often, "what is history without politics?

a guide who conducts without teaching any one the way; as politics without history, is a man without a guide to conduct him." Here was then a small place on his shelf a.s.signed to statistics; there, among others of the second rank, were seen Bodin, Cavalcanti, Sansovino, Paruta, and Boccalini. There were, however, two books that Don Ferrante preferred to all others on the subject; two, which he called, for a long time, the first of the kind, without deciding to which of the two this rank exclusively belonged. One was _Il Principe_ and the _Discorsi_ of the celebrated secretary of Florence. "A rascal, 'tis true," said he, "but profound;" the other, _La Ragion di Stato_, of the not less celebrated Giovanni Botero. "An honest man, 'tis true," said he, "but cunning."

But, a short time before the period to which our history belongs, a work appeared which had terminated the question of pre-eminence; a work in which was comprised and condensed a relation of every vice, in order to enable men to avoid it, and every virtue, in order to enable men to practise it,--a book of few leaves, indeed, but all of gold; in a word, the _Statista Regnante_ of _Don Valeriano Castiglione_; of the celebrated man upon whom the most learned men emulated each other in bestowing praises, and for whose notice the greatest personages contended; whom Pope Urban VIII. honoured with a magnificent eulogium; whom Cardinal Borghese and the Viceroy of Naples, Don Pietro de Toledo, solicited to write, the first, the life of Pope Paul V., the second, the wars of the Catholic king in Italy, and both in vain; whom Louis XIII., King of France, with the advice of Cardinal Richelieu, named his historiographer; upon whom the Duke Carlos Emanuel, of Savoy, conferred the same office; and in praise of whom the d.u.c.h.ess Christina, daughter to his most Christian majesty, Henry IV., added in a diploma, after many other t.i.tles, "the renown he had obtained in Italy as the first writer of the age."

But if Don Ferrante might be said to be well versed in all the above sciences, there was one in which he deserved, and really obtained, the t.i.tle of professor, the science of chivalry. He not only spoke of it as a master, but was often requested to interfere in nice points of honour, and give his decision. He had in his library, and, we may add, in his head also, the works of the most esteemed writers on this subject, particularly Torquato Ta.s.so, whom he had always ready; and he could, if required, cite from memory all the pa.s.sages of the Jerusalem Delivered, which might be brought forward as authority in these matters. We might speak more at large of this learned man, but we feel it to be time to resume the thread of our history.

Nothing of importance occurred to any of the personages of our story before the following autumn, when Agnes and Lucy expected to meet again; but a great public event disappointed this hope. Other events followed, which produced no material change in their destiny. Then occurred new misfortunes, powerful and overwhelming, coming upon them like a hurricane, which impetuously tears up and scatters every object in its way, sweeping the land, and bearing off, with its irresistible and mighty power, every vestige of peace and prosperity. That the particular facts which remain to be related may not appear obscure, we must recur for awhile to the farther recital of general facts.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

After the famous sedition on St. Martin's day, it may be said that abundance flowed into Milan, as if by enchantment. The shops were well stored with bread, the price of which was no higher than in the most fruitful years; those who, on that terrible day, had howled through the streets, and committed every excess in their power, had now reason to congratulate themselves. But, with the cessation of their alarm, they had not resumed their accustomed quiet; on the squares, and in the inns, there were congratulations and boastings (although in an under tone) at having hit on a mode of reducing the price of bread. However, in the midst of these popular rejoicings, there reigned a vague apprehension and presentiment that this happiness would be of short duration. They besieged the bakers and vendors of flour with the same pertinacity as during the period of the former fact.i.tious and transient abundance, produced by the first tariff of Antony Ferrer. He who had some pence by him converted them immediately into bread and flour, which was piled in chests, in small casks, and even in vessels of earthen ware. In thus attempting to extend the advantages of the moment, their long duration was rendered, I do not say impossible, for it was so already; but even their momentary continuance thus became still more difficult.

