and the moon threw her faint light. across their path, they wandered in the garden, which sloped beautifully down to the banks of the river. There daybreak often found them, and that hour -the loveliest hour of all-when the sun rises from behind the Appenines, like a new-born spirit starting from the mountain tops, and his freshened beams rest on the glittering rocks of Carrara and the white marble buildings of Pisa, or float on the green waves of the farrolling Tuscan sea-that hour was the least beloved by them, for it told of parting. Matters were in this situation when the report of the invasion of Charles the Eight of France, who had already entered the Italian frontier, spread consternation far and wide throughout the whole land. Some beheld in this wild and ambitious scheme, the foreboding clouds of that ruin and desolation which, a month or two afterwards, it spread over the fairest cities in Italy. Others, who with reason or from imagination looked upon their wretchedness as already beyond the possibility of being increased, turned to the Gallic invader as to a saving angel, and flocked to do him homage. The gradual and ambitious encroachments made upon the territories of Pisa by the Florentines, had, previously to Charles's invasion, kindled into a flame those sparks of emnity which had so long lain smothered in the bosoms of the two states. Pisa had now taken the alarm, but as yet ventured upon no act of open hostility. She lay like a tigress in her den, determined to avoid any offensive measures on her part, but resolved to offer the firmest resistance to any assault upon her liberty. knew that her ill-disciplined and worse organized army, formed but a feeble barrier against the regular condottiere of Florence. This consciousness of her own weakness, more, perhaps, than any other consideration, served to continue, so long, her sullen and unwilling forbearance. She To her inhabitants, in such a state of mind, Providence seemed to have interposed in directing Charles's march across the Alps. Scarcely, therefore, had he quitted Lucca on his way to this city, when its inhabitants gathered around him, pouring forth the most tumultuous expressions of their joy, and hailing him as the saviour of their country. The wavering and deceitful policy of this monarch, whose good deeds seldom went farther than the promise, was not wanting on the present occasion. He met the ardent solicitations of the Pisans, and gave them the assurance of his protection. This favourable reply raised them from the lowest despondency into the wildest exultation. Regarding it as their emancipation from slavery, they broke forth into the utmost excesses; every badge which distinguished the Florentines throughout the city was demolished: and it might well be said, that the matin bell of liberty to the one state pealed a death note on the ear of the other. Jacopo was within the sphere of this persecution, but on account of his age, and the influence he possessed with many of the nobles, he was allowed two days to deliberate whether he should leave the city unmolested, or brave the fury of the populace, by remaining within its walls. Lanfranchi had all along continued his suit to Maddalena, with as little success as he had at first commenced it; though his addresses had assumed a more determined tone, and he demanded her union with him, more as if he were condescending on his part than she granting a favour on hers. On the night after Charles had made his entrance into Pisa, Lanfranchi came to the house of Jacopo. He was dressed out as a reveller, and indeed from his eye and gait, it was evident he had lately risen from a company of Bacchanals. The old man, attended by his daughter, sat in an apartment the farthest from the street, (for not a Florentine dared to be seen,) whose dark hangings and sombre tapestry gave a melancholy hue to the faces of its inmates, and contrasted strangely with the gay colours of Lanfranchi's dress. As the old man rose to receive him, his guest seemed to cast upon them both the eye of a serpent, which already has its prey within its power;-pityless, remorseless, determined,-his look was like that of one, whose word carried life or death. Jacopo seemed almost to tremble under his scrowl, and the heart of Maddalena almost leapt from its seat as her eye met his. "Cheer up, good father," said Lanfranchi in a merry tone-Nay, look not so dull, man, ne'er a dog in all Pisa dares to bite when I say hold; and the boldest hand in the city shall not touch a single hair of that white head of thine, if I say no." The old man remained silent. "Rouse thee, man, or I shall think thee coward if thou quakest so. As father of my bride, I pledge my word you shall be safe were you ten Florentines, aye, by the holy virgin, were you ten thousand Florentines." At this last sentence, the tears burst forth from Maddalena's eyes. "What! weeping and groans on a bridal eve? throw them away, my pretty ladybird, we shall have no clouds over our honeymoon :" continued Lanfranchi in the same tone-and advancing to where Maddalena was sitting, he attempted to put his arm round her neck, but she repelled him" Desist, sir; for though you were hateful to me in your prosperity, you are doubly so in our distress. Lanfranchi burst into a scornful laugh | "How pretty the fair thing looks in a passion; by my faith she might enact tragedy." Jacopo's blood was fired within him, at this last insult. "Villain!" cried the old man,"dost thou think to trample upon us in our misery; and triumph over us in our misfortunes? She shall never be yours." "Villain-ha,-villain; I think that was the word you used. Why you miserable dotard-villain, forsooth-a gentleman can't make love to your daughter, and tell her how beautiful she is, but you must call him-villain ! Hark you, old man, you have been drinking freely, and I pardon you; besides, there's not a Florentine now in the city that does not hate us Pisans. I tell you plainly, your daughter shall be mine to-morrow!" "Never! never!" exclaimed Maddalena. "Hush! peace! my pretty prattler. By to-morrow's night she shall be mine, old man, or death may chance to you, and worse perhaps to her." "Holy virgin!" said Maddalena, kneeling before a small image of the Madona, "shield his gray hairs-save, oh save my father; let not him die for the misfortune of his daughter." "A pretty enough orison, and prettily told," said Lanfranchi, scornfully ; but even that will scarcely save you." Maddalena still knelt; her hands were clasped over her face, down which her tears fell heavy and fast. Lanfranchi looked upon her more with the eye of wild licentious appetite than of love; more of keen-searching mockery than of pity. "Pray on," he said, "aye, pray loud, and well too; it may be the last prayer your father can partake in." 66 "Have you no pity?" exclaimed Maddalena, seizing at the same time, witu both hands, the corner of his doublet; Spare him-stain not your hands with his blood.