On the fifteenth of November, Antony Ferrer, "_by the order of his excellency_," published a decree in which it was forbidden to any one, having any quant.i.ty of grain or flour in his house, to purchase more; and to the rest of the people to buy bread beyond that which was necessary for two days, "_under pecuniary and corporal penalties at the discretion of his excellency_." The decree ordered the _anziani_ (officers of justice), and invited every body, as a duty, to denounce the offenders; it commanded the judges to cause search to be made in every house which might be mentioned to them, issuing at the same time a new command to the bakers to keep their shops well furnished with bread, "_under penalty of five years in the galleys, and still greater punishment at the discretion of his excellency_." A great effort of imagination would be required to believe that such orders were easy of execution.

In commanding the bakers to make such a quant.i.ty of bread, means ought to have been afforded for the supply of the material of which it was to be made. In seasons of scarcity, there is always an endeavour to make into bread various kinds of aliment, which, under ordinary circ.u.mstances, are consumed under other forms. In this way rice was introduced into the composition of a bread which was called mistura.[33]

On the 23d of November, there was a decree issued, which placed at the order of the vicar and twelve members of provision the half of the rice that each possessed; under penalty for selling it without the permission of those lords of the loss of the entire commodity, and a fine of three crowns the bushel.

[33] Mixture.

But this rice had to be paid for at a price very disproportioned to that of bread. The burden of supplying this enormous difference was imposed on the city: but the council of ten resolved to send a remonstrance to the governor, on the impossibility of sustaining such a tax; and the governor fixed, by a decree of the 13th of December, the price of rice at twelve livres the bushel. It is also probable, though nowhere expressly stated, that the maximum price for other sorts of grain was fixed by other proclamations. Whilst, by these various measures, bread and flour were kept at a low price in Milan, it consequently happened that crowds of people rushed into the city to supply their wants. Don Gonzalo, to remedy this inconvenience, forbade, by another decree of the 15th of December, the carrying out of the city bread to the value of more than twenty pence; the penalty was a fine of "_twenty-five crowns, and in case of inability, a public flogging, and greater punishments still, at the discretion of his excellency_."

The populace wished to procure abundance by pillage and conflagration, the legal power wished to maintain it by the galleys and the rope. Every method was resorted to to accomplish their purpose, but the reader will soon learn the total failure of them all. It is, besides, easy to see, and not useless to observe, that these strange means had an intimate and necessary connection with each other; each was the inevitable consequence of the preceding, and all, in fact, flowed from the first error, that of fixing upon bread a price so disproportioned to that which ought to have resulted from the real state of things. Such an expedient, however, has always appeared to the populace not only conformable to equity, but very simple and easy of execution; it is then very natural that in the agonies and misery which are the necessary effects of scarcity, they should, if it be in their power, adopt it. But as the consequences begin to be felt, the government is obliged to repair the evil by new laws, forbidding men to do that which previous laws had recently prescribed to them.

The princ.i.p.al fruits of the insurrection were these; the destruction or loss of much provision in the insurrection itself, and the rapid consumption of the small quant.i.ty of grain then on hand, which should otherwise have lasted until the next harvest. To these general effects may be added, the punishment of four of the populace, who were hung as leaders of the sedition, two before the baker's shop of the crutches, and two at the corner of the street in which was situated the house of the superintendent of provision.

The historical relations of this epoch are handed down to us with so little clearness, that it is difficult to ascertain when this arbitrary tariff ceased. But we have numerous accounts of the situation of the country, and especially the city, in the winter of that year and the following spring. In every quarter shops were closed; and the manufactories were, for the most part, deserted; the streets afforded a terrible spectacle of sorrow and desolation; mendicants by profession, now the smallest number, were confounded with the new mult.i.tude, disputing for alms with those from whom they had formerly been accustomed to receive them; clerks and servants, dismissed by the merchants and shopkeepers, hardly existing upon some scanty savings; merchants and shopkeepers themselves failing and ruined by the stoppage of trade; artificers wandering from door to door, lying along the pavement, by the houses and churches, soliciting charity, and hesitating between want and shame, emaciated and feeble, reduced by long fasting, and the rigours of the cold which penetrated their tattered clothing; servants, dismissed by their masters, who were incapable of maintaining their accustomed numerous and sumptuous establishments; and the numerous dependents upon the labour of these various cla.s.ses, old men, women, and children, grouped around their former supporters, or wandered in search of support elsewhere.

Among the wretched crowds also might be distinguished, by their _long lock_, by the remnants of their magnificent apparel, by their carriage and gestures, and by the traces which habit impresses on the countenance, many _bravoes_, who, having lost in the common misery their criminal means of support, were reduced to an equality of suffering, and with difficulty dragged themselves along the city that they had so often traversed with a proud and ferocious bearing, magnificently armed and attired; they now extended with humility the hand which they had so frequently raised to menace with insolence, or to strike with treachery.

But the most dense, livid, and hideous swarm was that of the villagers.

These were seen in entire families; husbands with their wives, dragging along their little ones, and supporting in their arms their wretched babies, whilst their own aged and helpless parents followed behind,--all flocked into the city in hopes of obtaining bread. Some, whose houses had been invaded and despoiled by the soldiery, had fled in despair; some, to excite compa.s.sion, and render their misery more striking, showed the wounds and bruises they had received in defending their homes; and others, whom this scourge had not reached, had been driven, by the two scourges from which no corner of the country was exempt, sterility and the consequent increase on the price of provisions, to the city, as to the abode of abundance and pious munificence. The new comers might be recognised by their air of angry astonishment and disappointment at finding such an excess of misery where they had hoped to be themselves the peculiar objects of compa.s.sion and benevolence.

Here, too, might be recognised, in all their varieties of ragged habiliments, in the midst of the general wretchedness, the pale dweller of the marsh, the bronzed countenance of the plain or hill countryman, and the sanguine complexion of the mountaineer, all, however, alike in the hollow eye, ferocious or insane countenance, knotted hair, long and matted beard, attenuated body, shrivelled skin and bony breast,--all alike reduced to the lowest condition of languor, of infantine debility.

Heaps of straw and stubble were seen along the walls, and by the gutters, which appeared to be a particular provision of charity for these unfortunate creatures; there their limbs reposed during the night; and in the day they were occupied by those who, exhausted by fatigue and suffering, could no longer bear the weight of their emaciated bodies; sometimes, upon the damp straw a dead body lay extended; sometimes, the miserable spark of life was rekindled in its feeble tenement by timely succour from a hand rich in the means and in the disposition to do good, the hand of the pious Frederick.

He had made choice of six priests of ardent charity and robust const.i.tution; and, dividing them into three companies, a.s.signed to each the third of the city as their charge; they were accompanied by porters, laden with food, cordials, and clothing. Each morning these worthy messengers of benevolence pa.s.sed through the streets, approached those whom they beheld stretched on the pavement, and gave to each their kindly a.s.sistance. Those who were too ill to be benefited by temporal succour received from them the last offices of religion.

Their a.s.sistance was not limited to present relief: the good bishop requested them, wherever it was possible, to furnish more efficacious and permanent comfort, by giving to those who should be in some measure restored to strength money for their future necessities, lest returning want should again plunge them into wretchedness and misery; and to obtain shelter for others who lay exposed in the street in the neighbouring houses, by requesting their inhabitants to receive the poor afflicted ones as boarders, whose expenses would be paid by the cardinal himself.