-I am your victim, slay but me, heaven will pardon you the murder." "That may be all in good time, thou prattler," Lanfranchi replied, in a deep calm tone of voice; and tearing his doublet from her hands, he left the house. When he was gone, the father and the daughter remained silent. The old man's thoughts of himself and his own safety were drowned in one resistless and pervading feeling of horror for the wretch who had just left them. He thought but of the villain that interview had disclosed; to whom, but a day before, he would have given his daughter in preference to any other. Maddalena's emotions were not so easily concentred in one point. The man whom she had always before regarded with indifference; as one whom, as she could not love, she could easily cast off; now appeared to her in all the colours of a demon, crying aloud for her father's blood and her destruction. But wretched and pitiable as was her present condition, she attempted to comfort her father, who had sunk upon his knees in a state of terrible bewilderment. The old man rose as she addressed him; conscious of its beauties, on the splendid night scene which lay stretched before her. The moon shone over the vine rows, the palaces, and hanging tower of Pisa, resting on the calm, clear wave which almost slumbered on the shore close by; for the sea had not then, as it has now, like a capricious mistress, abandoned this delightful city; while the nightingale, seated on top branch of an olive tree, seemed to "tune its sad heart to music." But these had no pleasure for Maddalena's mind. Her mind rolled unobserving over the beauties of the one, and her ear was not attuned to the melody of the other. She had remained in this situation but a short time, when the figure of a man appeared below the window at which she sat. It was Borgiano. He beckoned her to speak; but ere she could undo the casement, he had fled, and immediately a crowd of Pisans ran shouting up the same path he had taken. When the confusion was past, and all was again silent, Maddalena, wrapping herself in one of those long folding mantles, so common a part of the ladies' dress in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, glided with light and anxious steps along the gallery leading from her apartment into the street. Even in that When the maiden was left alone, and her mind was distracted between the the thoughts which tempested within her breast; then, indeed, she felt the anguish of a horror-haunted spirit.-hour of darkness, (for it was already far When she thought of her approaching doom, and her own miserable situation, she fancied the cup of her grief was full. But when she recurred to Borgiano, and thought of their love and their misfortunes, her spirit died within her. Then she reverted to the horrors threatened to her by Lanfranchi, and an icy coldness crept around her heart, like one who stands on the outermost verge of a tottering precipice, chained to the spot without the power of escaping. And was there really no way of saving themselves? she thought, and at last resolved to go to the house of a Pisan lady, at a short distance, and consult with her on the likeliest means of escape. She seated herself at the latticed window; her eyes rested, but all un past midnight,) the ways were crowded with groups of Pisans, and resounded with the burst of their boisterous revelry. With trembling step and fearful heart, she hurried past the assemblages of riotous nobility and drunken rabble, which in every corner stopped her passage; and, luckily no one attempted to interrupt her, till she arrived in safety at the top of the avenue, from which she had a view of Lanfranchi's palace. She raised the hood and veil which hid her face, retiring at the same time beneath a portico at one corner of the street. While she stood here, looking down upon the palace below, which shone with a thousand coloured lights, and from which she heard the sounds of Wassail, and the full loud notes of mu sic, an individual in a loose riding cloak, with a mask over his face, approached her. Maddalena drew forward her veil, but the stranger had already recognised her. "You are a Florentine, and daughter of the rich Jacopo;" he said, in a low voice. "May I ask," replied Maddalena, "who the stranger is that takes an interest in my fate?"-as she spoke, she again walked on. "Stay!" said the other, seizing her by the arm; "are you mad thus to run heedless to your own destruction? Fly! another hour in this city! the death hounds are abroad; and woe to every Florentine that shall then be found in Pisa. These are not the words of a man who has any interest in you or in any one more than common humanity." The maid knew not what to say, or what course to follow. She had no reason to distrust the stranger; yet at that moment she was little inclined to place confidence in any one. While she remained in this uncertainty, several individuals, clad in bright armour, issued from the palace, and entered the avenue, at the top of which Maddalena and the stranger stood. "Haste with me, maiden," he said anxiously, or all is lost." 66 She remained mute and motionless; she had not the power to move. This last adventure had completely worn out her already exhausted spirits. In the mean time the stranger raised her up in his arms, and hastened with her down a