Frederick had not waited for the evil to attain its height, in order to exercise his benevolence, and to devote all the powers of his mind towards its amelioration. By uniting all his means, by practising strict economy, by drawing upon the sums destined to other liberalities, and which had now become of secondary importance, he endeavoured to ama.s.s money, in order to employ it entirely for those who were suffering from hunger and its consequences. He bought a quant.i.ty of grain, and sent it to the most dest.i.tute parts of his diocese; but as the succour was far from adequate to the necessity, he sent with it a great quant.i.ty of salt, "with which," says Ripamonti[34], relating the fact, "the herbs of the field and the leaves of trees were made food for men." He distributed grain and money to the curates of the city; and he himself travelled over it, administering alms, and secretly aiding many indigent families. In the episcopal palace, rice was boiled every day, and dealt out to the necessities of the people, to the extent of 2000 measures.

Besides these splendid efforts of a single individual, many other excellent persons, though with less powerful means, strove to mitigate the horrible sufferings of the people: of these sufferers, thousands struggled to grasp the broth or other food provided at different quarters, and thus prolong for a day, at least, their miserable lives; but thousands were still left behind in the struggle, and these generally the weakest,--the aged women and children; and these might be seen, dead and dying from inanition, in every part. But in the midst of these calamities not the least disposition to insurrection appeared.

[34] Historia Patriae, decad. v. lib. vi. p. 386.

The void that mortality created each day in the miserable mult.i.tude was each day more than replenished; there was a perpetual concourse, at first from the neighbouring villages, then from the more distant territories, and, finally, from the Milanese cities.

The ordinary spectacle of ordinary times, the contrast of magnificent apparel with rags, and of luxury with poverty, had entirely disappeared.

The n.o.bility even wore coa.r.s.e clothing; some, because the general misery had affected their fortune; others, because they would not insult the wretchedness of the people, or because they feared to provoke the general despair by the display of luxury at such a time.

Thus pa.s.sed the winter and the spring; already had the Tribunal of Health remonstrated with the Tribunal of Provision on the danger to which such ma.s.s of misery exposed the city. To prevent contagious diseases, a proposal was made to confine the vagabond beggars in the various hospitals. Whilst this project was under discussion, some approving and others condemning, dead bodies inc.u.mbered the streets. The Tribunal of Provision, however, proposed another expedient as more easy and expeditious, which was, to shut up all the mendicants, healthy or diseased, in the lazaretto, and to maintain them there at the expense of the city. This measure was resolved upon, notwithstanding the remonstrances of the Tribunal of Health, who objected that, in so numerous an a.s.semblage, the evil to which they wished to apply a remedy would be greatly augmented.

The little order that reigned in the lazaretto, the bad quality of the food, and the standing water which was drank plentifully, soon created numerous maladies. To these causes of mortality, so much the more active from operating on bodies already exhausted or enfeebled, was added the unfavourableness of the season; obstinate rains, followed by more obstinate drought, and violent heat. To these physical evils were added others of a moral nature, despair and wearisomeness in captivity, desire for accustomed habits, regret for cherished beings of whom these unfortunate beings had been deprived; painful apprehension for those who were living, and the continual dread of death, which had itself become a new and powerful cause of the extension of disease. It is not to be wondered at that mortality increased in this species of prison to such a degree as to a.s.sume the appearance and deserve the name of _pestilence_.

The number of deaths in the lazaretto soon amounted to a hundred daily.

Whilst within these wretched walls, grief, fear, anguish, and rage prevailed, in the Tribunal of Provision, shame, astonishment, and irresolution were equally apparent. They consulted, and now listened to the advice of the Tribunal of Health: finding they could do no better than to undo what they had done, at so much expense and trouble, they opened the doors of the lazaretto, and released all who were well enough to leave it. The city was thus again filled with its former cries, but feebler, and more interrupted; the sick were transported to Santa Maria della Stella, which was then the hospital for the poor, and the greater part perished there.

However, the fields began to yield the harvest so long desired, and the troops of peasants left the city for their long prayed for and accustomed labours. The ingenious and inexhaustible charity of the good Frederick still exerted itself; he made a present of a giulio[35] and a sickle to each peasant, who solicited it at the palace.

[35] A coin worth about 6_d._

With a plentiful harvest, scarcity ceased to be felt; the mortality, however, continued, in a greater or less degree, until the middle of autumn. It was on the point of ceasing, when a new scourge overwhelmed the city and country.

Many events of high historical importance had occurred in this interval of time. The Cardinal Richelieu, after having taken Roch.e.l.le, and made a treaty of peace with England, had proposed, effected by his powerful influence in the councils of the French king, that efficacious aid should be sent to the Duke of Nevers; he had also persuaded the king to lead the expedition in person. Whilst the preparations were in progress, the Count of Na.s.sau, imperial commissary, suggested to the new duke in Mantua the expediency of replacing his states in the hands of Ferdinand; intimating that, in case of refusal, an army would be immediately sent by the emperor to occupy them. The duke, who in the most desperate circ.u.mstances had rejected so hard a condition, encouraged now by the promised succours from France, was determined still longer to defend himself. The commissary departed, declaring that force would soon decide the matter.

In the month of March, the Cardinal Richelieu with the king, at the head of an army, demanded a free pa.s.sage from the Duke of Savoy; he entered into treaties for the purpose, but nothing was concluded. After a rencounter, in which the French obtained the advantage, a new treaty was entered into, in which the duke stipulated that Don Gonzalo de Cordova should raise the siege of Casale, engaging, in case of his refusal, to unite with the French, and invade the duchy of Milan. Don Gonzalo raised the siege of Casale, and a body of French troops entered it, to reinforce the garrison. The Cardinal Richelieu decided to return to France, on business which he regarded as more urgent; but Girolamo Soranzo, envoy from Venice, offered the most powerful reasons to divert him from this resolution. To these the king and the cardinal paid no attention; they returned with the greatest part of the army, leaving only 6000 men at Suza to occupy the pa.s.ses and maintain the treaty.

Whilst this army departed on one side, that of Ferdinand, commanded by the Count of Collato, advanced on the other. It had invaded the country of the Grisons, and the Valtelline, and was preparing to come down on the Milanese. Besides the usual terrors which such an expectation was calculated to excite, the report was spread, that the plague lurked in the imperial army. Alessandro Tadino, one of the conservators of the public health, was charged by the tribunal to state to the governor the frightful danger which threatened the country, if this army should obtain the pa.s.s which opened on Mantua. It appears from all the actions of Gonzalo, that he was possessed by a desire to occupy a great place in history; but, as often happens, history has failed to register one of his most remarkable acts, the answer he returned to this Doctor Tadino; which was, "that he knew not what could be done; that reasons of interest and honour, which had induced the march of the army, were of greater weight than the danger represented; that he would, however, endeavour to act for the best, and that they must trust to Providence."

In order, then, to act for the best, their two physicians proposed to the tribunal to forbid, under the most severe penalty, the purchase of any articles of clothing from the soldiers who were about to pa.s.s. As to Don Gonzalo, his reply to Doctor Tadino was one of his last acts at Milan, as the ill success of the war, which had been instigated and directed by him, caused him to be displaced in the course of the summer.

He was succeeded by Marquis Ambrosio Spinola, who had already acquired the military celebrity in the wars of Flanders which still endures.

Meanwhile the German troops had received definite orders to march upon Mantua, and in the month of September they entered the duchy of Milan.

At this epoch armies were composed, for the greater part, of adventurers, enlisted by _condottieri_, who held their commission from some prince, and who sometimes pursued the occupation on their own account, so as to be able to sell themselves and followers together. Men were drawn to this vocation much less by the pay which was a.s.signed to them, than by the hope of pillage, and the charms of licence. There was no fixed or general discipline; and as their pay was very uncertain, the spoils of the countries which they over-ran were tacitly accorded to them by their commanders.

It was a saying of the celebrated Wallenstein's, that it was easier to maintain an army of 100,000 men than one of 12,000. And this army of which we are now speaking was part of that which in the thirty years'