narrow passage, leading from that part of the city to its suburbs. They had scarcely entered it, when the voices of those they had already seen, were heard distinctly as they passed along the avenue. "Now for the old Florentine Jacopo!" said one. "Take him," said another, "flesh, blood, bones, and all: give me his coffers, my staunch hearts, and you may hack, and hew, and divide his anatomy amongst you." "Coffers!" interrupted a third, curse the old dotard and his gold; give me but-” "What?" said a gruff voice. "The sweet little jewel that decks his casket." "A mere lapidary; shut his mouth!" said, or rather bellowed the same rough voice, and a hoarse laugh ran through the whole party. "Aye, laugh on," said the other, "but this bright jewel shall be mine; this lady rose-bud; this daughter of the Florentine." "Bah;" said he of the gruff voice, "the girl shall be mine; I've sworn it on my sword: and whoso makes me break my oath, must break its blade too." The sound of their voices gradually dying away as they passed on, their conversation was no longer audible. The stranger, in the meantime, hurried on with Maddalena, sometimes supporting her in his arms, at other times assisting her as she walked almost unconsciously along the path he conducted her. At length they reached an old massy ruin, the solitary remnant of a former age, where were already assembled a crowd of Florentines. Amongst them there were several females, many with their clothes loosely thrown about them, some bearing in their arms half naked children, and all of them in tears. When Maddalena and her conductor arrived, they were just upon the point of setting forth upon their journey. She was mounted on a quiet pony, along side of which the stranger rode; leading it by the reins, and at the same time assisting the maiden to retain her seat. With several other ladies, apparently of distinction, she was placed in the troop of armed horsemen; all the time unconscious of where she was, or of the part she was acting. Thus prepared, the party rode on at a sharp pace in the direction of Florence. They chose, for greater security, a lonely and sequestered road along the banks of the river Arno. The rapid motion with which she was hurried 1 forward, somewhat brought Maddalena to herself." My father! where is my father?" were the first words she uttered. "Fear not, he is safe," said the person who conducted her. There was no time for farther conversation on either side, for as they turned up a road which led round a little bend formed by the river, they were met by a party of armed Pisans. "Pisans !" ran in whispers round the whole of the one party. "Arm, arm my brave hearts!" shouted the other. In a moment or two all was in an uproar-the men on either side attacked, and were attacked, while the clash of their arms was mingled with the screams of the women. The stroke of a halbert, aimed at her conductor, slightly grazed the shoulder of Maddalena; and slight as the blow was, it was sufficient in her enfeebled state to fell her to the ground. This encounter ended as encounters generally did at that time, especially in Italy, where more blows were given than blood spilt, and more booty taken than lives lost. In the present instance, as each Pisan struck his adversary to the ground, he took from him what most pleased his fancy, and then galloped off, leaving his companions to provide for themselves. Maddalena became the prize of one of these, not, however, before her conductor, who persisted in defending her, was fell to the earth by a mortal wound. In falling, the mask dropped from his face, and revealed to Maddalena the features of a faithful domestic, who had lived in her father's family several years before. She was hurried again towards the city with even more rapidity than she had left it. When again within its walls, she was led to one of the prisons, where many Florentines had that night been shut up. As they passed along the damp gallery, a dismal groan arose from the floor of the passage which conducted to her cell. The light of a torch, which was carried by one of the attendants, discovered the body of a man apparently in the writhings of death, stretched across her path. As she passed him, the dying man took firm hold of Maddalena's foot with his hand. The others attempted to disengage his gripe, but it was clenched in a death grasp. Maddalena still possessed her senses enough to be able to discover the mangled form of the expiring wretch who held her to the spot, and to see the dark clotted blood in which he weltered. At the sight she staggered where she stood, and uttering one of those wild hysteric screams, which any one who has once heard a woman utter can never forget, she fell senseless to the ground. A Pisan of the party severed the hand and arm from the body; for a while it still clung to her foot, as the others carried her within the cell; where, laying her on a stone bench which ran along the wall, they left her in a death-like stupor, to live or die. Charles the Eighth, though fond in the extreme of all the pomp and display of chivalry, possessed few of the milder and more refined shades of character, which, in its early existence, distinguished that splendid institution. A species of absurd vanity often drowned in him even the common feelings, which are seldom altogether extinguished in any breast, imparting to some parts of his character a dismal hue of tyranny and oppression, while it stamped others with an appearance of weakness and imbecility. In spite of all this, he was not devoid, when freed from this his worst and greatest failing, of the seeds of a more elevated mind, which, had it never felt the contagion of despotic royalty and its power, might have ripened into better fruit than it ever bore in him. His best virtue was, perhaps, a strong commiseration for the miseries of which his ambition was the cause, and a consequent desire of repairing them. A feeling of this sort came over him when he was informed of the outrages committed on the Florentines; and next morning, forgetting the pleasures to which he was naturally so prone, he rode through the strects of Pisa, attend |